Thursday
Monday
Putting on the Trump
Stop The Steal!
Grammer Lessin # 45
The Collective Noun
A collective noun is a word or phrase that refers to a group of people or things as one entity.
Collective nouns represent more than one person or thing in a class.
Examples of common collective nouns used for animals:
A flock of birds.
A pod of whales.
A herd of deer.
A hive of bees.
A litter of puppies.
A murder of crows.
A pack of hounds.
A deplorable of Trumpers
Saturday
In the not-too-distant future when The Tutor and I end up in Hell (1), either by arriving separately or as a couple, we have agreed on what we will do first:
We'll seek out these three cunts:
Captain Susumi Hoshijima
We'll no doubt have to wait for an eternity in a very long queue of Anzacs, but it will be worth it to kick these fuckers in their very small Asian testicles.
(1) Probably as a result of a hastily arranged and surreptitious murder/suicide pact.
UPDATE
"In the above note (1), you can dispense with the word 'probably' my little manslayer, you're fooling no one."
The Tutor
Tuesday
Oh Dear
"All vaccinations recognised as clinically safe and effective can be used in good conscience with the certain knowledge that the use of such vaccines does not constitute formal co-operation with the abortion from which the cells used in production of the vaccines derive," the Vatican's Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith announced in a statement on Monday.
Dogma is all well and good, until it becomes rather inconvenient.
Friday
White People?
I have heretofore believed white folk just don't do good music.
Then I found this:
And I also believed white folk just can't dance - then I found this:
Fuck me! Even The Tutor can't do this! Unless of course he starts to St. Vitus dance while taking valproic acid. Innit?
Sunday
À la recherche de la vie folle perdu
https://www.youtube.com/embed/78rkVAHuLTU
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p47fEXGabaY
P.S. Using Google Translate, translate the title of this post into Spanish. Then into English
Wednesday
Sad Times Indeed
I reckon the first thing Diego is going to do when he arrives is seek out the person in charge and thank her for that hand she gave him back on June 22, 1986 against those hapless Engerlander cunts.
Innit?
Sic Transit Gloria Mundi!
Sunday
Stercore foraminis
It's a shame that President Trump isn't the president of one of those countries in that shithole-of-a-continent, Africa. On November 3, he would have won all of the possible Electoral College Votes available to win while simultaneously garnering 98.7 percent of the popular vote!
And.....
The result of the vote would have been known in it's entirety on November 2!
Tuesday
S.C.R.O.T.U.S.
Despite her being a child abuser(1) and an over-all cunt, ya gotta admit: 'Amy Coney Barrett' is a great name for a Justice in the Supreme Court of the 'Probably-not-ever-going-to-be-great-again' (2) United States of America.
Innit?
(1) Raising a child as a catholic, even in a lax catholic environment, is a proven form of child abuse.
(2) Best y'all start learnin' Mandarin.
Be sure to click on the title.
P.S. If'in' she does gets herself confirmed, y'all can kiss Roe v. Wade goodbye. I reckon, however, there'll be plenty of bucks to be made in the Frozen Wastelands of Soviet Canuckistan by opening a few more border-hugging 'No Foetus Can Beat Us' and 'You Make 'em...We Scrape 'em'' Franchises. Innit? The Tutor and I are already taking classes, just in case, to learn how to speak 'American' so we might be understood by those poor Yankee souls.
Friday
This City Was Built On ............
White folks just don't do good music,
Innit?
Thursday
Love's Lost
A lot more of me than I care to admit, not to mention ill afford to lose, died today.
I am sad.
I reckon V.D., assuming she has heard the news, is wallowing vulva-deep in the bliss of schadenfreude and epicaricacy at my melancholy.
Tuesday
Sordid In A Rakish Way
I will now regale you with tales of such cosmopolitan loucheness, such mindless consumption, that you will be without doubt that I am horribly clever.
Treatise On Drinking
My preferred tipple is a White Russian which I consume with relish through a transparent straw. A White Russian is a woefully cheerful concoction of Vodka, Kahlua - or Tia Maria if you have access to the sideboard of an elderly relative. They will have bought a bottle in 1971, and it will be there and potable still - and cream – or milk if you've got ‘Bad’ cholesterol issues. Ice, if you like.
