Amiga.org
Coffee House => Coffee House Boards => CH / General => Topic started by: X-ray on December 28, 2006, 02:40:08 PM
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Those of you unfamiliar with History Today can read a typical exchange here. (http://www.micaelita.com/historytoday/ed.shtml)
This sort of thing is great. To me it has a certain British snobbery and a unique style (which I will attempt to emulate). It is about insulting somebody indirectly. Now I am sure that this thread is going to see some traffic, and many attempts at emulating the old boys in History Today. In the spirit of good banter I hereby stipulate that insults are to be of an indirect nature (aimed at the person's belongings or achievements, but not the person himself) and that at least a little thought goes into any contribution here. Failure to do so may very well result in the appearance of the real Professor Lewis ;-)
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This one is for Karlos.
You see that old spaghetti western playing on the television, the one with Lee Van Cleef hiding behind some rocks waiting to rob the stage coach?
You see that clump of horse hair adhering to his boot, matted with the products of equine amorous exertion, and the dust from whatever dubious barn said copulation took place in?
Well that's your beanie, that is.
That's what you use to cover your head in the winter months.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) See that chest of drawers over there, hiding in the dusty, urine-stained corner of your room? That antique, delapidated wreck, competing with you in age, general repair and tastelessness? The very same one that you use to store all your best clothing that you only ever wear on special occasions?
That's where I found it, that is. It was by far the smartest thing in there.
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@X-ray & Karlos
You guys have got me rolling :roflmao:
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his2.png) See a two-dimensional projection of the trajectory of a particle exhibiting proper Brownian Motion over a period of time? A tight, meaningless tangle of lines with no discernable order, as unstructured, random and untidy as any observable phenomenon in nature?
That's your best ever handwriting that is. That's your attempt at Copperplate. Even experienced doctors can't read it.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) See Brownian Motion? You thought that was an expression for the self-concious embarresed wriggling exhibited by a person that has just accidentally soiled themselves whilst sitting in public. Which is very surprising, given that you do it so frequently.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) You see that "Eugene Terreblanche? That's your boyfriend that is!" ;-)
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History Today (http://youtube.com/results?search_query=history+today&search=Search)
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This is for Cannon Fodder
See that slight disturbance in the shimmering mirage on the sun-baked highway? The origin of said disturbance, upon closer inspection, being a partially run-over worm writhing at one end, the other end squinting feebly up at the sun...do you see that, sir?
That's your contribution to this thread, that is.
That's your idea of wit.
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No retort for moi?
I feel neglected.
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Hehe
Okay another one coming up...
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This one is for Karlos
Are you familiar with canines, sir, specifically the least useful of all versions, those being the French poodles?
Surely you have seen one of those?
Good.
Then you will no doubt have seen the globular semi-moist vestige of the runt's last bowel movement, forlornly trapped in a few wisps of hair surrounding the pooch's anus. Have you seen that, sir?
Well, that's your avatar, that is.
That's what you use to announce your presence on the internet.
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I should point out that neither of the characters routinely called each other "sir" ;-)
Then you will no doubt have seen the globular semi-moist vestige of the runt's last bowel movement, forlornly trapped in a few wisps of hair surrounding the pooch's anus. Have you seen that, sir?
(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) I have observed such when visiting your home; mostly on the front of your trousers, usually flattened and smeared by what would appear to be a rhythmical grinding motion. I am at a loss as to the mode of transfer from canine anus to your groinal region. Perhaps you could enlighten us?
See an impoverished, uneducated child from the late 19th century, playing with a charitable gift comprising a set of used wooden alphabet blocks, donated by someone more fortunate? Note carefully that some blocks are missing, resulting in the complete absence of several letters, including "A" and "D". Nonetheless, being illiterate, he arranges the blocks according to the patterns he finds most pleasing, resulting in short strings of garbled nonsense.
That's your word processor that is.
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hehe
I like the use of 'sir.' I think it makes the insult that much worse because it is such a false salutation. That's what those snobs are likely to do. We'll have to call it the X-ray Modification.
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Bah, you speak of my word processor, sir?
Hah!
You see those hastily-sketched likenesses of the South Sea Savages in Charles Darwin's journals? The savages who lack the simplest of etiquette, charm and reason?
See their adornments made of dessicated lizards' eyeballs arranged like beads on a thread made from coconut husks?
That's your abacus, that is.
That's what you use for a calculator.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) Be that as it may, professor Lewis, this abacus of which you speak is still too advanced for your use.
See the failures from the ongoing scientific endeavour to determine number awareness and counting skills in animals? Many creatures studied exhibited no evident grasp of the basic concept of numbers of counting, even in the simplest tests.
And that's your level of mathematical understanding, that is. That's why you can't put your trousers on properly; you can't determine how many legs you have.
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"...That's why you can't put your trousers on properly; you can't determine how many legs you have..."
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I see you are envious of my endowment, sir. You may well look upon that in awe and I will not stop you.
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That's not what your poodle said.
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You see that revolting globule of sputum on the pavement over there, bubbly and shimmering with a faint green hue to it?
That's your swimming pool that is...
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@X-Ray
See a body, recovered from the wreckage of a massive warehouse fire at a company producing accelerants? A wizened, carbonized, fragile black husk of the unfortunate victim, utterly dessicated and so extensivley baked as to be unrecognisable as either male or female? Indeed, so corrupted that even the most experienced forensic teams would be hard pressed to identify the remains?
That's one of your patients that is. That's what they end up like after a chest X-Ray with you at the controls.
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:lol:
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Aaah, good to see PMC partaking of the Great Snobbery.
