my innermost sanctum

just because?

i know i'm a tad - ok, very - late but i have to speakth me two shilling's worth 'ere. just because she's erm, blue-marblewide famous, the paris store had to let her in? they ought to just because she's *famous*?

and then she decided to tell anyone who cared to listen it was pure racism on the part of the shopkeepers? so the next time i see her on the street, i ought to prostrate and kiss her feet?

hell, "who the fuck are you?" i'd utter and then i'd stand back and see if she'd ring her, erm, attorney.

and then later, we all see her make a song and [zulu war] dance about this obviously racist chink-lookin bird from the wee islet hurling the four-letter word at her - an iconic inspirational god-like representative of utterly repressed and/or abused bird's. bluemarble wide.

ain't there anyone out there who could go shut her gob for once?

the letter b's dictionary of wotsit

blowin one's own bagpipes: a tosser who sees it fit to broadcast the entire blue marble about their petty "achievements".

example of use: wee island youngling's these days have no shred of humility whatsoever. they justify their blowin their own bagpipes by claimin that their achievement's are no mean feat... blah yadda bollocks....

the truth about the glazer's

continuin where i left off:

the myth's are that all three sons are gnomeling's in disguise planning to pillage and plunder the entire english premiership. except chelski.

'nuff said.

twattin wimp's

see how they run:

so screamed the headline. they fled from the very folk whose loyalty and intelligence they massively insulted. if their intentions were honest, why didn't the cowardly glazer trio face the fan's in spite of? what were they afraid of? being beaten up, trampled upon, kicked in the face, horribly mutiliated, and then strung up?

they only made the situation worse with the police escortin them away. the copper's had nothin better to do than not mindin their own biz? witness the following piece of utterly splendid bollocks:

only until they have complete control of manyooo that they're now wanting to offer us "the truth"? what fuckin truth? that their father is an evil garden gnome after all? the evidence is all for there to see.

and some equally twattish US journo's over the month's were perplexed with the way manyoo fans reacted towards the takeover. it clearly shows the vast difference in mentality and attitude - or cultural gap - with regards to sport loyalty.

em yank's - and canuck's also - have no long-term loyalty towards a sport team, instead they follow the "stars" wherever they ply their trade. like, someone in new york could support a team from the other side of the country.

or that some muppet in toronto would follow whomever the fella who scored 100 goals in NHL during one season down south to San Jose. just because he was lured by the huge amount of dosh. and if this same whomever the fella was tempted with a bigger sum of dosh by a team in Minnesota by season's end, said muppet in toronto wouldn't mind spendin his hard-earned dosh - or probably buggin his parents - to go buy replica kits of that Minnesota team.

totally unlike us. innit? makes you wonder where their loyalty lies. or probably they have a completely different definition of the word "loyalty".

that's why i didn't quite understand em canuck's, nor they me at first. and then one of whom went on to say, "..well i guess you don't quite get it cos such doesn't happen here on the wee isle. 'cos it's so wee.."

of course, i didn't hesitate to sock her in the jaw reminded her that canada is a former british colony like the islet. except that somethin went awry somewhere.

sellin out?

ever since i started out the biz - and having americans as some of my customer's, i realised the need to have two versions of every document or article i prepare. that is, they are all saved with the file names:
1. "blahdocument - normal.doc"
2. "blahdocument - yank version.doc"

yeah, and disk[?!] space is definitely taken up.

well, moral of the story? never ever wind em up with lines like, "..yeah, at least we spell colour with the u intact.. oh and let me repeat this, it's *football* not soccer.. :p ".

it will return to haunt ye.

today's toons

fucked-up logic?

snooped around a blog of an ignorant expat bint of a bird, newly arrived 'ere on the wee islet to accompany her partner - erm, married to someone else - who's posted here.

started bloggin only to criticise just anything and everything about the islet, and it doesn't help matters that the title of each whinge must have the word SIN. which is airline terminology for the islet.

and which of course she takes pleasure in taking jibes at it. which methinks is a tad too much. yeah comin from me who also derive pleasure from takin potshot's at my fellow wee islander's.

the hypocrisy irony.

