So there I was, roysh, enjoying college life, college birds and, like, a major amount of socialising. Then, roysh, the old pair decide to mess everything up for me. And we're talking totally here.
Don't ask me what they were thinking. I hadn't, like, changed or treated them any differently, but the next thing I know, roysh, I'm out on the streets. Another focking day in paradise for me!
If it hadn't been for Oisinn's apartment in Killiney, the old man paying for my Golf GTI, JP's old man's job offer and all the goys wanting to buy me drink, it would have been, like, a complete mare. Totally. But naturally, roysh, you can never be sure what life plans to do to you next. At least, it came as a complete focking surprise to me …
The life and times of Ross O'Carroll-Kelly, the cult hero with a weekly column in The Sunday Tribune.
Just about the most hilarious character to grace the pages of an Irish novel for as many years as I can remember. It's a long time since I laufghed so heartily at a book as at this Holden-Caulfield-meets-Sebastian-Dangerfield hybrid ... If I'm ageist I'll say it will primarily appeal to the twenty-something brigade, but I'm fifty and I adored it.
It provides fascinating insights into the mind of O'Carroll-Kelly, a quintessential, Heino-drinking, Dublin 4 rugby jock.
The Irish Times
A book that is more than just a parody of dreadful rugby types and their girlfriends. It's as strong as a knowing commentary on the peculiar direction the middle classes in this country have taken since the mid-90s. In this way, Howard (via Ross) has a zeitgeisty insight into first world problems that have long been troubling this unashamedly middle class reviewer, viz property prices, cappuccino culture, and the Americanisation of the young Irish person. Each one is picked off with the precision of a trained sniper. ... One of the funniest books (and I do not say this lightly) that has crossed my path in a long, long time.
The Sunday Tribune
This is quite simply one of the most hilarious books you're ever likely to read.
represents a regrettable art of Irish culture (the Heino drinking, D4, rugby-playing sect) in all its idiotic, materialistic ignominy. A focking laugh, roysh.