@ PMC
You see that shambling old woman, the one with the dubious gait, no doubt from years of untreated venereal infection? See that improvised sanitary pad, haphazardly massaged out of place, and now just about to slip through a most unladylike ladder in this unfortunate crone's stockings? You see the hardened crustlike quality of that yellowed pad, from where it had previously been in contact with a suppurating boil on this woman's private parts?
Do you see that pad, sir?
Well that's your brake pad, that is.
That's what you have fitted to your motor car (just the one because you can't afford another three).
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@ Karlos
You see that lumbering behemoth of a man, his features porcine and ruddy, his belly of such immense mass that it spills over the table at MacDonalds, where he spends most of his life?
You see that hardened mass of earwax, long forgotten and partly shielded from view by this man's greasy, unkempt hair? Do you see that foul little nugget of earwax, sir?
That's your newly-purchased diamond, that is.
That's what you are going to have mounted on a ring and given to your fiancee as an engagement ring.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his2.png) I have observed the pulsating mass of flesh at a nearby McDonalds. It was very kind of your brother to offer, but I am afraid I shall have to turn his generous offer down. Women are not easily fooled when it comes to gemstones.
See your John Thomas?
Prove it.
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It is no secret I have one, and indeed I note you are still jealous of that. I'll not stop you being jealous, you can't help it. Even the most ignorant and misinformed citizen is well aware of the legendary exploits of Professor F J Lewis, the very man with whom you now converse.
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X-ray wrote:
It is no secret I have one, and indeed I note you are still jealous of that. I'll not stop you being jealous, you can't help it.
Ah, yes. But to which medical cadaver did it originally belong?
Even the most ignorant and misinformed citizen is well aware of the legendary exploits of Professor F J Lewis, the very man with whom you now converse.
This is certainly true at the local kennel club, whereupon there are rumours of serious accusation involving a pedigree poodle.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his2.png) See an old "Etch A Sketch", long forgotten and propped up against the eaves in the attic? Discarded after a bored child repeatedly hit it with a brick until the casing cracked, scattering the silvery contents and rendering it useless. Note carefully how the vertical position dial has broken off as a result of the same abuse.
That's your new Plasma Screen Television Set, that is. That's what you sit infront of for hours on end, twiddling the one functioning dial whilst your medication paints the purely imaginary scene of endless repeats that you are trying to change channel from.
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@Karlos & X-Ray
I absoluely f***ing love this thread, no word of a lie but I have tears running down my cheeks. Well done chaps.
:pint:
BTW, x-ray these two characters were a spin off from The Mary Whitehouse Experience back in the early 90s and I once had the pleasure of meeting the great Rob Newman in person, who bought me a pint!
You see that crumpled Tesco recipt on the ground, lying decrepit and neglected in the gutter, treated with contempt by passers by?
That's this thread that is...
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PMC wrote:
You see that crumpled Tesco recipt on the ground, lying decrepit and neglected in the gutter, treated with contempt by passers by?
Did he lose a fight to Sainsbury's "Little Bill" ?
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Hillarious. Great insults. My old crew of mates and I used to have great times just insulting each other in the most personal and disgraceful ways. Unfortunately, I am somewhat out of the practice of humour for several years, since my wife's English just isn't up to it.
This thread is the most enjoyable thing I've seen in ages. Great insults, great retorts, and smiles all round. :pint: Cheers guys. Thanks. I'm only sorry I feel a little too out of practice to join in.
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@ Adz
See a shabby Biggles impersonator leaning out of the side of a rattling biplane, barely able to stay aloft at 1000 feet? See his quivering hand and tenuous grip on a piece of photographic equipment that is not yet advanced enough to be called a camera, but which is being employed for that purpose? Do you see that, sir, do you see him taking pictures of the landscape?
That's you, that is.
That's how you take macro photographs.
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@ Blobzie
See that toilet roll tube, found in a gutter outside a sexual diseases clinic? See how a bubble of sputum covers one end from where a vagrant put it into his mouth in an act of drunken stupor? See the other end with a semi-opaque candy wrapper haphazardly jammed in there by the wind? Do you see that ma'am?
That's your telescope, that is.
That's what you use to look at the stars, but most of the time you use it the wrong way around.
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You see the list of names below here? That's who is better than me, that is.
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@X-Ray
You see the list of names below here? That's who is better than me, that is.
I have observed the list, including as it does, Oliver, PMC, CannonFodder, Adz and myself...
See your amiga.org rank?
...
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Well, you are envious of me, and I won't stop you.
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I think not.
See a large mass of ferrous metal, slightly weathered with distinct reddish brown shades of rust?
That's your understanding of "irony", that is...
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Such large mass of rusting utensils being what you use as cutlery.
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See that impressive list of Amiga.org members, some of whom are online as we speak?
Do you see that?
Those are my fans, those are.
Those are the ones who are laughing at your cutlery. But soon they will feel sorry for you and have a collection to buy you at least one respectable spoon.
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X-ray wrote:
Such large mass of rusting utensils being what you use as cutlery.
(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his2.png) Actually, that's your Zimmer Frame, that is. It was brand new looking when you left the house with it when you rushed to the post office to get the one parcel anybody ever sent you. When you got there, you found out the parcel was a new cutlery set, actually addressed to me. Your frame rusted in the time it took you to get there and back, it did, despite a lifetime's manufacturers guarentee.
Do you recall that journey? That was your fastest ever movement since you were 30, that was. That was you training to join the nation's athletics team. That was you hopped up on amphetamines, that was.
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:lol:
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Well, you are envious of my speed, and I won't stop you.
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See a simplistic string of text that matches the Perl style regular expression:
/well, you are envious of .*?, and I won't stop you\?/i
?