I drink it because I believe it to be very nutritious, and it saves time - you know, sitting down, eating, experiencing the horrors of digestion, that sorta thing.
The transparent straw is by my own special arrangement; some men find it mesmerizing.
Beauty is all very well and good, but one becomes rather bored after it's been in the house for three days. Innit?
Treatise On Drinking
My preferred tipple is a White Russian which I consume with relish through a transparent straw. A White Russian is a woefully cheerful concoction of Vodka, Kahlua - or Tia Maria if you have access to the sideboard of an elderly relative. They will have bought a bottle in 1971, and it will be there and potable still - and cream – or milk if you've got ‘Bad’ cholesterol issues. Ice, if you like.
I drink it because I believe it to be very nutritious, and it saves time - you know, sitting down, eating, experiencing the horrors of digestion, that sorta thing.
The transparent straw is by my own special arrangement; some men find it mesmerizing.
Beauty is all very well and good, but one becomes rather bored after it's been in the house for three days. Innit?
Mens sibi conscia pudendum
Me: "You have drawn and sketched me near on a thousand times, Bilious.
With this monomania you have finally succeeded in giving me the 'unworldly simplicity and purity of aspect' I most assuredly deserve. Are we happy?"
The Tutor: "Anything for you, Guggums!"
With this monomania you have finally succeeded in giving me the 'unworldly simplicity and purity of aspect' I most assuredly deserve. Are we happy?"
The Tutor: "Anything for you, Guggums!"
Turritopsis dohrnii
Me: "Do you think Alphonse Mucha could have made me immortal too?"
The Tutor: "Probably. In La Belle Époque even Les Fleurs du Mal such as yourself were capable of being immortalized.
Me: "I am 'un nouveau frisson' indeed!"
Greenpeace Has No Financial Acumen
Oh dear!
Greenpeace sucks at Foreign Currency speculation.
https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2014/jun/16/greenpeace-loses-3m-pounds-currency-speculation
I sent the following email to them:
Dear Greenpeace Folks,
I was sorry to hear of your recent losses as a consequence of ill-advised Fiscal 2013 Euro exchange contracts. Perhaps this rogue staff member in your International Finance unit at Amsterdam HQ was just a little too "ecological" and not enough "capitalist" in her/his approach?
In the future, may I suggest that y'all concentrate on your strengths, like saving the Earth and its denizens, and leave the financial stuff to those of us showing excessive talent in raping it and them? And by 'it' and 'them', I mean the Earth and its denizens.
If you insist on playing with the filthy capitalist pigs, may I suggest investing in Pipelines and Big Oil? You can't go wrong! Or even in the newly robust Canadian baby Harp seal collection businesses - they's goin' gangbusters of late - you know with very inexpensive Made-In-China Baby Seal truncheons available at every corner convenience store now.
Yins are sure to recoup your current losses in no time at all. Here's an insider tip for you, Faroe Islands Cetacean Rendering Inc. is about to list on the NASDAQ in this year's most anticipated IPO.
Under the ever-so-cute sticker symbol, "MOBY", this FICR Inc. - pronounced "fish-cry" or "fuckery" - is sure to return 50 to 100 percent after its first day of trading alone.
Greenpeace sucks at Foreign Currency speculation.
https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2014/jun/16/greenpeace-loses-3m-pounds-currency-speculation
I sent the following email to them:
Dear Greenpeace Folks,
I was sorry to hear of your recent losses as a consequence of ill-advised Fiscal 2013 Euro exchange contracts. Perhaps this rogue staff member in your International Finance unit at Amsterdam HQ was just a little too "ecological" and not enough "capitalist" in her/his approach?
In the future, may I suggest that y'all concentrate on your strengths, like saving the Earth and its denizens, and leave the financial stuff to those of us showing excessive talent in raping it and them? And by 'it' and 'them', I mean the Earth and its denizens.
If you insist on playing with the filthy capitalist pigs, may I suggest investing in Pipelines and Big Oil? You can't go wrong! Or even in the newly robust Canadian baby Harp seal collection businesses - they's goin' gangbusters of late - you know with very inexpensive Made-In-China Baby Seal truncheons available at every corner convenience store now.