what got me goat is her queryin if wee islanders speak english to one another "on purpose" or "accidentally" - whatever that means - just because the islet appears chink to her, she wondered that by speakin english, the natives surely don't have any cultural identity whatsoever.

reet. so if i speak fluent welsh, that means i have no sense of cultural identity whatsoever. and worse if i happen to speak batak, navajo AND zulu as well. which makes me a complete fucked-up git.

so yers truly "explained" to her that english is the language of instruction at all school's 'ere. apart from it being a former british colony and that there are other races inhabiting this islet. besides, having malay neighbours doesn't warrant mandarin bein the national tongue.

now looking at that last statement, anyone with half a brain could somehow draw the conclusion that em ethnic chinks are not original inhabitant's - ie: of immigrant stock - innit?

no, not this bint. she told me that if i ain't chuffed with wot i read, i could very well fuck off. very polite that. and then get this, to another commenter, she replied that she was perplexed that there's a chinatown. given the majority chinese population 'ere. unlike in hong kong where she last stayed, the only "chinatown" she came across is a bar with that name.

this comin from someone who claimed to have a masters degree. and no, i'm not linking to her as i don't wish her to benefit the increase in readership.

also, it makes me wonder if she's somehow threatened by the fact that chink's here understand her rant's well. unlike em hongkonger's. not to mention, them shatterin the myth/image of the dirt-poor and dumb asians such that she could no longer speak english loudly and slowly like a complete spastic.

or hurlin a swear word or three at their direction's.

i said this 'cos i had encountered not a few western twats askin me, "why are you speakin english to each other? why don't you speak your singaporese [eh, wot the fuck is that? singaporese?? the bollock's they could come up with]"

my reply: "why, you've got a problem? or are you disappointed that there ain't no tales to regale your friends back home with imitations of our funny-accented engRish? twattin cunt."

oh yes, i lurve it when em delusional imperialist trash go blue in the face.

splutter

this bit just confirms my suspicion:

i hazard a guess that the erm, authoress has got this to say:

:: furs fly ::

the tie is dead...

long live the tie!

whilst during my first year in secondary school, sarcasm was hurled at my direction for being one of em few odd types enthusiastic enough to wear the school tie on assembly days. it got to the point one day that i replied, "well, at least i have a sense of decorum which is utterly important for anyone who wants to be respected in society."

and then everyone decided to put on the tie with "pride". twattin copycat cunt's.

in my own "country"?

i was at this mighty exclusive club for filthy rich *american and other expats [with whorish-lookin lowest of the lowly scum of asian wifey's and brattish half-breed bairn's in tow] and equally filthy rich wee islander's yesterday.

to meet my customers who even have to pay rent for office space, and renting of seminar rooms for talks or workshops.

ok, where was i? as there is a wee cafe, i thought perhaps i could have my lunch there innit. no i was wrong. dead wrong. purchase could only be made with the membership card. so i went up to the front desk [as opposed to *reception*] as told by the cafe worker to ask for coupon's. since she had already barcoded the items.

and what happened next was utterly ridiculous. i was told there and then: you ain't a member so you can't utilise any facility includin a cafe. regardless if your so famished that you could eat a horse.

yep. i could embarass meself in public create a scene if i want to but there was no point at all. 'cos it wouldn't get through the thick head of that lowest ranked employee. whatsoever. i was livid, but strangely calm enough to fire a volley back at said lowest ranked employee - if i could read the newspapers since i ain't a member.

and i wonder how these exact same lofty yank's would react if they are placed in exact same situation in a posh exclusive wee island club back home.

that is if such a club exists. well, knowing wot wee islander's are like, they'd wait for **someone else to set up and run it for 'em.

* note: they are mainly the CEO's, country manager's and other such wankin twats of regional head offices located on the wee islet.