Note the direct evolution from the common "you're just jealous of..." response as employed by pre-school children. Note how more sophisticated responses are generally used once the lingustic skill of said indivuduals has improved, whereas the above response demonstrates only a modest increase in vocabulary, such as may be made by an adult of diminished mental capability. Note also that further evidence of this disadvantage can be demonstrated from the repeated use of the above phrase.
Do you note these points? Very good, since that's your best ever retort to an insult, that is. That's what you use when your'e "owned" by superior insult mongers, that is :-P
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Well I am tayloring the evolution (or lack thereof) of my comments, to the IQ of the person to whom it is directed :-P
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See a wretched street urchin in the grasp of a nefarious narcotic, his spasmodic antics remininscent of strychnine poisoning? See him tipping the contents of a can of alphabet soup over the side of a building, the letters applied here and there with much frenzy and minimal purpose? Do you see that chaotic tapestry of jumbled letters?
That's your finest prose, that is.
That's what you produce when you apply yourself with maximum effort to the simplest of communications.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his2.png) I have observed the phenomenon, I found it particularly reminiscent of the last time you attempted to make dinner.
Well I am tayloring the evolution (or lack thereof) of my comments, to the IQ of the person to whom it is directed
And that's why your'e losing, that is. Like a totally blind man taking a free kick after being deliberately spun in circles, you are aiming in completely the wrong direction. I would suggest you look upwards, if your ageing hunched back would allow it, but I fear you may injure yourself fatally in the attempt, thus denying me of the amusement I derive from your attempts at insult mongering, comedic as they are, but only in the tragedy of their ineffectual delivery.
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(time for a few visual gags. I found these and just knew I had to use them :lol:)
See that "Heino", as depicted on the cover of his single "Liebe Mutter" famed as one of the worst album covers of all time?
(http://www.incredibleeagle.com/images/covers/heino.jpg)
See his dreadful 1960's fashion victim appearence, thick rimmed glasses that look bad even compared to those given by the National Health Service during the 1970's? See his effeminite pout and general lack of manliness?
That's your idea of style that is. You tried to copy it, but he found out and challenged you. You subsequently lost a fight to him, you did. Then he bullied you for a decade before finally making you his "b!tch", pimping you around seedy clubs where he made you wear a leather thong and gimp mask whilst lecturing on the reform period to a private audience of extremely "special interest" (read disturbed) perverts.
And that was your best ever job, that was.
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See this group of people, clearly the end result of systematic inbreeding and extreme social introversion?
(http://www.incredibleeagle.com/images/covers/country-church.jpg)
That's you with with your best friends, that is. That's you on the right, taken before the others decided you cramped their style too much and shunned you.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) See an old cornflake box with a circle cut crudely on one face, that has been sellotaped onto a broom handle? See how it features a couple of bits of frayed parcel string salvaged from the bin after I opened my cutlery set that have strung across the entire length of the shambolic assemblage of discarded junk?
That's your guitar, that is. That's your Takamine. That's what you use to put your odes to music that is.
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See a bag of shriveled, dessicated male prepuce, that thanks to some nefarious and no-doubt disciplinable behaviour of a hospital incinerator operator, went missing on their way from a circumcision clinic to be destroyed? The same individual who was previously sticken off as a radiographer and served a prison sentence for having fed patients Polunium rather than Barium and giving them the largest doses of radiation he could persuade the equipment to deliver, slowly cooking their viscera with his incompetence?
That's your midday snack, that is. That's your bag of "cheesy wotsits".
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Karlos wrote:
(time for a few visual gags. I found these and just knew I had to use them :lol:)
See that "Heino", as depicted on the cover of his single "Liebe Mutter" famed as one of the worst album covers of all time?
(http://www.incredibleeagle.com/images/covers/heino.jpg)
See his dreadful 1960's fashion victim appearence, thick rimmed glasses that look bad even compared to those given by the National Health Service during the 1970's? See his effeminite pout and general lack of manliness?
That's your idea of style that is. You tried to copy it, but he found out and challenged you. You subsequently lost a fight to him, you did. Then he bullied you for a decade before finally making you his "b!tch", pimping you around seedy clubs where he made you wear a leather thong and gimp mask whilst lecturing the reform period to groups of extremely "special interest" (read disturbed) perverts.
And that was your best ever job, that was.
:roflmao:
A friend of mine bought it at a flee market. It's cover was so bad he couldn't resist.
But beware, that's just one of the 'cultural jewels' Germany and the Netherlands have.
There's a whole camp world to explore. :roflmao:
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@Speel
A friend of mine bought it at a flee market
The kind you want to run away from, ey? ;-)
If they had stuff like that for sale, hardly surprising :lol:
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:lol:
Well, one can often find some rare old computer on flee markets, for a very nice price :-)
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See that bag of "cheesy wotsits" being gleefully masticated in a "cottage" down Clapham Common by an ex-convict from the colonies?
Thats the only mouthful of manly goodness you can get to satiate your junkie like addiction since Heino ditched you for Little Jimmy Osmond that is.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) Oh dear.
We appeared to have strayed somewhat from our brief this evening. If we could return to the subject of "Radicalism and Nationalism in the post World War II era"...
No doubt you have observed the detention centre situated in Guantanamo erected by the US to hold what the government has obliquely categorised as "illegal combatants". Held without charge, denied rights afforded to genuine prisoners of war and hence subject to many alleged incidents of torture and humiliation, this centre has been cited as an example of what a modern day, right leaning administraiton is capable of when it deludes the electorate that it is in their best interest.
Since opening, this insidious place has been subject to several changes of name. Indeed for a time, it was known as Camp X-Ray.
