Monday, 18 March 2013

This evening we left our house and strode into the weather together to class…

..and as each footfall splashed this evening, we conversed. We chatted about the day and her chums, the minutiae of a peaceful day.

We headed, down, through the rainfall, under the downpour, our journey planned, our terminus determined. Slow but steady on our course within the cloud’s heavy tears.

Through the puddled, badly paved, pot holed and drainsought fluence, in this, in this, in this drought struck realm of horseshitburgers. That is correct, only in this shithouse, drowning in water, could there be a water crisis every year and no shortage of dead horse!!!

What a kuntsructed piece of shyte!!!

Down hill we swept and reduced ourselves, brightly lit in park, our light, no clown around here can provide street lighting in 21 century UKplc. Onward we ploughed and continued to her class.

I left her there for 1 hour and continued to my billet. Wet and dry.

The secretive squirrel and I picked up on a little bit of spice I chucked into the atmos last Frigtag.

Be warned. Do not, after a hard day without repast, break your fast at 23 hundred hours on the tube system. Oh no!!!

Razor gangs, violent misogynists, rabid heathenish atheistic rabbis, child porn stars, rapists, faux elastane burners can have their space, but you break open a hot Cornish Pasty and OOooH err missus. The sharp looks.

So that evening I opined with the heavy weaponry. 203mm.

Mind weapons of mass destruction.

I had ranged up my two marks with a zero probabilistic centre of error. It hit the fuckers; as I peripherally clocked the expensive shoes twitching and the boybitchstare from the flank at 3 o’clock, on the phone telling her coaxially, juxtaposed breeding partner’s issue the boybitch would be home soon.

Oh yes, I hit the two kuntstruck graduates but they cannot say a word on their PRChina slaver stated sourced electronic orgasmatrons. Communicate all your shit you mindphukked D’Witz, I wouldn’t believe anything your hive mind said. Their world is a lie; any move is career death. Bitchboys and boybitches.

As I tucked into my pickles, rice and salmon. As my chum hit the second pasty, the girls got their J2O, the ladies snoozed and we were cheery. I opened up the unhappiness valve.

“I will bet all the assholes, who live in expensive houses, and send their children, on company slush funded expenses, to private schooling, i.e  gangster garten, have sought 6 Sigma, ISO 9000, Queen’s awards for export, investors in People and all the other compliance shit they try and con us with whilst hiding the horse meat under marketing bullshit!!”

Fuck me!!! You’d have thought I’d left an IED under their maidenhoods and blown the arms off a Panda Bear!!!! The carriage cleared and SQ and I enjoyed our badly needed breakfast.

There is NO THING in the COMPLIANT market that is other than criminal.

This evening, after I left the SQ and walked back to collect from class, I then explained the complex legacy of her heritage.

Paddy field and Bog, don’t phukking mess yaa kunts!!