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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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13 comments:
revolution? just one question...
should we inform the inhabitants of the big bro house?
What I find so fascinating about this sort of thing is the volumes it speaks about those arrogant, self seeking, carpet baggers and shysters sitting there preening themselves and thinking they are going to feature in the annals (or anals) os history. (They are, but not for what they think!)
That carpet - a disgusting choice - would be rare in being enhanced by liberal blood staining. As for the village-plutocrat chandelier, with its cheap chromatic distortions, hanging them off it is the only thing it is good for.
A trivial thing, ornaments, you might say, but it illustrates adding the insult of devaluing wealth to the injury of extinguishing it.
14:07
agree the furnishing's fading fast, dg, but find your style awkwardly over-elaborated too. prefer the remorseless chromaticism of ishmael's alter-ghostnib, jazzy b.
My style is terrible, I agree, but then it is hard to be polished in one's fourth language. By contrast, trying to polish your mind, sparky, would be like....er...the idiomatic phrase escapes me...perhaps someone else can supply it.
i've reached a point in my career where i feel it is high-time to 'give something back to the community' and have recently begun to donate my humble services to a local charity. the experience has left me feeling immensely spiritually-rewarded and in a benevolent, even generous, kindera mood - consequently i'll give you the benefit of the doubt on lingo number one.:
1. language of luv
2. bad language
3. some weird obscure tribal mother-tongue incomprehensible to anyone born outside a 2-mile radius of your native village
4. english
based on the evidence of your exemplary grasp of english grammar and your prodigious vocabulary, i can but conclude that you must be a fucking good fuck.
22:42
to avoid any unsolicited confusion may i make it absolutely clear that the above appraisal of the dyer's garden's prowess was addressed to the dyer's garden and not that stubborn little weed, spark up.
17:04
where there's muck there's mental roses. now go mind your own turd. and as for your head, try beeswax.
Dear Mr Jo/Josephina/Conrod/Spark up/Fucked up,
Mr The Dyers Garden is one of the finer examples of the success of our Care in the Community programme. Although progress in such sad cases is undoubtedly slow, we here in the Land of Ishmael are encouraged that a severe relapse has thus far been avoided. We all try to do our bit, but you must appreciate it's a very fine balancing act between constructive criticism and sending the poor bastard over the edge, again. You seem like a nice boy/girl/whatever so I know you will wish to bear this in mind, in future.
i trust the dyer's garden contains some woad.
Sparky makes a fair point, Jo, and when one is as disastrously and self-evidently a failure as he is, one needs whatever psychological crutch one can find - why deny him this one?
As for Daisy, I am delighted to give her the opportunity to display such incisive, original, and fluidly inventive wit. Every phrase takes you by surprise: watch, readers, and learn.
23:08
kein problem. i have practised in this field over many years, treated some highly renowned patients and can boast a 100% success rate. rest assured, those who know me can attest to the fact that i am very tactful with nutters.
Dear Mr Spark plug,
You weren't the one seen coming out the back of No 10 today, wearing a white coat, were you?
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