Yins are sure to recoup your current losses in no time at all. Here's an insider tip for you, Faroe Islands Cetacean Rendering Inc. is about to list on the NASDAQ in this year's most anticipated IPO.
Under the ever-so-cute sticker symbol, "MOBY", this FICR Inc. - pronounced "fish-cry" or "fuckery" - is sure to return 50 to 100 percent after its first day of trading alone.
Guaranteed!
Successful finance and attendant profit is an ugly business.
Why fight 'em when you can easily join 'em?
Regards,
Pudenda Non Grata
No response so far and no sense of humour either it would seem.
Why fight 'em when you can easily join 'em?
Regards,
Pudenda Non Grata
No response so far and no sense of humour either it would seem.
Sunday
De Haut En Bas
The Tutor: "My not-so-little missy, the model for Zulily full-figure accoutrement that you are, I must inform you."
Me: "Another 'de haut en bas' prognostication from above?"
The Tutor: "Yes. If I might write something so obtuse and abstract that it could not be understood or at least, falsified, then I am not writing anything of import. I stake my reputation on being true to the world as it is. My great fear of intellectuals is a result of their propensity for abstraction and deracination – abstraction in their thinking and deracination in their lives."
Me: "Nonsense! Did you not deracinate me from Myanmar and a life of poverty and is your white-boy sexy-talk not certainly an abstraction?"
The Tutor: "Your response appears to be full of the empty abstraction referred to above, and without any intellectual content. And don't bother pointing out that my response doesn't have much of the latter either."
Me: "You needn't worry that I might point out anything. Phrasal verbs are an abomination unto the lesser known deities - especially those ending in a preposition(the verbs, not the deities).
Employing as you have, and then with certain egregious malice of intent actually concluding, a horrid phrasal verb with a vile preposition is something up with which Sir Winston and I will not put. As for the quantity and quality of the latter, to which you referred earlier, I would never be so presumptuous to comment - I knows me my place, I does. As to the former, to which you do not refer in the above, however, our word salads are awash in it. But as far as empty abstraction goes, it's some of the best! Innit?"
Me: "Another 'de haut en bas' prognostication from above?"
The Tutor: "Yes. If I might write something so obtuse and abstract that it could not be understood or at least, falsified, then I am not writing anything of import. I stake my reputation on being true to the world as it is. My great fear of intellectuals is a result of their propensity for abstraction and deracination – abstraction in their thinking and deracination in their lives."
Me: "Nonsense! Did you not deracinate me from Myanmar and a life of poverty and is your white-boy sexy-talk not certainly an abstraction?"
The Tutor: "Your response appears to be full of the empty abstraction referred to above, and without any intellectual content. And don't bother pointing out that my response doesn't have much of the latter either."
Me: "You needn't worry that I might point out anything. Phrasal verbs are an abomination unto the lesser known deities - especially those ending in a preposition(the verbs, not the deities).
Employing as you have, and then with certain egregious malice of intent actually concluding, a horrid phrasal verb with a vile preposition is something up with which Sir Winston and I will not put. As for the quantity and quality of the latter, to which you referred earlier, I would never be so presumptuous to comment - I knows me my place, I does. As to the former, to which you do not refer in the above, however, our word salads are awash in it. But as far as empty abstraction goes, it's some of the best! Innit?"
The Flying Buttress
The Tutor: "Ouch! Why the fuck did you do that?"
Me: "An experiment."
The Tutor: "You probably broke my nose and maybe even my jaw. What the fuck?"
Me: "I'm testing the 'Protective Buttressing Hypothesis'. You'd suck at fighting for access to my carnal attentions and for the resources I most assuredly deserve."
The Tutor: "If it came to that, little missy, my 'flight-or-fight' response would come to the fore.
The general discharge of my sympathetic nervous system would favour the former response."
Me: "An experiment."
The Tutor: "You probably broke my nose and maybe even my jaw. What the fuck?"
Me: "I'm testing the 'Protective Buttressing Hypothesis'. You'd suck at fighting for access to my carnal attentions and for the resources I most assuredly deserve."