And that's your nickname, that is. They had to change the name when they found out that it was in such common use already, stemming from your Heino days, that you'd copyrighted it and as such were leaving themselves open to copyright infringement litigation.
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You are envious of my fame, and I won't stop you.
You display the incoherent ramblings of a common citizen who realises that he is in fact conversing with Professor F J Lewis himself.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) You're going to cry.
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Oh no I won't, you will. I never cry, I am Professor Lewis.
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You're crying now, aren't you.
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(http://www.extropia.co.uk/img/his1.png) Yes, you are. You're blubbing right now.
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See the news crew out filming at your house because a second Niagara Falls has been discovered?
That's you crying, that is.
That's your tears of shame.
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X-ray wrote:
You're crying now, aren't you.
I can't. My tearducts are blocked with rheumy crusts due to the great age I have reached...
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See your Mum?
You're crying right now because of your Mum. She does it for money.
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X-ray wrote:
See the news crew out filming at your house because a second Niagara Falls has been discovered?
That's you crying, that is.
That's your tears of shame.
Alas no. It was just reported that it was due to a breach in your incontinence pants.
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I'll bet you're crying on the phone right now. But there is nobody listening, just dial tone.
That's because you have no friends to call. And even if you did find someone to call by guessing a phone number, they wouldn't listen for more than a millisecond.
You're on the phone, aren't you?
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It would have to be a very simple instrument, mind you, if it was in your house. maybe it would be two empty bean tins connected by a string. But nobody would pick up the other end.
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Stop crying now, and let's talk about the efficiency of the German navy in World War 2.
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You are crying because your Mum efficiently serviced the entire German Navy during WW2.
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For free.
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(actually, I am on the phone :lol:)
You're on the phone, aren't you?
You are, for once, correct in that I am on the phone. The news company has contacted me for background on you over your incontinence pants rupture that has caused Katrina like scenes in your area.
They had to call me for the information, as nobody else knows or cares who you are.
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Your mum does it with you, for money.
She gives you your pocket money and you give it right back.
You're going to cry. Again.
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He is on the phone, crying. Leave him for a bit. Don't stop him.
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CannonFodder wrote:
Your mum does it with you, for money.
She gives you your pocket money and you give it right back.
You're going to cry. Again.
That's from the original material if I'm not mistaken :-D
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See that Jabba the Hut? He never needed the phone when he was losing. If you had more composure you could be like him, but all you emulated was his physique.
That's you when you were slim, that is.
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Karlos wrote:
CannonFodder wrote:
Your mum does it with you, for money.
She gives you your pocket money and you give it right back.
You're going to cry. Again.
That's from the original material if I'm not mistaken :-D
Bugger, my rouse is up. I did drop hints about spending a lot of time in Israel about who I am.
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"...That's from the original material if I'm not mistaken..."
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It is. I don't think CannonFodder grasps how this all works. He should learn a bit then come back.
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X-ray wrote:
He is on the phone, crying. Leave him for a bit. Don't stop him.
He's on the phone to your Mum. On one of those german wank lines. He's on the vinegar strokes by now I imagine.
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X-ray wrote:
"...That's from the original material if I'm not mistaken..."
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It is. I don't think CannonFodder grasps how this all works. He should learn a bit then come back.
I learned everything from your Mum about coming back. I came all over her back during WW2
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And her face.
That's how you were conceived that is, during an 8 on 1 session in a U-Boat.
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X-ray wrote:
He is on the phone, crying. Leave him for a bit. Don't stop him.
Yes, the news researcher has been filling me in on your incontinence pants breach, during our conversation. Tears of laughter are streaming down my cheeks now that I cleaned up the tearducts. I fear I am laughing so hard I may have a seizure. And then I'll look like you trying to dance.
It's the funniest thing you have ever done and you did it by virtue of a humiliating accident. Nothing you ever intended to be amusing ever has been, or ever will be.
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CannonFodder wrote:
I did drop hints about spending a lot of time in Israel about who I am.
Taxi for Mr. Bladdibub?
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"...You are, for once, correct in that I am on the phone...."
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I am always correct, I am Professor Lewis.
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You see that symptom of sociopathic disorders, where the person is convinced they are always correct?
General Pinochet had that disease, so did Franco.
They were real men. They had balls, they didn't cry and they didn't munch chessy wotsits in a cottage full of used hyperdermics.
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CannonFodder wrote:
X-ray wrote:
He is on the phone, crying. Leave him for a bit. Don't stop him.
He's on the phone to your Mum. On one of those german wank lines. He's on the vinegar strokes by now I imagine.
:-o
(do you even have those in old age?)
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Karlos wrote:
X-ray wrote:
He is on the phone, crying. Leave him for a bit. Don't stop him.
Yes, the news researcher has been filling me in on your incontinence pants breach, during our conversation. Tears of laughter are streaming down my cheeks now that I cleaned up the tearducts. I fear I am laughing so hard I may have a seizure. And then I'll look like you trying to dance.
It's the funniest thing you have ever done and you did it by virtue of a humiliating accident. Nothing you ever intended to be amusing ever has been, or ever will be.
Except when he "ate" a Jack Russells cheesy wotsit for the amusement of the U-Boot crew he calls Pa.
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Karlos wrote:
CannonFodder wrote:
X-ray wrote:
He is on the phone, crying. Leave him for a bit. Don't stop him.
He's on the phone to your Mum. On one of those german wank lines. He's on the vinegar strokes by now I imagine.
:-o
(do you even have those in old age?)
It is unusual to still have a mother when one is in old age, but his mother is a corpse he keeps in the rocking chair by the front window so people think he has a girlfriend.
