Putin drives motorised penis through Australia

[The Coup]

As you are a member of the extreme left, wasn't Australia invaded once already? 26 of Jan rings a bell.

What's an extreme left, and why am I part of it?

I'm just a run of the mill communist, I just recognise that exploitation is the key element of capitalism and I'd prefer everyone kept 100% of the value of their work instead of benefiting people who don't do anything.

 

[haden1999]

"run of the mill communist" - haha

What about Abbott continuously trolling Putin whilst he was here. I heard him say something like 'Russia is a shitty superpower anyway and they're chasing the glory days of the czar'

Abbott makes me think of John Howard fondly but his antics over this G20 summitt period have been funny in a "so bad it's good" kind of way.

 

[skilts]

Putin is playing Tony like a 50c harpsichord.
I bet he put China up to raising carbon reduction targets just for shits and giggles.

Tony's all "G20 is not about global warming...It's my G20 and it's about what i want it to be about..." nonce nonce nonce
"I'm going to take my ball and go home...oh....!!" "this is my country. Why are all your ships and helicopters all over the place???"

Nonce nonce budgy smuggle leer nonce sweat sweat nonce jiggly lizard tongue leer.

Why does everyone now emulate blackcat in their contorted language and strangled syntax of posting? He has a lot to answer for. Not expecting an answer anytime soon though.

 

[scon]

transformational generative neologistic grammar and dada-gaga literary insight osmote from the
Noosphere II Introduction - Foundation for the Law of Time
dontchaknow??blackcat's gravitas ain't bringin'it to earth
bits all product not sauce.
I'm sincerely imitating not flattering the kykes of that gibbersludge.

SUSPEND'EM,PERMASHAG'EM
Off WITH THEIR LIKES

 

[Pie eyed]

Why does everyone now emulate blackcat in their contorted language and strangled syntax of posting? He has a lot to answer for. Not expecting an answer anytime soon though.

I think I pretty much post the way I have since day one.
Not sure you have this bull by anything but the dick.
I try and find my first ever for you...

 

[The Coup]

"run of the mill communist" - haha

What about Abbott continuously trolling Putin whilst he was here. I heard him say something like 'Russia is a shitty superpower anyway and they're chasing the glory days of the czar'

Abbott makes me think of John Howard fondly but his antics over this G20 summitt period have been funny in a "so bad it's good" kind of way.

Everyone is a Communist by birth, its only brainwashing that makes them anything different.

 

[skilts]

I think I pretty much post the way I have since day one.
Not sure you have this bull by anything but the dick.
I try and find my first ever for you...

FFS, don't take me seriously on this.

 

[The Coup]

Why does everyone now emulate blackcat in their contorted language and strangled syntax of posting? He has a lot to answer for. Not expecting an answer anytime soon though.

Wait stream of consciousness rambling is an invention of blackcats?

I owe that man like, billions in royalties.

 

[skilts]

Wait stream of consciousness rambling is an invention of blackcats?

I owe that man like, billions in royalties.

Being the person he is, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to negotiate a repayment scheme. The question then becomes whether there will be any interest.

 

[blackcat]

Why does everyone now emulate blackcat in their contorted language and strangled syntax of posting? He has a lot to answer for. Not expecting an answer anytime soon though.

imprimatur of skilts, is, imprimatur

 

[blackcat]

Wait stream of consciousness rambling is an invention of blackcats?

I owe that man like, billions in royalties.

Being the person he is, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to negotiate a repayment scheme. The question then becomes whether there will there will be any interest.

there is method to the madness.

 

[blackcat]

read WG Sebald's Austerlitz http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Austerlitz_(novel)
renders jjoyce extemporisation staccato

Wait stream of consciousness rambling is an invention of blackcats?

I owe that man like, billions in royalties.

Being the person he is, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to negotiate a repayment scheme. The question then becomes whether there will there will be any interest.

 

[Pie eyed]

FFS, don't take me seriously on this.

Good enough reason to try and find my first ever post...