** executive committee and public relations headed by a bunch of white fella's - ie: husband's of local bint's - administration run by indian's, front desk and such staffed with filipina's. and one could only find wee islander's on weekend's stuffin their mugs with food.

r.i.p yoyo

received news earlier this evening that my grans' dog passed away this morning.

he had been ill for about two weeks, as the rheumatism on its right hind leg worsened. x-ray results showed that his heart was enlarged as well but blood tests revealed nothing.

or so said my granma as she was quite rather incoherent. yoyo [that was wot his former owner named him] he seemed okay when he woke up but after my granpa fed him his medication, he went into his old "room" - as he'd been sleepin with them late last year - had a sniff around whilst limpin, went out, then stepped inside another connecting room before he laid down and then that was it.

yoyo was given to my gran's when he was a mere pup and that was six years ago. a mongrel, he was sweet-natured and very friendly [duh, ain't all dogs?], he even welcomed one of the neighbourhood cat's - also sweet-natured and rather brave for a moggy - to sleep beside him once. such that news spread far and wide amongst other stray's. apart from em both becomin best of friend's.

the last time i saw him was earlier this year during the lunar new year. and i don't know why but i found meself tearin moment's ago. anyhoo, here's a piccy of the lovely yoyo.

they called that "art"?

some of these so-called artistic types ought to be hung high up on the erm, may pole.

i'd like to think though that the chimp had a good belly larf after completin each "masterpiece". in case none of you's noticed, said chimp was a lefty.

appalled and aghast

how you's might react when you's read these extracts about the aftermath of nagasaki.

mighty waste of space

am i alone in thinkin that *most lawyer's are a bunch of fibbin wankin twat's?

and this twat did so when his secretary was away at her mother's funeral. it's really an utter crime against humanity to allow such amoebae to get this far in life.

*i said most as i don't want to get sued, that's why know a handful who don't represent the stereotype who also bonks around indiscriminately.

deja vu?

nicked without permission:

the mightily-crossed b

soz for the silence, people. no real reason as per the usual. except that i've had been rather annoyed with a couple of people.

yeah, can you's imagine that, i've been pissed with said couple of people for almost a week. not sure though if i'm too nice ::cough:: a person that said couple of people took advantage of my, erm, kindness. ::cough, cough::

the letter b's been taken advantage of? yeah, i can't even believe it meself. and the problem with me is when i'm utterly and completely crossed, i won't confront the idiot responsible for pissin me off. instead, i'd simmer until the matter gets blown out of proportion.

indeed, you's may wonder who the bigger idiot is, eh. don't get me wrong though, i'm always up for a confrontation. but not one which i know would not get much headway.

anyways, please excuse me whilst i go clear me noggin as i'm gettin all the more confused by my blabberin's. so do pardon me if i get you's all confused as well.

but in the meanwhile, keep yer eyes peeled. i may come up with somethin utterly brilliant. as per the usual.

gah!

sample the following conversation which took place this afternoon as the letter b's order for bangers and mash wasn't realised.

after waitin for half an hour, the letter b approached the manager to register her unhappiness accordingly. i mean, a hungry b is quite an angry b, innit.

please note however that the letter b was rather composed until said followin conversation took place. please note that a pair of *white* tourists who came in at about the same time as the letter b were served immediately. note emphasis:

the letter b [TLB]: i've been waiting for my order for half an hour..
cow of a manager [COM] with a blank stare: when you order?
TLB whose blood was about to boil: right after i stepped into here, at about ten to three
COM, still with same blank stare: 3:10
TLB was about to extend her arm to throttle COM but was strangely calm enough such that she tried pissin COM off instead: about ten to, quarter to three
COM, who looked more confused now: three something?
TLB, blood reaching boilin point, but still sounded calm: if we continue this mindless conversation, you will not be taking down my order, right?

and this comin from a supposed fluent-in-english well-educated youngling. as oft-boasted by the government to the blue marble at large.

today's toon

".. the name's ewe. myfanwy the ewe.."

never underestimate the sheep. especially welsh sheep:

escaped from the farm? or was it escapin from a shagger? anyhoo, i'm quite sure there are tale's like this of brave sheep. like the ewe myfanwy's. which probably met a horrifyin end.

i think.

splendid, that

spent a good part of my weekend watchin the dvd of this remake. and my goodness, it's been like exactly 27 year's ago that i first got hooked.

gasp! i meant the 27 year's bit.