It's him you are speaking to really, saying "ooh ahhh ooh" on the other end of the phone line. He's on the vinegar strokes too.
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I meant "vinegar strokes".... :roflmao:
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X-ray wrote:
"...You are, for once, correct in that I am on the phone...."
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I am always correct, I am Professor Lewis.
If indeed you are the same Professor F. J. Lewis made famous by the invigorating historical TV series "History Today", in which many important historical subjects were rigorously discussed, you'd surely know what the initials F. and J. stood for.
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I do indeed. I have told you before, but you always forget.
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See a doddering tramp, his grubby hands outstretched for a few pennies while he surreptitiously guards a scuffed bottle of White Lightning behind his crooked legs? See his divergent gaze, no doubt made even less sharp than usual by the vapours of this cheap alcohol? See the lack of focus and incomplete faculties of this sorry example of an upright species?
That's your future, that is.
That's what you will become if you study hard and improve yourself, but even then you'll not get any coins from passers-by because you will be recognised as the runner-up in all the debates on History Today.
A runner-up in a contest of two.
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X-ray wrote:
See a doddering tramp, his grubby hands outstretched for a few pennies while he surreptitiously guards a scuffed bottle of White Lightning behind his crooked legs? See his divergent gaze, no doubt made even less sharp than usual by the vapours of this cheap alcohol? See the lack of focus and incomplete faculties of this sorry example of an upright species?
Yes, I have observed the sorry fellow. I and the few other people unfortunate enough to have met you have mistaken him for you on occasion based his general appearence and mein. However, it became apparent it was not you when he managed to string together a semi coherent string of syllables, which combined with his outstretched hands conveyed enough information for one to deduce he was asking for money.
So, despite the pitiful worn rags, the multilayered strata of dirt concealing his features and the discordant ensemble of rank odours from the drink, urine, excrement and other bodily secretions that are in all respect identical to you in your most presentable state, the demonstration of communicative ability was decisive in the differentiation.
You, by comparison, just sit there and drool, occasionally mumble in a manner consistent with someone raised by wild apes and missing a part of their mouth as a result of being attacked by a dominant chimpanzee for having made solicitous advances on his female. The only variation on this behaviour that you can manage is a sporadic convulsion that could be signature of someone with a serious, irrecoverable brain injury.
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X-ray wrote:
A runner-up in a contest of two.
You only believe that because that's the highest number you can count to, that is. Indeed we have demonstrated this earlier in the trouser-leg issue.
Do you see the posts made by CannonFodder? That represents a third contestant, the token guesture made by PMC constitutes a fourth.
It is said that there are primitive tribes who have not extended their number counting system beyond two, having a word signifying "many" for all greater integers. Even they are laughing at you now, despite not being able to say definitively how many contestants there are but being aware it is still more than two.
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"...
Do you see the posts made by CannonFodder? That represents a third contestant..."
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Well, if you a align yourself to futile attempts to participate of that quality, then I understand how you associate with that so-called contestant. Overall I would say that you are easily influenced and prone to lapsing into visual communication, perhaps a throw-back to your neanderthal heritage. It tends to happen when you are at a loss for words, which is often.
You are a man who is best suited to scrawling chalk figures on the inside of the deepest darkest caves, where no civilised man would find them and thereafter waste precious resources trying to decipher them, only to realise that it is pictorial record of your sexual triumphs involving the local fauna (and sometimes flora).
When participating in an adult debate, and hearing an unintelligible gurgle from an infant on its mother's lap in the audience, it does you no credit to draw on that as a sign of support. The input of a braying donkey caught in a quagmire is more valuable as a third contestant.
But, if you must align yourself with the donkey, I can't stop you.
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X-ray wrote:
...an unintelligible gurgle from an infant on its mother's lap...
...of a braying donkey caught in a quagmire....
And that's what your family reunions sound like, that is. Like you, they're all caught in the tireless grip of galloping senility, dementia reducing their communicative faculties well below that of newborns and beasts of burden.
Except for your mum who sits by the window in her rocking chair, festering in silence, that silence being the most intelligeble thing your collective family have ever put forth into any discussion, unintentional though it was.
But if we could, for a moment, return to today's subject of "Ancient Egypt Revisited".
No doubt you are aware that it was common practise for members of high society in the Egypt of the day to preserve their dead in a careful process of embalming and bandaging, having removed various organs, a process commonly referred to as "mummification" amongst today's younger students of the era.
It is also known that on the occasion that a young or attractive woman had passed away, her body was often deliberately left to decompose for a period of time prior to any further treatement. This rather unpleasant policy was introduced to deter a certain lowly stratum of society, who generally cursed with poor status, often classical ugliness and all manner of illness and other morbidities would think nothing of repeatedly copulating with the recently deceased to satiate their sexual urges in the only manner left available to them.
And that's the most romantic experience you've ever had that is. That's the closest you've ever come to having a meaningful relationship with a member of the opposite sex. Long lonely nights, mumbling incoherently whilst caressing the slowly putrifying skin of a deceased woman, far gone into decomposition now, despite your best attempts to preserve her remains.
And the unfortunate woman in question, denied even the basic dignity of a common burial so that you can enjoy an effete mockery of sexual relation with a female, that's your Mum, that is. You even had to use wire coat hangers to hook her long bones together and stuffed her ribcage with old rags after she fell apart during your last amourous advance.
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X-ray wrote:
"...
Do you see the posts made by CannonFodder? That represents a third contestant..."
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Well, if you a align yourself to futile attempts to participate of that quality, then I understand how you associate with that so-called contestant. Overall I would say that you are easily influenced and prone to lapsing into visual communication, perhaps a throw-back to your neanderthal heritage. It tends to happen when you are at a loss for words, which is often.