 

[The_Reaper]

Why does everyone now emulate blackcat in their contorted language and strangled syntax of posting? He has a lot to answer for. Not expecting an answer anytime soon though.

I thought blackcat posted like that so he could get away with accusing people of taking PEDs in public

 

[skilts]

there is method to the madness.

I knew some hopeless piss-pots, who used to frequent Gertrude St in Fitzroy, when I was at school. There was metho in their madness.

 

[blackcat]

I knew some hopeless piss-pots, who used to frequent Gertrude St in Fitzroy, when I was at school. There was metho in their madness.

they call it ice these days skilts. if you listen to tabloids, its infesting cutnry towns 2. aks evo where his cook up is. typo is a nod to dougie hawkins

 

[blackcat]

I knew some hopeless piss-pots, who used to frequent Gertrude St in Fitzroy, when I was at school. There was metho in their madness.

all the bourgeois lifestyle clothes and candles places are now on Gertrude. 100 metres from the projects, where the Kew women shop, because they are like that.

 

[blackcat]

I thought blackcat posted like that so he could get away with accusing people of taking PEDs in public

thats a bit hard harsh. who was it who came up with this phallic OP?

 

[skilts]

Seeing this thread appears to be going nowhere, as would seem appropriate for one which mentions penises and Putin in its title, I feel moved to digress, and expand on the above post about drunks on Gertrude and Smith Sts, in Fitzroy/Collingwood.

In the mid-1980s, the Grace Darling Hotel, in Smith St, the birthplace of the Collingwood Football Club, was a shithole. Bloodied tiles in the Public Bar, and a clientele whose ambitions were limited. The bloke who had owned the joint for about forty years had resigned himself to a continuing working life of penury. South Melbourne Brownlow Medallist, the delightful former fireman, Fred Goldsmith, was a regular.

One day, two young fellows with a nous for business, and a skill at managing a kitchen, approached the owner of this decaying relic. They said to him, "We'll take over the unused dining room out the back, and turn it into a restaurant. We'll make our money from the food, and you can take the cut from your booze we sell." The publican agreed to the proposition. Within six months, The Grace Darling Hotel was the place to eat, and to be seen. Whatever the lads served on any given day in the restaurant was based upon what they could buy fresh at the markets, that early morning. They also knew how to make exquisite sauces.

The business thrived, and I regularly visited there for about two years. I got to know them so well that the deal between us became that I would supply them with their after-work joints, and they would maintain a never-ending supply of Veuve Cliquot at the table I was occupying, with whomever. Oh, and they'd partake from, and replace as required, the same bottles during their cooking and serving.

One night, the boys threw on a dinner for their 'special' customers. It was held in the cellar of the pub. Naturally, the food was exemplary. A revelation was the contents of the cellar. They had there every Grange ever made. They also had every Para Port from 1924 onwards. A stunning night.

One particular year, my missus and I decided that, rather than cooking a Christmas lunch, we'd eat at the Grace Darling. We turned up and ate nine courses of the most fabulous food. Of particular interest were the occupants of a nearby table who, unlike all other guests, were only drinking beer with their meals, instead of the contents of that unparallelled cellar.

I later found out that earlier that morning, the two boys who ran the show had gone onto Smith St and found four deros. They had allowed them to shave and shower upstairs, and given them all new clothes for the occasion (theirs to keep). They were then told that they could eat and drink anything they wanted from the best restaurant and cellar in Melbourne at the time. It appears they all chose to get pissed on beer, because they could so rarely afford to do so. These were great restrateurs. The deros were splendid lunch companions.

Anyway, eventually, the owner of the pub, who was by now well into his seventies, was able to sell what had previously been a dud business, at gargantuan profit, based on his huge turnover and prime position. The two boys in the kitchen out the back sought to continue a similar relationship with its new owner. This quickly fell to pieces when the new owner saw one of these fellows coming up out of the cellar, with a couple of bottles of wine. He said, "What are you doing?" The waiter said, "I'm getting some wine for one of our customers." The new owner said, "That's my wine. I bought it." Another great Australian business destroyed by greed and stupidity. The two young fellows walked away that very night.

