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
Not taintaing dictatorship with royalty bud?Seems like blogger wants more info, bit irritating.
I know nice Egyptian boy for you, yes?
Do YOU have any rich Egyptian playboy sons, Mr President?
"You show finger like this, make promise be gentle, then shove in whole fist.""Oh, Mr President, you are awful. I thought we were talking about politics.""We are. Wanna camel?"
"So you pull my finger and then I fart""Really! how disgusting- speaking of old farts ...."
This table was later granted political asylum in a secret location. If you would like to help support furniture which has been forced to participate in unspeakable acts, call the number below to make a donation.
OK, what name would you give to an invisible parrot?
'Well, Mr Prime Minister, I was thinking of becoming a Muslim's wife, 'cos they know how to treat a lady, like what I am, regardless of the police motorcyclist who fell of his bike and was unfortunately killed stone dead. And not like Hewitt who let me down when all I wanted to do was be everybody's princess of hearts, and visit poor people in their council houses and scare the shit out of them, well it made me feel a lot better about myself. My astrologer told me I meet a dark handsome stranger, but when he gave me the boot for being as mad as a hatter I took up with Dodo bloke, well I just tryin' to make the bloody surgeon see what he was missing, so I called the paps from the yacht and told them to get a few good shots off, before me and Dodo went up to Paris, then the funniest thing, the press turned on me, there it was all over the Sundays, queens of slags, what a bloody liberty, as one might say, things looking a little grim for one in the people's princess stakes, Mr President. Anyway, I never use a seat belt, I prefer to sit forward like this, so the paps can get a clearer shot through the back window....
Prize-giving is invidious and I enjoyed all of the comments but I think that however much he needs profound and lasting therapy, the stanislav teeshirt must go, again, to mr verge, operating in a scatalogical milieu beyond the purview of normal, decent, even mildly fetishistic readers and probably beyond that of the late princess, although her penchant for watching surgery was, to say the least, questionable; little wonder that her children are both gormless and grotesque; their poor, enmaddened mother stalking the West End at night in her underwear, in search of cheap thrills, more threatening even than the late Duke of Windsor.Mr yaic's reminder of the unfortunate police officer does tickle the old conspiracy ribs and reminds me that on watching the Martin Bashir interview with her looniness I immediately remarked They will not let her live after this. Odd how unexplained traffic events conspired to still her careless tongue, seal her problematic womb. Imagine young groom, Will Gormless, being flanked in the Abbey by a wog half-brother. Or two.
Much obliged. I had a teacher once who let us try "creative writing" as part of our English Language O-Level. My offering (Victorian chimney-sweep urchin lives next door to brothel, horrid time up flues, bad end) came back with an unforgettable diatribe advising me that "such imaginings, which I believe are seriously demoralising, prosper when they are encouraged. Leave them alone. Let them die. Turn your mind towards that which is healthy." Plus ca change, innit?
Ah, you lucky ones, enjoying a conventional trajectory; I was a tough sailor, far away at sea at O level time, eschewing schooling for a runaway's life of vast oceans and dingy bars; I took them later, seasoning my O & A level papers with the mariner's salty tang, a sadder and a wiser man, fitfully aware that there is, as it happens, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nobody gets out of here alive.Give it up everybody, for mr verge, a mind which has survived intact all that normalcy can throw at it.
"Normalcy" - now there's a broad church, with a multitude of sins in it: I'll be sure to wear my virtual teeshirt to mass.
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