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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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9 comments:
Absolutely spot on. The nearer I get to the election the more depressed i'm becoming. What is the bloody point of it all.
We've got an English Democrat councillor who, ya know, is a complete knob but he keeps on going on about the red, blue & yellow teams and he's absolutely bob on the money.
Ho hum. Another day, another big bag of festering shite.
What an awful waste of oxygen they are.
I prefer the Flying Lizrds version
There isn't any point, mr dtp but be glad, for the self-fellating Mr Nick Robinson gets paid, by us, a sum in the region of a quarter of a million pounds a year for his musings, no wonder he smirks so, perching on the politicians' latrine bench, shitting, with them, in our upturned faces.
Yes, mrs narcolept, naughty little minxes, the flying lizards, suacepans and violins.
When I am in charge, Robinson will be among the first of the motherfuckers up against your wall, Mr Ishmael. Ghastly, horrible, biased, pouting arse-wipe of a journalist. I've more insight in my spats.
Even in these Days of Ruin, mr mongoose, a quarter of a million, for gossiping, seems a little vulgar; still, we are lucky to have him, think of what he might be earning in the private sector, doing the astrology in the Leicester Mercury or the Coventry Evening Telegraph. Mr rasmus in another thread made a good point about the presenter, the form, being more important than the substance, the self-fellating Mr Robinson as sex synbol ? Now, there's a new, surreal dimension of Ruin.
It was one of the consolations of our growing up, Mr Ishmael, that while Coventry was a dump, Leicester was a hell-hole beyond compare. As I have remarked before, that the M69 joins one to the other is one of God's better jokes.
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