OH MY GOD! I ACTUALLY CRIED WITH LAUGHTER! This is just the best. I didn't even read past the third line.
Which post you're talking about?
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scrambled transmissions from the gutter... (3 Viewers)
- Thread starter Lo-Pan
- Start date
OH MY GOD! I ACTUALLY CRIED WITH LAUGHTER! This is just the best. I didn't even read past the third line.
Which post you're talking about?
Buy on AliExpress.com
Thankfully, you cannot speak for Everyone. In England, or anywhere else. As for the kind of people who enjoy open self expression, i don't think there is a kind. More just people who appreciate been connected to a drunk poet, and the kind of trauma they constantly create, write about, then hopefully banish, and those who simply don't. The reason I enjoy presently, and have always enjoy in my working life, a job which pays me to literally, speak with people, show them who and what i am, and find out the same of them, with the only major rule :BE NICE, SO THEY COME BACK, AND MAYBE BUY SOMETHING. In england, the only position I found which affords me freedom, as in, all I have to do is be nice to people, is as a fishmonger/butcher. And in 7 years of such a role, shared between Kent/Brighton and Manchester, I am well aware that not everyone is eager to interact with strangers, but many are...Also, when it comes to a forum, its much easier to moderate, than for a government to moderate a country.
Its more the most rugged, least educated people I am close to, who appreciate my tendency towards the dramatic, and my openness, than the educated suits...who exist, for more of their lives, in a work environment which demands deceit, control of emotions, manipulation of others.
Reading back over some of my words...I should apologize to Azzurri, for my drunken rhyme was too much, too vicious, and I have no seething hatred for the lad. If anything I see him as...youthfully sweet. Especially in his unwavering devotion to Del Piero! And why not eh??? I lived many years with a huge poster of our captain on my wall, his name on many Juve shirts, and have defended him savagely, when my english mates have mocked him...so i can relate to his stance.
Its more the most rugged, least educated people I am close to, who appreciate my tendency towards the dramatic, and my openness, than the educated suits...who exist, for more of their lives, in a work environment which demands deceit, control of emotions, manipulation of others.
Reading back over some of my words...I should apologize to Azzurri, for my drunken rhyme was too much, too vicious, and I have no seething hatred for the lad. If anything I see him as...youthfully sweet. Especially in his unwavering devotion to Del Piero! And why not eh??? I lived many years with a huge poster of our captain on my wall, his name on many Juve shirts, and have defended him savagely, when my english mates have mocked him...so i can relate to his stance.
Maybe this will appeal to the minority who enjoy colourful writing...
'its kicking off outside’ Sam whispered from a solemn mouth. I hadn’t seen much of Grant when I had arrived at the pub, but I knew instinctively that he was involved in whatever was about to erupt outside. For many a moon I have had a boyish desire to see my gladiator brother in Action on the Battlefield. This was the chance…
Turning to Richy, I implored the gargantuan beast to accompany me into the fray. But he wasn’t interested. Not because he was nervous of physical conflict. Far from it…He simply surmised that if they wanted to fight, better to just let them get on with it. He knew they would be OK…As the more boisterous of the crowd can handle themselves against all but the most brutal of adversaries…Had he thought for a second that one of his brethren was about to get done, he would have been out the door, cleaning up the mess. Through pacification of the crisis, a paternal peacemaker role, unless the situation had grown severe enough to warrant an all out assault on anyone appearing to cause grievous harm to those close to him.
Without big Richy, I strode outside to find Grant standing alone, smoking a rollie, his eyes glancing towards a crowd of lads who were in the street nearby. Tried to ask him what was what, but I only got grunts in response…Suddenly, as Sam had predicted, it all kicked off. Grant was gone, diving fist first into the sea of vermin he had earmarked for destruction. Before I could gather my senses, mad Mike and Jaime the mercenary flew into attack…Soon enough I caught sight of Grant, who had momentarily extricated himself from the competition whilst his pugilist comrades continued to trade punches with The Enemy…
I ran to Grant, trying, in vain, to persuade him to Leave Things Be. I wasn’t at all worried about his well being, but I was mildly concerned of the possibility of arrest and also the very real danger of my own body getting drawn into the bloodlust, and Grant having to alter his aims to rescue me…His eyes were locked onto one face in the crowd. Every word I shouted into his skull was absorbed and ignored. He had tunnel vision. Following his prey like a hyena in the Sahara stalking a wilder beast, he stood motionless, unflinching as the war raged on around him. The window of opportunity arrived. Striding in, raising his right fist like a hammer, he hit home with a crunching blow which knocked the target to the floor…By this point, Richy the Peacemaker had arrived on the Scene. Mike and Jaime pulled back, having given a lot more than they had received, and I was swept away in a human wave of friendly giants…
Despite the wounds sustained by the opposition, they were baying for more. And More is what they will get the next time they cross paths with General Grant and his loyal troops. He isn’t looking for Trouble. But the tool who had upset the balance of Grant’s head and heart was not amongst those who got stomped. His time will come. Of that I am sure…I have known a few rugged brawlers over the years, most of whom adopted a berserker routine when words had failed and Beating someone to a pulp seemed the best way forward. Grant, from this one fight I have witnessed, is a calculating fighter. Choosing and delivering his moves with a certain élan which offers the spectator much delight, unless that is, the spectator is an ally of the dazed and bloody mess left in Grant’s wake…
I have always respected rough justice artists. There is very little Justice available through the legal system in this country and the world as a whole. People literally get away with murder and other cold blooded callous abuses of the liberty of the Innocent constantly go unpunished…So I offer heavy reverence to those characters who take matters into their own hands and deal with Trouble when it comes, in their own way. The Warrior Spirit. It rages wildly in Grant.