You are a man who is best suited to scrawling chalk figures on the inside of the deepest darkest caves, where no civilised man would find them and thereafter waste precious resources trying to decipher them, only to realise that it is pictorial record of your sexual triumphs involving the local fauna (and sometimes flora).
When participating in an adult debate, and hearing an unintelligible gurgle from an infant on its mother's lap in the audience, it does you no credit to draw on that as a sign of support. The input of a braying donkey caught in a quagmire is more valuable as a third contestant.
But, if you must align yourself with the donkey, I can't stop you.
You see that pencil test? That test is the only one you ever had a chance of passing, yet you failed so miserably. Twice.
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"...And the unfortunate woman in question, denied even the basic dignity of a common burial so that you can enjoy an effete mockery of sexual relation with a female, that's your Mum, that is..."
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I note you are jealous of her beauty. I can't stop you. Your mother would have been hastily entombed, with no fear of any necrophilia at all. Nobody would want the mother of the runner-up.
They would want the mother of Professor F J Lewis himself, the very man with whom you are now attempting to communicate!
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See a weasel of a man, curb-crawling in a beat-up Volkswagen Beatle, his hair moussed back and his eyes roving the pavements incessantly? See that ill-fitting hubcap from which exudes a foul stench, the source of which is a raw haddock, placed within that hubcap by this nefarious curb-crawler? See the smug look on the driver's face as he believes the wafting odour of rotting haddock will attract the ladies of the night to him and his vehicle?
That's you, that is.
That's your best attempt at finding a girl-friend.
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See that ill-fitting hubcap from which exudes a foul stench, the source of which is a raw haddock, placed within that hubcap by this nefarious curb-crawler?
Yes, that's your pot pourri dish, that is. That's what you use to freshen your room.
@CannonFodder
Pencil test :-?
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Karlos wrote:
See that ill-fitting hubcap from which exudes a foul stench, the source of which is a raw haddock, placed within that hubcap by this nefarious curb-crawler?
Yes, that's your pot pourri dish, that is. That's what you use to freshen your room.
@CannonFodder
Pencil test :-?
You see that nasty little fat kid at school that tells tales and wonders why no one wants to play with him? That's "Professor Lewis" that is, that's why he always plays with himself.
The fat little onanist is useless, and he failed the Pencil Test twice.
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I see. Did this trial by writing implement involve making it vanish into a bodily orifice?
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Karlos wrote:
I see. Did this trial by writing implement involve making it vanish into a bodily orifice?
No. He'd be good at that. He likes putting things in his bodily orifices and taking xrays of them. Thats his idea of a great weekend that is. It makes him feel all fluffy inside.
(http://www.well.com/~cynsa/graphics/liveammo.jpg)
You see that, Professor FJ Lewis?
That's your birthday photo that is. Which you took yourself, because you have no friends.
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X-ray wrote:
"...And the unfortunate woman in question, denied even the basic dignity of a common burial so that you can enjoy an effete mockery of sexual relation with a female, that's your Mum, that is..."
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I note you are jealous of her beauty. I can't stop you. Your mother would have been hastily entombed, with no fear of any necrophilia at all. Nobody would want the mother of the runner-up.
They would want the mother of Professor F J Lewis himself, the very man with whom you are now attempting to communicate!
Except not even a forensic expert, veteran of many a grisly exhumation, would touch your mum, not even with an environment suit on. Nobody remotely sane of mind would wish to go near anything that had been rodgered by "Professor" Flob Jockey Lewis.
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You see that Professor FJ Lewis, Karlos?
He only started this thread because he likes going three ways with two other blokes. That's his filthy fantasy that is.
Except he can't get it in real life coz he's fat.
With tits.
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@ karlos
See a furtive old man with a nit-ridden moustache and a leery eye, wearing a 1930s tweed jacket and plus-fours, beyond repair and devoid of style? See how he tries to be inconspicuous while he sidles up to a parked pink bicycle and looks around nervously to see if anyone is watching? Note how nefarious he looks, just as all other sneeble-greebers do as he applies his olfactory senses to the seat of said bicycle?
That's you, that is.
That's as close as you will ever be to finding your mate.
Except you made a blunder as usual and it is CannonFodder's bicycle, but you wouldn't know the difference.
Mind you, judging by how you fawn over him, perhaps you did know it was his bicycle because he led you to it.
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See that CannonFodder?
He's your best and only friend, he is. Of the entire population of all sentient life in the universe that ever has existed or will exist, it his he that loathes you the least.
When you were born, the doctor slapped your mother instead of you. Repeatedly. Hospital orderlies had to pull him away, until they saw you and then it was a free for all.
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@X-Ray & CannonFodder
Are we the only people reading this thread, or is it just that nobody else finds it funny? :lol:
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Ja it is strange, I thought there would be more takers.
Where are they?
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@X-Ray & CannonFodder
Are we the only people reading this thread, or is it just that nobody else finds it funny? :lol:
I've wet myself numerous times from laughter. Unfortunately, my feeble language skills have let me down somewhat, hence my participation thus far has been that of a mere spectator.
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"...I've wet myself numerous times from laughter. Unfortunately, my feeble language skills have let me down somewhat, hence my participation thus far has been that of a mere spectator..."
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See a solid steel wrecking ball, 2 metres across and weighing more than 1 tonne? Do you see that, sir?
That's your language skills, that is.
Which is far better than CannonFodder's, which is the tiniest grain of flour, not worth even a weevil's contemplation.
You cannot do worse than him even if you are anaesthetised.
That's the truth, that is.
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I tell the audience one thing though, and I tell the audience verily: if there is one thing worth scoffing at, it is a sneeble-greeber.