 

[blackcat]

Seeing this thread appears to be going nowhere, as would seem appropriate for one which mentions penises and Putin in its title, I feel moved to digress, and expand on the above post about drunks on Gertrude and Smith Sts, in Fitzroy/Collingwood.

In the mid-1980s, the Grace Darling Hotel, in Smith St, the birthplace of the Collingwood Football Club, was a shithole. Bloodied tiles in the Public Bar, and a clientele whose ambitions were limited. The bloke who had owned the joint for about forty years had resigned himself to a continuing working life of penury. South Melbourne Brownlow Medallist, the delightful former fireman, Fred Goldsmith, was a regular.

One day, two young fellows with a nous for business, and a skill at managing a kitchen, approached the owner of this decaying relic. They said to him, "We'll take over the unused dining room out the back, and turn it into a restaurant. We'll make our money from the food, and you can take the cut from your booze we sell." The publican agreed to the proposition. Within six months, The Grace Darling Hotel was the place to eat, and to be seen. Whatever the lads served on any given day in the restaurant was based upon what they could buy fresh at the markets, that early morning. They also knew how to make exquisite sauces.

The business thrived, and I regularly visited there for about two years. I got to know them so well that the deal between us became that I would supply them with their after-work joints, and they would maintain a never-ending supply of Veuve Cliquot at the table I was occupying, with whomever. Oh, and they'd partake from, and replace as required, the same bottles during their cooking and serving.

One night, the boys threw on a dinner for their 'special' customers. It was held in the cellar of the pub. Naturally, the food was exquisite. A revelation was the contents of the cellar. They had there every Grange ever made. They also had every Para Port from 1924 onwards. A stunning night.

One particular year, my missus and I decided that, rather than cooking a Christmas lunch, we'd eat at the Grace Darling. We turned up and ate nine courses of the most fabulous food. Of particular interest were the occupants of a nearby table who, unlike all other guests, were only drinking beer with their meals, instead of the contents of that unparallelled cellar.

I later found out that earlier that morning, the two boys who ran the show had gone onto Smith St and found four deros. They had allowed them to shave and shower upstairs, and given them all new clothes for the occasion (theirs to keep). They were then told that they could eat and drink anything they wanted from the best restaurant and cellar in Melbourne at the time. It appears they all chose to get pissed on beer, because they could so rarely afford to do so. These were great restrateurs. The deros were splendid lunch companions.

Anyway, eventually, the owner of the pub, who was by now well into his seventies, was able to sell what had previously been a dud business, at gargantuan profit, based on his huge turnover and prime position. The two boys in the kitchen out the back sought to continue a similar relationship with its new owner. This quickly fell to pieces when the new owner saw one of these fellows coming up out of the cellar, with a couple of bottles of wine. He said, "What are you doing?" The waiter said, "I'm getting some wine for one of our customers." The new owner said, "That's my wine. I bought it." Another great Australian business destroyed by greed and stupidity. The two young fellows walked away that very night.

great great great post to piss in your pocket.

great anecdote, will retell, or, in todays idiom retweet. too many apostrophes and grammar in my reply

 

[skilts]

great great great post to piss in your pocket.

great anecdote, will retell, or, in todays idiom retweet. too many apostrophes and grammar in my reply

That you would say this means a lot to me, and I'm not pissing in your pocket. One can never predict a reaction. I was just writing, but not for that. I'm slightly embarrassed.

 

[John]

I was just writing, but not for that.

I get that. By the way I reckon you got the better deal with the madame.

 

[awaremind]

That you would say this means a lot to me, and I'm not pissing in your pocket. One can never predict a reaction. I was just writing, but not for that. I'm slightly embarrassed.

get a room!

 

[skilts]

get a room!

You would be a lucky person, were you to find such friends on here. That seems unlikely.

 

[The Coup]

Great story skilts. Good communist lads by the sound of it.