Ooh ooh, Jerry Lewis died! QUICK, do go the Internet, find a Jerry Lewis autographed photo and SCAN IT! Make COPIES. Ha ha!
Oh, and maybe put DO NOT COPY on it to prevent OTHER parasites from doing the same! At least, they'll have to go on the Internet and find their OWN photo to download and copy. Ha ha!
It didn't take long did it? No, it sure didn't.
PS, NONE of them bothered to swipe and copy a Dick Gregory autographed photo. Nah, not worth spending twenty-five cents on the insertion fee if you're not 100% sure of a sale. Besides, parasites tend to be racists.
Planning a trip to New York City? What the FUCK for?
Are you that fond of humidity, urine, and being pestered by panhandlers? You like stinky Halal food wafting in your face from pushcart crazies on every street corner? You appreciate paying way too much for everything? You are fucking dumb enough to think some Broadway show with one hit song is worth $200 to sit through, with jerks talking all around you and waving cellphones and chomping on popcorn?
Meanwhile, even religious people are thinking they are God-forsaken thanks to big dumb blockheaded Mayor Bill De Lousio, who is more concerned with all the human scum who literally soil the streets, than the working middle class.
It's an all-too-common sight. Crazy homeless shits, who don't even WANT to better themselves and prefer taking drugs and pissing in the streets, flop all over streets in NICE neighborhoods. They know that NICE people are too well-mannered, to civilized, to kick ass or even yell "Get the fuck OUTTA here" at them.
The "First Ukrainian Assembly of God" doesn't have a large congregation. The ones from that part of the world who are doing well in Bill De Lousio's New York are members of the Russian Mafia. So, not a big surprise, the pastor of the church has to hold down a "real" job and so does his wife. The donations manage to pay the rent on the church, which isn't much. Many churches, even with tax breaks, literally sell out to greedy landlords, or they become MOSQUES.
Oh joy, one thing the fucking city LOVES to do is send around its retards to demand that unnecessary brickwork be done. Every year or two, landlords have to construct platforms and let 4 foot-tall jabbering maniacs from South America "re-point" bricks by rubbing taco grease on them.
Fortunately for the church, the New York Post hates De Lousio, and will run an article like this just to make him look bad. Or rather, look like he is. He's almost a fucking parody of a blockheaded Liberal, the type who will find something artistic in graffiti, and something praisworthy about rioting. ("There, who can blame them for getting violent! Good for them! They go after Asian fruit markets, Best Buy stores, shoe stores...they have no reason to come trash an office building, do they?")
The cops will say, "No, not our job." They'll be sarcastic about it. They'll make monkey faces. They'll downturn their lips and shake their heads, and say, "We're here to combat CRIME...not to babysit the homeless. Call us if there's a CRIME."
And Sanitation? "We're here to pick up trash off the street, not human garbage. If it can talk, we don't touch it."
As for the politicians, they hide. The interns hired to answer the phone read from the script: "Thank you for your call. We are aware of this problem, and are reaching out to the proper authorities. Good bye." And God Bless. Only God ain't blessing this Ukrainian church with anything but piss, shit and retards.
Ah yes, Shauna, if you want attention, do what THIS GIRL does...
"Hello everyone, I shave my twat like Taylor Swift! I have blonde hair. I am a very boring singer. Throw me a fiverrrrrrrr. It costs money to keep my twat shaved!"
PS, there are things that are degrading and that I will NOT do. I will NOT use a vocoder. I will not do karaoke while holding a wooden spoon and prancing around my kitchen. I will not allow my ridiculously garbled Irish accent to be recorded. I won't go on YouTube and do nothing but open packages from Amazon and leer into the camera. I will not pay $20 to stand next to a D-list celebrity or Saskia.
Our crack photographer Cilla Blackledge, sent in this photo, but the caption is strange.
It says: BITCHING TO HARTON
This might be a typo. It could be HITCHING TO BARTON.
It's not Cilla.
It might be some over-enthusiastic counter girl at Tesco, ready to get the smell of the store off her, and jump into some nearby river.
Asked for clarification Cilla replied, "Figure it out for yourself. I thought the prices at the Grimsby Telegraph were terrible, and the editors a bunch of autistic wombats. Don't YOU start giving me trouble. Just print what I give you and give me the fiverrrrrrrrrrrr."
Cilla's grandparents still live in North Yorkshire, so it's entirely possible she took a bus to a train to a cab to a bus, and caught this image on her way to Harton. That's one bitching looking girl. She couldn't possibly be hitching to Barton. She'd have to be retarded to want to do that. Or in desperate need of scoring drugs.
The Pity Party.
That's Farcebook. That's Twatter. That's the "Comments" section on some stealing blog. Let's all "say something nice" about somebody who DESERVES it.
How about a big fat useless slug who has the fucking nerve to say, "I am a good man. I should not be having such misery in my life." Aw. WHAT misery? This is a little prick who turns a slight pain in the ass (diverticulitis) into a life and death drama and an excuse for giving away a record stores' worth of downloads.
Nobody knows if this jerk is even married. He could be GAY. He probably IS, since he hates women, never offers music sung by women, and can only make infantile jokes about "Laura Bush." The jerk offered a photo of a swollen lip as proof he was "disfigured" and about to die. Right. He was SO about to die, he did his 158th "tombstone" or "sunset" blog photo, shut down the blog, then popped up a fresh one a day later.