Especially when the sneeble being greebed is attached to a pink bicycle with a basket on the front and Barbie doll decals on the side.
That's scoff-worthy, that is.
That's the source of much ridicule, indeed.
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Hah!!
That's me scoffing at all of you, that is.
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I've been loving this thread from the start but unlike both you two cunning linguists I am somewhat unable to compete with the level of wit and faux sarcasm here.
Keep it up though, it's bloody funny.
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See that (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/22/Shrunken-head-pr.jpg)?
That's your idea of miss world, that is.
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I have seen such a specimen before, in the collected works of Charles Darwin.
I did not know such specimens were still to be found.
That's your girlfriend, that is.
Lured to your house by a piece of rotting haddock towed behind a VW Beatle.
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Well, it worked on you...
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You see that rotting piece of haddock, renting the air with the stench of decomposition and scattering chunks of decaying piscine flesh as it's dragged along the street by a decrepit VW, belching oily fumes into the air?
That's your g/f's pants that is.
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I have seen those pants, yes.
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X-ray wrote:
I have seen those pants, yes.
Yes, you were wearing them. You prefer worn out and soiled ladies underwear to your own worn out and soiled underwear as your usual cruedly sewn potato sack underwear chafes more and smells worse.
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Those are the words of a man who does not wear pants at all.
You've got no pants and you're on the phone.
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This from a man so unhygenic that his own bodily secretions have, over the years of continuous wear without ever taking them off, transmuted his pitiful rags into a fetid, ersatz suit of armour. There you stand, barely able to move in the constrictive shell it has become, at the centre of a swirling galaxy of flies.
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The reason you don't have pants is because they were confiscated after you continuously soiled them.
That was when you were in your twenties.
That's scoff-worthy, that is.
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X-ray wrote:
The reason you don't have pants is because they were confiscated after you continuously soiled them.
Confiscated by you, a disturbing look of desperate need on your face.
That's scoff-worthy, that is.
Yes, I recall you scoffed them quite voraciously, washing them down with a mug of suspicious brown liquid that gave off a rank ammoniacal smell not unlike your outdoor latrine. The one you haven't been able to flush since 1937 and is fringed with various crystalline substances left behind from the evaporation of the result your visits. Not that you manage to make it there most of the time, standing with the slightly embarrased look of the acutely incontinent as a yellow puddle forms around your feet, extracting dark stains from your unwashed trousers in the process.
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Hah!
You speak of my ablution facilities while hiding the fact that your latrine has been discovered in the Sahara desert, and has been linked to the testing of nefarious take-away foodstuffs of the most devious toxicity.
Only a man with no pants could own such a latrine.
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You see your "toilet"? It's in your back yard, it's a long drop "toilet", with a pull cord chain that doesn't work.
You hide from your Mummy's punters in there when the red light comes on you do.
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@ Karlos
See a haughty, proud middle-aged woman with pince-nez adorning a vulture-like nose and heavy Thatcheresque jowls? See her sitting aloof in the waiting area of a Harley Street clinic, one eyebrow slightly arched while she shifts her weight almost imperceptibly from one buttock to the other in an attempt to prevent the passing of wind? Do you see that barely animated figure, totally at odds with her surroundings?
That's your ideal date, that is.
That's who you have been trying to make contact with in the personal advertisements of the Cross Stitcher's Weekly after you failed to find a mate outside the local bingo hall.
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Is it the same lady that had to take out restraining orders preventing you from coming withing fifty metres of her?
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Hah!
You speak of restraining orders when your rusted VW beetle is prohibited in every city center in England. That's because you were luring cats to their deaths on the freeway, by dragging a piece of rotting haddock behind said vehicle.
And that's how you tried to woo the ladies, that was.
But Thatcher didn't bite and that's what made you cry.
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That's just poor. I can't believe you ressurected this thread for the sake of that insult :lol:
Come on man, you can do better than that!
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You're sour because Thatcher didn't bite.
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Ah-ha! How I missed this thread, but now that Karlos and X-ray are back, perhaps we can get it going again?
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:lol:
I fear I may be out of practice.
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No, my good man, that sort of skill never wanes.
I'll see what I can do.
Where is PMC, by the way?
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I haven't seen him return yet. I think his implant might be defective...
*cough* I mean, erm... I dunno, guv...
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See a rusted, mangled shopping trolley, embedded wheels-up in the river, having been stolen by Chavs?
See the clumps of wet toilet paper strung on the wirework and the half-deflated condoms that were the Chavs' mascot on this trolley?
That's PMC's motorcar, that is.
That's his car after he prepared it for his wedding.
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I observe said ambulatory retail aid.
Note how its upturned wheels are covered in what could be described as algae, were it not for the noxiously effluent nature of the sluggish waterway? And how the post-industrial urban waterway poisons even the hardiest of wild plants and seems to cause the very sunlight to shun its urine-soaked concrete canal-path banks?
That's your favourite holiday destination that is. That's your two weeks on the beach. You go there every year you do.
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Said waterway is paradise compared to where you go on holiday.
See an offal rendering plant, processing the guts, gizzards and various off-cuts from the seediest butchers in the most economically-challenged village on earth?
See the huge iron cauldrons used to boil such slop, the bits of animal bowel, mucous, chicken toenails and cartilage adhering to the rim as the contents are poured from there into an acid bath?
Do you see that steaming, gritty, foul pot emitting such a potent stench that not even the bravest of flies dares to draw near?
That's your prime holiday spot, that is. That's where you curl up with your copy of 'Inside MS DOS' to read on vacation.