The Tutor: "If it came to that, little missy, my 'flight-or-fight' response would come to the fore.
The general discharge of my sympathetic nervous system would favour the former response."
Good Neighbours
A scholar who had heard Jesus' commandment to love his neighbour as himself, and who lived in a crowded tenement, feared lest his love might be spread too thinly to do any noticeable good. He therefore approached Jesus one day and asked, "Rabbi, who is my neighbour?
"Jesus said, "A man was travelling on foot from Jerusalem to Jericho, trusting in God to protect him on the dangerous roads. On a particularly trustworthy stretch of public highway, he was set upon by thieves who beat him senseless and took everything he had, including his clothes
"After some little time, a Levite approached and saw the man's unconscious form; and, bethinking himself of the peril he was in, hurried on his way. Later a Pharisee came along and, crossing to the other side of the road lest any groans disturb his virtuous meditations, fled from the spot as fast as he could go.
"Then a Samaritan came along and saw the man. The Samaritan gave the man water, bound up his wounds, wrapped him in his best blankets and set him on his own camel. He took the victim to an inn and paid the proprietor generously to look after him, promising more should the man be well again when the Samaritan returned that way in a few days' time.
Now," said Jesus, "in the eyes of God, who was the best neighbour to that man?"
The scholar shifted feet and averted his gaze, and fiddled with his robe; but he could not escape Jesus' meaning. "The Samaritan, I suppose," he mumbled at last.
"Far from it," said Jesus. "In the eyes of God, the man's best neighbours were the men who robbed him. They relieved him of the spiritual burden of his worldly goods, and they failed to deposit him in the Lord's paradisiac bosom only through excusable haste."
"Jesus said, "A man was travelling on foot from Jerusalem to Jericho, trusting in God to protect him on the dangerous roads. On a particularly trustworthy stretch of public highway, he was set upon by thieves who beat him senseless and took everything he had, including his clothes
"After some little time, a Levite approached and saw the man's unconscious form; and, bethinking himself of the peril he was in, hurried on his way. Later a Pharisee came along and, crossing to the other side of the road lest any groans disturb his virtuous meditations, fled from the spot as fast as he could go.
"Then a Samaritan came along and saw the man. The Samaritan gave the man water, bound up his wounds, wrapped him in his best blankets and set him on his own camel. He took the victim to an inn and paid the proprietor generously to look after him, promising more should the man be well again when the Samaritan returned that way in a few days' time.
Now," said Jesus, "in the eyes of God, who was the best neighbour to that man?"
The scholar shifted feet and averted his gaze, and fiddled with his robe; but he could not escape Jesus' meaning. "The Samaritan, I suppose," he mumbled at last.
"Far from it," said Jesus. "In the eyes of God, the man's best neighbours were the men who robbed him. They relieved him of the spiritual burden of his worldly goods, and they failed to deposit him in the Lord's paradisiac bosom only through excusable haste."
Tyrannicide
"A respected Left-Wing blogger has said it would be morally justified for a suicide bomber to murder the President.
"Blowing up the President is a thorny potato: it has its pros and cons. I see that Fox Television has come down very firmly on the 'Don’t blow up the Pesident' side of the fence, no doubt they feel the time is not ripe, but there are strong arguments to be made on both sides.
No one would seriously deny that the President should to be put to death, but after a fair trial. You can’t just go blowing people up willy-nilly. Sorry, Abdul, but that’s not how we do things over here. You have to go through the proper channels.
But what if the trial drags on for years? What if the President escapes to his Golf Course in Ireland and cheats the noose? There is always that risk. Others would argue that blowing him up will only give him the publicity he craves.
Opinion on whether we should assassinate the President has become dangerously polarized in recent months. It is time to take a step back and consider these questions calmly and dispassionately. And let us focus on the things that unite us, not those which divide us. At the end of the day, it is a matter of individual conscience whether one assassinates the President.
"Blowing up the President is a thorny potato: it has its pros and cons. I see that Fox Television has come down very firmly on the 'Don’t blow up the Pesident' side of the fence, no doubt they feel the time is not ripe, but there are strong arguments to be made on both sides.
