Ask Audrey: 'I'm pretending to be from Monkstown, but I'm really just a wan from Turners Cross'

The only problem is I’ve given the impression that I’m a nobby type from Monkstown, when I’m just a wan from Turners Cross, d’you know that kind of way.

It’s all air kisses and ‘wow look at you hon’ in the influencer community, but they do be a right shower of bitches behind it all - if news of this gets out I’ll have to go back to my job in Woodies.

So, how can I get mockiya proof I’m a nob?

– Tracey, Monkstown, give us a follow, @YouSoWishLike

I’d rather get a colonoscopy from a hedgehog.

I asked my Posh Cousin, where would you go if you wanted to deceive people about your life.

She said, Instagram.

#OneWordAnswer

I died there last week (private room in the Bons, top consultant tried his damnest, family and friends back to Hayfield Manor after the funeral, choice of wild salmon or dry-aged steak).

I was never religious, so you can imagine my surprise to find out there in an afterlife and someone decided it would be a good idea to send me to hell.

Some people reckon hell is eternal torment and boiling oil, but in fact it’s much worse than that and I’ve been reincarnated as the PRO for the Cork Country Board.

I need to get out of this super quickly, can you find out if it’s worth giving the Bishop a cheque for five million quid?

– Martin, Blackrock and Beyond the Grave, offer it to the the Protestant fella as well, hedge the old bets.

My cousin the priest is an expert in theology, penance and getting a new BMW every two years.

I said, I know a guy who needs to get out of hell, what’s the church’s position on that?

He said, standing in front of his widow with our hands out.

(I call him Father Hilaire.)

C’mere, what’s the story with my old doll giving up sex after we got married?

I popped the question to my wan last Christmas 12 months, because it was the only way to stop her dragging me around to wedding fairs. (The UN should classify that as a cruel and unusual punishment for lads that could not care less about the runner on the top table, lah.)

We tied the knot this Christmas, and we’ve only had sex four times in two months - I’d be getting more action if I was a nun.

I’m thinking of suggesting a divorce, so she can go back to being my old doll – what do think?

– Dowcha Donie, Blackpool.

My niece has a Masters in Sex and Marriage from the University of Mallow. (It’s online.) I said, what’s the average times a month number for married couple.

She said, twice, if you exclude couples in Kinsale.

I said, why are you excluding couples from Kinsale?

She said, because they’d screw the average.

I said, are you trying to get me to make a lame double entendre about Kinsale people screwing anything that moves.

She said, I am really.

I don’t know what to do about the new Ryanair Frequent Flyer programme.

I like the notion of paying a flat fee and getting priority boarding, free seat choice etc for a whole year on their flights.

But if someone spots the Frequent Flyer card in the case for my new iPhone Xs, that will be me out of the WhatsApp group, Former Mount Mercy Girls With Incredible Skin Tone.

Advice please?

– Harriott, Model Farm Road.

I have one bit of advice alright.

Please stop pretending the Model Farm Road is all that.

I mean it’s basically Bishopstown with a slightly longer driveway.

#TruthHurts

How’re oo goin’ on. Herself is after falling in with a bunch of Dark Web Conspiracy Theorists back in Durrus, and didn’t she arrive in last night in a state of high excitement.

Apparently the rumour doing the rounds among them lads is that the winner of the EuroMillions is in fact our neighbour, Tim Pat Tim Pat Timmy Timmy Tim Pat. (Even though he isn’t in fact one of six sisters from Naul.)

His ‘win’ has subsequently been confirmed by sources inside in Bantry, where he was spotted buying a three pack of underpants, which is a first if you knew the man in question.

Do you know how I might confirm that he didn’t win it?

– Dan Paddy Andy, head out beyond Schull until you see a man saying “you’re looking well boy, Tim Pat Tim Pat Timmy Timmy Tim Pat.”

My nephew, Thick Mick, has written an app to detect if someone is nouveau riche. (It’s called ‘Ballincollig’.)

I said, how does it work. He said you point your phone at the subject and if a muscle-bound baldy Russian guy with an earpiece takes the phone off you and smashes it on the ground, you’re looking at a multi-millionaire.

I said, no one will pay for that, you eejit.

At which point a beefcake called Boris appeared from nowhere and said, “leave Thick Mick alone.”

#WhosThickNow