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Ahh, ummm.. an interesting visual image, one which brings to mind the works of Dickens and the late Victorian polarisation between the middle and lower classes. An interesting time from the perspective of social history - a disparate and desperate era, where industrial and scientific progress in the British Empire can be juxtaposed against a social backdrop of injustice and poverty.
One of the more enduring images in the popular consciousness from that time is that of Oliver Twist. A ragged and pathetic figure sunk to the lowest depths of deprivation in the workhouses of Old London; so low in his expectations that the grey and greasy gruel - which would be deemed unfit for human, or indeed animal, consumption in this more modern era was a lofty dream which inspired him to ask "Please sir, can I have some more?"
That's you taking your girlfriend out for a meal on Valentine's day that is. That's your idea of a swanky restaurant. That's your five-star gourmet meal cooked by Gordon Ramsey.
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I see.
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I at least can get to London, having been attracted to said civilisation by like-minded academics, and having acquired the wherewithal to purchase and pilot a suitable vehicle for taking a significant other to the restaurant.
See a derelict tramp, his clothes in threads, his features gaunt, his appearance lacking any kind of charm or sophistication? See how he nervously clutches the last remaining rusted coins in his possession, as he leans haphazardly against the bus shelter, his odour almost physically pushing the other customers away?
That's you, that is.
That's you waiting for the number 130 bus, hoping you'll catch the one that your girlfriend is driving, so you won't have to pay the bus fare. That's what happens in Yorkshire as opposed to London.
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See a derelict tramp, his clothes in threads, his features gaunt, his appearance lacking any kind of charm or sophistication? See how he nervously clutches the last remaining rusted coins in his possession, as he leans haphazardly against the bus shelter, his odour almost physically pushing the other customers away?
That's your best mate, that is. That's who you talk to when not standing in the town square stamping your barely booted foot and shouting at nobody in particular whilst ineffectually attempting to swat some the orbiting nebula of flies.
Sadly, you haven't even spoken to him since he accused you of cramping his style...
(that any good?)
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Karlos wrote:
See a derelict tramp, his clothes in threads, his features gaunt, his appearance lacking any kind of charm or sophistication? See how he nervously clutches the last remaining rusted coins in his possession, as he leans haphazardly against the bus shelter, his odour almost physically pushing the other customers away?
That's your best mate, that is. That's who you talk to when not standing in the town square stamping your barely booted foot and shouting at nobody in particular whilst ineffectually attempting to swat some the orbiting nebula of flies.
Sadly, you haven't even spoken to him since he accused you of cramping his style...
(that any good?)
I am aware of the gentleman in question... I have it upon good authority that you go to him for fashion advice.
You think he’s really cool, he is! You steal his clothes when he’s asleep so that you have something nice to wear, if you go on a date… which you don’t, unless you count your mum…
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bloodline wrote:
I am aware of the gentleman in question... I have it upon good authority that you go to him for fashion advice.
You think he’s really cool, he is! You steal his clothes when he’s asleep so that you have something nice to wear, if you go on a date… which you don’t, unless you count your mum…
@bloodline
That was *your* mum.
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He is going to cry.
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motorollin wrote:
bloodline wrote:
I am aware of the gentleman in question... I have it upon good authority that you go to him for fashion advice.
You think he’s really cool, he is! You steal his clothes when he’s asleep so that you have something nice to wear, if you go on a date… which you don’t, unless you count your mum…
@bloodline
That was *your* mum.
He had to, 'cos I saw your Mum coming out of the V.D clinic.
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:lol:
Touché!
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motorollin wrote:
:lol:
Touché!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UMedd03JCA
;-)
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:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:
"Your mum" jokes are the staple of conversation between me and my best mate. The bit in that video where he said "That's 'My Life As A Prostitute' by your mum" had me wetting myself!
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motorollin wrote:
:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:
"Your mum" jokes are the staple of conversation between me and my best mate. The bit in that video where he said "That's 'My Life As A Prostitute' by your mum" had me wetting myself!
You have little choice then but to search for "History Today" on You Tube :-)
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WIP :-)
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:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:
"Your mum" jokes are the staple of conversation between me and my best mate. The bit in that video where he said "That's 'My Life As A Prostitute' by your mum" had me wetting myself!
See a pair of wizened old tramps at the end of a dank alley, sprawled amid the torn refuse bags left behind by a waste disposal service that took exception to their contents? See their derelict disposition as they pick listlessly through the discarded detritus of a society that casually pretends to ignore their collective failure in even allowing such destitution in their midst? Do you hear their unintelligible, monosyllabic methylated spirit ruined argument?
That's you and your best mate, that is. That's you exchanging "your mum" jokes.
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Edit -
Clearly I've put my foot in it, but I'm not sure why. Karlos, please check your PM :(
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Edit -
Clearly I've put my foot in it, but I'm not sure why. Karlos, please check your PM :(
Don't worry, just keep any scathing History Today insults levelled at me instead ;)
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Can do :)
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LOL, I just re-read this thread again for the first time in ages :)
We need more :D
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We should analyse the rationale, effect and influence on future civilisations of the introduction of metallic money by the Phoenicians in 1500 B.C.
Instead of trading in livestock, which were often cumbersome and difficult to transport, the Phoenicians invented metallic curved coins or tokens of value, thus avoiding the need for large cargo carrying ships when trading for goods.
Of course this was a highly advanced adaptation of the trading system of the time, an advance which you could well take on board even today.
I have seen you trying to catch pigeons to exchange for burgers at Burger King and I was hoping that some of the advances made by the Phoenicians more than 3000 years ago may appeal to you, if presented by an academic of suffiently high prowess, such as Professor F J Lewis, the very man with whom you are now fortunate to communicate!