I am no tough guy. And during the brief altercation which took place last Friday, my behaviour was closer to that of an excitable Mother Theresa than Muhammed Ali, as is often the case when I am not personally threatened but remain loosely involved due to friends…Though, I do have the inclination towards Spitefulness, without doubt, when forced into a corner, but my record as a scrapper stands, thus far, as wretchedly inglorious. Won one by fluke at primary school then got miserably pasted in the following six…Neither a coward nor the kind of chap you need in times of savage need. The best I can offer is Loyalty. I have often pondered that it is a Good thing that I am not handy with my knuckles because the Sicilian blood which courses through my veins becomes hot at the mildest hint of irritation. If I was like Grant, built of granite and fearless, by now I would be in prison or dead…
'its kicking off outside’ Sam whispered from a solemn mouth. I hadn’t seen much of Grant when I had arrived at the pub, but I knew instinctively that he was involved in whatever was about to erupt outside. For many a moon I have had a boyish desire to see my gladiator brother in Action on the Battlefield. This was the chance…
Turning to Richy, I implored the gargantuan beast to accompany me into the fray. But he wasn’t interested. Not because he was nervous of physical conflict. Far from it…He simply surmised that if they wanted to fight, better to just let them get on with it. He knew they would be OK…As the more boisterous of the crowd can handle themselves against all but the most brutal of adversaries…Had he thought for a second that one of his brethren was about to get done, he would have been out the door, cleaning up the mess. Through pacification of the crisis, a paternal peacemaker role, unless the situation had grown severe enough to warrant an all out assault on anyone appearing to cause grievous harm to those close to him.
Without big Richy, I strode outside to find Grant standing alone, smoking a rollie, his eyes glancing towards a crowd of lads who were in the street nearby. Tried to ask him what was what, but I only got grunts in response…Suddenly, as Sam had predicted, it all kicked off. Grant was gone, diving fist first into the sea of vermin he had earmarked for destruction. Before I could gather my senses, mad Mike and Jaime the mercenary flew into attack…Soon enough I caught sight of Grant, who had momentarily extricated himself from the competition whilst his pugilist comrades continued to trade punches with The Enemy…
I ran to Grant, trying, in vain, to persuade him to Leave Things Be. I wasn’t at all worried about his well being, but I was mildly concerned of the possibility of arrest and also the very real danger of my own body getting drawn into the bloodlust, and Grant having to alter his aims to rescue me…His eyes were locked onto one face in the crowd. Every word I shouted into his skull was absorbed and ignored. He had tunnel vision. Following his prey like a hyena in the Sahara stalking a wilder beast, he stood motionless, unflinching as the war raged on around him. The window of opportunity arrived. Striding in, raising his right fist like a hammer, he hit home with a crunching blow which knocked the target to the floor…By this point, Richy the Peacemaker had arrived on the Scene. Mike and Jaime pulled back, having given a lot more than they had received, and I was swept away in a human wave of friendly giants…
Despite the wounds sustained by the opposition, they were baying for more. And More is what they will get the next time they cross paths with General Grant and his loyal troops. He isn’t looking for Trouble. But the tool who had upset the balance of Grant’s head and heart was not amongst those who got stomped. His time will come. Of that I am sure…I have known a few rugged brawlers over the years, most of whom adopted a berserker routine when words had failed and Beating someone to a pulp seemed the best way forward. Grant, from this one fight I have witnessed, is a calculating fighter. Choosing and delivering his moves with a certain élan which offers the spectator much delight, unless that is, the spectator is an ally of the dazed and bloody mess left in Grant’s wake…
I have always respected rough justice artists. There is very little Justice available through the legal system in this country and the world as a whole. People literally get away with murder and other cold blooded callous abuses of the liberty of the Innocent constantly go unpunished…So I offer heavy reverence to those characters who take matters into their own hands and deal with Trouble when it comes, in their own way. The Warrior Spirit. It rages wildly in Grant.
I am no tough guy. And during the brief altercation which took place last Friday, my behaviour was closer to that of an excitable Mother Theresa than Muhammed Ali, as is often the case when I am not personally threatened but remain loosely involved due to friends…Though, I do have the inclination towards Spitefulness, without doubt, when forced into a corner, but my record as a scrapper stands, thus far, as wretchedly inglorious. Won one by fluke at primary school then got miserably pasted in the following six…Neither a coward nor the kind of chap you need in times of savage need. The best I can offer is Loyalty. I have often pondered that it is a Good thing that I am not handy with my knuckles because the Sicilian blood which courses through my veins becomes hot at the mildest hint of irritation. If I was like Grant, built of granite and fearless, by now I would be in prison or dead…
.To you, I am not a writer, to some I am. Its as simple as that.
Its actually a pleasing thing for people who I dislike, to dislike me. I would be worried if those I hated, found warmth for me.
I have zero eagerness to try win your praise, nor even to play virtual fisticuffs...If you don't like my posts, dont read or respond to them.
Its actually a pleasing thing for people who I dislike, to dislike me. I would be worried if those I hated, found warmth for me.
I have zero eagerness to try win your praise, nor even to play virtual fisticuffs...If you don't like my posts, dont read or respond to them.