No one would seriously deny that the President should to be put to death, but after a fair trial. You can’t just go blowing people up willy-nilly. Sorry, Abdul, but that’s not how we do things over here. You have to go through the proper channels.
But what if the trial drags on for years? What if the President escapes to his Golf Course in Ireland and cheats the noose? There is always that risk. Others would argue that blowing him up will only give him the publicity he craves.
Opinion on whether we should assassinate the President has become dangerously polarized in recent months. It is time to take a step back and consider these questions calmly and dispassionately. And let us focus on the things that unite us, not those which divide us. At the end of the day, it is a matter of individual conscience whether one assassinates the President.
Finish It!
God, if there is one thing I fucking hate it is people who make a virtue out of being “self destructive”.
“Ooh, that’s just me, that is. As soon as things start to go well, I just find myself pressing the “destroy” button and it all goes wrong. There was I with the wife and a great job, and I just jacked it all in because I couldn’t handle happiness”.
Or
“fame is so hard, all that money and hot chicks wanting to sleep with me, I’d better be an arsehole, just in case anyone thinks I am not being self destructive”.
There’s a name for these sort of people and it begins with a C. Cunts. Fucking cunts. People who can’t just fucking get on with being ordinary, who have to excuse their moronic, attention seeking fuck ups with a stupid name. “self destructive” Fuck off and finish the job then you muppet. Oh, no, you can’t because finishing yourself off would constitute a success, and that wouldn’t be “self destructive” enough of you would it. Fuck me. And how is it “art” to dick yourself around just enough to keep life and limb together, but not quite enough to stop being a total drain on the world, and the emotions of anyone who crosses your miserable path. Fuck I hate those bastards. Women readers listen to me. If your boyfriend is a “self destructive” person, always just falling short of usefulness or fucking things up in order to look like a tortured poet, kick him in the nuts, shag his dad and nick his wallet. Give him something real to whine about the little bollocks.
Vagina Dentata
VD is right!
My god is she not magnificent when she is really angry? I think what got her going was Robbie Williams, he is always on about being self destructive. I wish he would just get on with destroying himself and stop whining about the process. A shotgun operated with your toes would do the job very nicely, Mr Williams. Anything to spare us any more of his irritating, babyish songs. By the way, I know a famous Irish actor who knows Robbie Williams and says he is definitely gay. There was a time when people thought George Michael wasn't gay, can you believe that?
Bilious Pudenda
“Ooh, that’s just me, that is. As soon as things start to go well, I just find myself pressing the “destroy” button and it all goes wrong. There was I with the wife and a great job, and I just jacked it all in because I couldn’t handle happiness”.
Or
“fame is so hard, all that money and hot chicks wanting to sleep with me, I’d better be an arsehole, just in case anyone thinks I am not being self destructive”.
There’s a name for these sort of people and it begins with a C. Cunts. Fucking cunts. People who can’t just fucking get on with being ordinary, who have to excuse their moronic, attention seeking fuck ups with a stupid name. “self destructive” Fuck off and finish the job then you muppet. Oh, no, you can’t because finishing yourself off would constitute a success, and that wouldn’t be “self destructive” enough of you would it. Fuck me. And how is it “art” to dick yourself around just enough to keep life and limb together, but not quite enough to stop being a total drain on the world, and the emotions of anyone who crosses your miserable path. Fuck I hate those bastards. Women readers listen to me. If your boyfriend is a “self destructive” person, always just falling short of usefulness or fucking things up in order to look like a tortured poet, kick him in the nuts, shag his dad and nick his wallet. Give him something real to whine about the little bollocks.
Vagina Dentata
VD is right!
My god is she not magnificent when she is really angry? I think what got her going was Robbie Williams, he is always on about being self destructive. I wish he would just get on with destroying himself and stop whining about the process. A shotgun operated with your toes would do the job very nicely, Mr Williams. Anything to spare us any more of his irritating, babyish songs. By the way, I know a famous Irish actor who knows Robbie Williams and says he is definitely gay. There was a time when people thought George Michael wasn't gay, can you believe that?
Bilious Pudenda