as the series is not shown on this islet, i can't say if it's terribly brilliant but i was nevertheless impressed. especially bits that paid homage to the original. not to mention, realistic portrayal's of:
1. man rendered helpless when modern technology fails
2. planets that resemble the blue marble - down to the last blade of grass
3. bird's with massive ego's
4. man playing god and then he got his comeuppance

and oh, the dogfight's and the spacescape were almost akin to another favourite.

to think that i exclaimed "sacre bleu!" when i first heard about it. and that some character's transformed into bird's. but i'm not complainin now.

anyhoo, like back then, i had to drool over this fella. his being english - well, technically - is but a coincidence :D

the [not possible] turncoat b

as i was whingein about the latest distressin bollocks on how that greedy no-good but totally clueless wanker is destroying manyoooo further, me bro suggested that i channel my efforts to supportin his club thenceforth.

after all, he continued, i had the good fortune to shake paws with these legend's. yet decorum prevented me from approachin this geezer [who sort of inspired me to support manyooo] whilst workin at the ex-madhouse of a workplace. much less this le dieu. whose pawprint i failed to get whilst at the cliff.

well, no matter how much i adore liverpool - was mad enough to drape an autographed scarf on me work chair - i'd not abandon manyoo.

even if nothing is done to stop that evil garden gnome. in his tracks.

wee island idiosyncracies

an article by an expat who's obviously enamoured with the wee islet, wart's and all. so, sample the following perplexin bit:

said expat wasted whatever's left of his greycells pondering? methinks he's been out in the sun for far too long.

spoofed

was in a giggling fit whilst viewin this photoshopped image:

more from the gallery.

is nothin sacred anymore?

a restaurant servin squirrel pate has been inundated with death threat's.

what's next on the menu then? barbecued chipmunk's?

i've had thought about turning vegan but the thought of givin up chicken curry [with potatoes!] and tuna butties - amongst others - is unbearable.

spotted

on an advert for language learning, under the foreign languages heading - see emphasis:

and then the next heading - see emphasis, again:

and who should we contact then? an ethnic chink of a bint.

and i thought everyone on this islet is aware that malay is the national language. i'm so tempted to give said ethnic chink of a bint a ring for a clarification. but amoebae like em would *vehemently* deny that they are racist.

and then they'd inevitably bring up the bollocks about how the west "mistreat" asians - read chink's.

wee island idiosyncracies

only on this islet that feckless teenaged - and in a previous case, a 23-year-old "undergraduate" - chavette's chuck their newly-born bairn's out of windows of their flat's. or down rubbish-chute's.

and they usually quote post-traumatic stress as the "reason" for their behaviour.

really, life is very cheap on this islet. apart from lettin defective teenager's runnin around uncastrated.

today's toons

cunning bird's

i just don't get it with some bird's. you know, the average bimbo [anyone possesses less than an IQ of 130 qualifies as such] -but-is-actually-a-twattin-scheming-cunt-if-you-scratch-the-surface-knowwotimean? type who is a mighty waste of space.

so why am i ranting? i just feel the need to write this down, for posterity's sake. and that i'm really amazed how daft and easily misled fella's [i don't mean you's, my dear reader's unless your one of em - no offence meant] can be when the average bimbo-but-is-actually-a-twattin-scheming-cunt-if-you-scratch-the-surface-knowwotimean? turns on her "charm".

or tells em her fuckinly sad sob story. or how she couldn't cope with some tragedy that only seemed to befall on only her not anybody else on this wee blue marble. wimp's.

or more specifically, employs every trick in the book to get the bloody fool. coupled with ulterior motives of course. regardless if he's married, engaged, or simply not interested in these average bimbo-but-is-actually-a-twattin-scheming-cunt-if-you-scratch-the-surface-knowwotimean?, some even go to the extent of stayin in touch with the sad git's even though it's effin clear the relationship is off-limits.

like, a so-called happily married bird with "best" [or is it potential bed-?] mates on the side. or the hard-up twat textin that "good" friend of hers and who doesn't give a fuck if the missus chanced upon the text message. tsk, tsk, no sense of shame. and of course other such varieties which anyone with half a brain could even name.

