I Don't Fancy Yours Much
Posted by gauloises1 on June 14, 2009
Haas and Murray celebrate with the women in their life
Oedipus, Shmoedipus waduzitmatter, so long as you love your mother. Andy and Mother Murray.
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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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7 comments:
He bears disturbing similarities to the Ruiner in some ways, such as charmlessness and lockjaw.
These public demonstrations of 'support' evoke the empty gestures one has seen for years in the behaviour of spouses of politicians.
Why do they do it? Paradoxically, Mr Ishmael, I believe it started as an attempt by politicians to give the impression that they were just normal folk like all the rest of us, even though we didn't do that.
Now, we do it because we have seen 'them' do it!
This self-reproducing bullshit behaviour - what Dawkins calls a 'meme' - is now an established part of the 'dynamic' of human behaviour.
From Catch 22, Tennis champion, something someone that is no use to anyone better than anyone else. Still it keeps Harry Webb off the streets during Wimbledon strawberry fest for a few days.
I used to love tennis as a kid but found myself watching yesterday with a definate resigned tedium. It's just sooo bloody dull and Andy Murray? Less charisma than a cheesy quaver.
I loved it, too, until that fucking horrible bastard, JP McEnroe, Ruined it as a sport and made it business, ego, tantrum. And now the BBC pays him to commentate on an activity he corrupted. It used to be so nice and now it's just freaks and fuckwits, the Murrays being the latest bestiality. I watched Murray like you'd watch a freakshow, his inner rages, his bad tempered face-pulling, his squadron of oafish praise-singers and his grotesque, snarling Mummy. Should be on an adult channel, Andy and Judy.
Supreme athlete, my arse, boy's a cunt.
They've even fucked up cricket now, Mr Ishmael. "Umpire Referral System"? When I was a wee lad, we were told that cricket is a game that happens out in a field where nobody can see you and so cheating is easy. Chase the ball to the boundary - there is no line, no rope, just some wee flags. The fielder looks at where he has stopped the ball and infers some arc between the two flags. Is it four or not? If it is, signal four to the unpire and lob the ball back; if not, throw the ball in fast. How difficult can it be?
Jesus! We'll not go as far as asking them to walk when they've edged it but we now have the fuckers hitting the ball to cover and not walking. "Ah, it was a low catch. I'll get away with that on referral." Cunts. Utter cunts. Destroyed the whole fucking game in ten minutes.
I even had my own lad standing there arguing with an umpire last year. "But I didn't hit it, Dad." Excuse the boy, he is only little and he knew no better than what he sees Freddie and KP doing. Rest assured that I have put the little bugger straight.
Keep posting stuff like this i really like it
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