Now he tells the world he's MUCH better. Which explains giving away everything Glen Campbell ever recorded. But in another day or two, he'll be at death's door again, moaning for pity and "nice" comments, and getting them. But they won't be enough. And on it goes.
And it goes on and on everywhere. Here's a whole bunch of people moaning, sobbing and offering condolences and comfort to poor Rosie:
So. What brought all this on? Why are people so anxious to act like Mother Theresa and Jesus Christ and Piers Morgan rolled into one?
Did somebody report a link on a blog she runs? No, actually it seems to be a legit complaint. The poor woman's NEPHEW died. That's a bit more of a pain in the ass than, say, a mild case of diverticulitis, which is often cured in a week or two.
Oh, well, NOW yer talking. This does seem pretty heinous, and not just anus, like The Crying Dutchman moaning about a swollen lip on his ugly puss.
Here's a pretty mean lookin' guy who KILLED somebody. Cold blooded murderer, obviously. Had no reason at all to kill the lovable nephew. Let's type out an RIP and add PRAYERS, too. But first...hmm...just curious...let's read about this case....
This is just the killer's side of the story, but it does seem like we have more of a "crime of passion" than an innocent nephew.
The nephew was fucking around with another man's woman. The woman got pregnant and couldn't figure out who the spawn might be.
Granted, a cooler head would've killed the bitch. But in "the anger of the moment," the guy shot down his rival. If this was a folk song, the crowd would be applauding. That's what you do, when some bastard dips his wick in your woman. You kill him.
It may not be the 21st Century PC thing to do, and since this ain't France, the guy WILL be going to jail for a while. But is the guy a MONSTER?
From this news article, it doesn't seem so. A true MONSTER kills for no reason. Like, a bar fight. Road rage. Discovering somebody uploaded copied and uploaded the link HE made an mp3 file of.
But people love to cluck their tongues, wring their hands, rub somebody's back, light a candle, and LEAVE A COMMENT.
The cops didn't find the knife. Well, somebody with a dagger, somebody with a rifle...that's not a fair fight to start with. But fucking somebody else's woman is also not the best way to start a romance. You say, "Hey, you have a twat I'd like to poke around in, with my penile member, so might I suggest that you leave the guy you are also holstering?" Otherwise, well, too bad. Too too bad. Too bad the bitch isn't dead too, and "The Monster" capping things off by making it a murder, murder suicide.
Bottom line, save your nice comments and your candles for the true innocents, and that's rarely someone who is past puberty.
Did you know there was a "porn star" memorabilia show in New Jersey?
You can bet overstuffed 60-year-old gay-virgin Huelbig wasn't there. Oh my my, here's a photo to have him gulping hard enough to swallow his little teeth:
Yes, Bill, YOU could have met Niki, had your photo taken with her, and gotten THIS photo for a tenner.
What's that, you say? You think a woman should leave a little to the imagination?
Yes, that would explain why your sister hasn't posed like this for you. Not lately. She already feels guilty over "playing doctor" when you were eight years old, and scaring you queer.
As strange as it seems, while there are no porn "stars" anymore, the vast array of brainless whores who sell their downloads at a dollar a minute, or do Skype and chats, or sell their stinky underwear by mail, THINK they are stars. So there's even conventions for totally unknown bints like Niki .
Males being morons, they pay just to stare, or maybe sniff. They lumber along the rows of tables, literally buying into the notion that they should pay for what most men DON'T. Most men don't PAY to sniff a laundry hamper, or own a photo of some stranger's twat that has some ink on it. (Ink on the photo, not the twat, although there probably IS a fetish for inky twats...)
But Huelbig was nowhere to be found. He was home watching re-run 3001 of 2001, while chomping on a bag of authentic "space food." Gosh, what a thrill, eating what the astronauts eat...which is really nothing but freeze dried fruit or meat. But if it's eaten by a HERO, a fucking ASTRONAUT, that's good enough for snorting, gurgling, grinning Huelbig. Never mind that the astronauts in space would prefer to eat whatever greasy crap some monkey at a fast food joint is chowing down on.
Oh. Here's good news. For those who aren't LUCKY enough to live in NEW JERSEY, or didn't know how to take the bus to the train to the bus to the train to the taxi to the obscure venue where this bint was signing her picture...low-budget EBAY pimps are ready to help.
No, you don't get the THRILL of actually seeing the bint in the flesh, or shyly saying, "Hello" and have her actually say "Hello" back. But the photo can be rhythmically admired (to borrow an Elvis Costello phrase). $10 and $4 postage! What a deal!
Look! Look! Paraphrasing Poe, "a hole within a hole." Which is sort of a description of Huelbig at home.
"I don't know how to ACT MY AGE," says Gary Brooker, "I've never BEEN this age!"
Ha ha! Spot on! Shine on! What ho!
Gary said this to a reporter for the Grimsby Telegraph, on his 100th birthday. There was a big cake on the table, but it turned out to be Geoff Whitehorn.
Gary had a bit of a young tart with him to celebrate! Stalwart lad, our Gary! Don't do anything our Roland Clare wouldn't do! (IE, have sex with old men!)
What a twat! (No, the one on the left).
Aren't you glad you told GOOGLE you wanted to see this?