and havin observed why these average bimbo-but-is-actually-a-twattin-scheming-cunt-if-you-scratch-the-surface-knowwotimean? for moon's, i could name the filmsy excuses [as opposed to reason's] behind their motive's. like, their otherhalf's ain't payin em much attention as before. or these otherhalf's aint as excitin in bed anymore. or simply because their target drives that posh car. or even that their particular target earns more dosh than their otherhalf's do in a year.

and they'd not give up until em daft and easily-misled fella's are finally trapped. hohoho.

see what i meant by filmsy excuses? call me a prude, but is there of any wonder how extra-marital affairs started? homo mongoloidis human's - both birds and blokes - being what they are, they will never be satisfied. especially those who possess less than an IQ of 130. no, let me rephrase that. especially those who don't have a shred of common sense and propriety. and dignity.

so the whole point of this rant? i wonder how these average bimbo-but-is-actually-a-twattin-scheming-cunt-if-you-scratch-the-surface-knowwotimean? could even sleep at night would react if the tables were turned.

and admittedly, i wonder how i would react if i face such a situation. without givin the impression to my fella that i'm some fuckin weaklin who has to resort to one of her birdly tantrum's. let me rephrase that: without any blood-lettin.

wot i'd really lurve to do...

1. run away from civilisation by settin up home in some mountainous cave dwellin. and then one fine day some lost adventurer comes a-callin, drops to his knees and proclaims loudly:
"..oh wise one, i've come to seek knowledge.."

indeed, you poor sod. knowledge you cannot seek. knowledge only comes to you.

2. pitch up a tent on the shores of loch ness, and then lay in wait for nessie to show up. and when it does, i'll get a t-shirt done with the words:
".. i came, i saw and i went utterly gobsmacked.. "

indeed, methinks it's about time for me to fuck off for a short well-deserved hols. but to do so means i have to leave my work for awhile.

which i can't afford to do so at this point. yet.

the useless b

apparently i can't go beyond two pint's of guinness anymore. i said this 'cos yesterday whilst at the local - for "tea" and then later the monthly canuck pub night - a sudden attack of the headache's hit moi. after about a pint and a half, mind.

the same happened last week whilst lunchin at the local. of course i'm frettin 'cos i used to down at least three to four pint's if and when i stayed up to about six hours. which worked out to an average of a pint per a couple of hours.

and i was there from quarter to four in the afternoon till about eleven yesterday. hopefully this totally unexpected quirk is temporary 'cos i can't imagine the reaction if i were to utter, "erm, soz mate, i don't think i'm up for another pint.."

::cue hoot's of derision::

garbled translation?

a standin ovation for some wee island "movie" - apart from successfully makin the misled audience weep - moved one of the actor's so much that he became so incoherent that i didn't quite comprehend the followin muttering's:

it's really amazin that such LCD's could garner instant success in places like cannes. but what's more amazin is the above piece of utter tosh saw the light of day on the equally LCD-ish news site.

a hasty retreat

sample the followin:

1. bits:

2. said transcript / bollocks from em sore loser's

3. erm, "disclaimer":

tsk, tsk. disgraceful. i meant #'s 1 and 2 above.

comin soon....

a cowboy & indian telly series. woot.

indeed, i'm lookin forward to watch the forthcomin film - if it ever comes to these shores that is - as em indian characters will be speakin in their own tongues. apart from re-igniting my interest in things native american.

and it's been many many many ::ad infinitum:: moon's ago since i last saw a decent western or three on the telly. which are these favourites.

i know, i'm that ancient.

comin soon..

tea grown in old blighty. and it's cornish. named, "single estate". go figure.

the letter b recommends...

marks & sparks organic camomile, limeflower and lavender tea. it has this soothin refreshin effect on jangly nerves. must be the lavender bits working its magic.

hmm. on second thoughts, it could be purely psychological.

searched

some amoeba came a-lookin to this fine site for, get this: amoebic slang

since said amoeba was allegedly from greece, i wonder if somethin was lost in translation.

to be fair, said amoeba's poor grasp of the english language isn't as appallin as most wee islander's. who thought it was nothing wrong whatsoever for shady intelligence "officers" to be appointed as senior journalist's.

homo mongoloidis.