| THE SIMPLETON GAZETTE |
Seems Rosetta's been gathering something of a cult following
around Mondo Isle, with folks saying “Hey, you see that Simpleton
site or some such? It’s some funny shit is what it is”, and they
don’t even mention The Duke, not even under their breath, like as
if they don’t want folks to hear. What the hell. I don’t need
y'all cults, is the truth. Rosetta wants to get all Marilyn
Manson and Family-esque then Rosetta can go right ahead, The Duke
will just continue to slave like some shackled prisoner of a
barbaric regime while the world goes on ahead around him.
SLING A MOTHERFUCKIN EMAIL TO ROSETTA HERE
around Mondo Isle, with folks saying “Hey, you see that Simpleton
site or some such? It’s some funny shit is what it is”, and they
don’t even mention The Duke, not even under their breath, like as
if they don’t want folks to hear. What the hell. I don’t need
y'all cults, is the truth. Rosetta wants to get all Marilyn
Manson and Family-esque then Rosetta can go right ahead, The Duke
will just continue to slave like some shackled prisoner of a
barbaric regime while the world goes on ahead around him.
SLING A MOTHERFUCKIN EMAIL TO ROSETTA HERE
THE SIMPLETON GAZETTE
SPECIAL EDITION
SPECIAL EDITION
Rosetta Takes a Stand
A Bitter Riposte to The Duke de Mondo
Howdy Stallions and Fillies,
Like the rest of you good people I thoroughly enjoy The Duke's
musings on films and the like. I even appreciate his thoughts on
music, (a topic much closer to my heart than the movies) although
his reasons for liking the self-aggrandizing puddle of twat that
is Morrissey still elude me.
A Bitter Riposte to The Duke de Mondo
Howdy Stallions and Fillies,
Like the rest of you good people I thoroughly enjoy The Duke's
musings on films and the like. I even appreciate his thoughts on
music, (a topic much closer to my heart than the movies) although
his reasons for liking the self-aggrandizing puddle of twat that
is Morrissey still elude me.
So when I heard rumors that he was delving into television reviews I
was excited, so much so that I said to my friend “Oh looksie here
mate, The Duke is reviewing TV, this should be exciting!”
I have never been more disappointed in The Duke.
As a man of culture, breeding and a sound knowledge of what’s hot
and what’s not, his positive review of the latest series of Big
Brother knocked me off my feet and has forced me to leap on to my
feet and out of the shadows to say “NO DUKE…YOU ARE WRONG!!!”
My reasons for disliking the phenomena that is Big Brother are
manifold and for your reading pleasure (well, not The Duke's, he
hates being told he is wrong) I will discuss them now.
First of all I hate the name of the show. Orwell would be turning in
his grave if he could see his creation being used for such nefarious
purposes. Big Brother was something huge, beyond
comprehension, which watched your every move and in conjunction with
the thought police was an altogether scary motherfucker. It was not
something which threw 12 one dimensional wankers into a grossly over
decorated house and made them do silly tasks like being pushed on a
roundabout whilst wearing crash helmets.
Honestly, who the fuck except the little guy with the over
protective mother wore a crash helmet whilst playing on a
roundabout?
In light of this I think they should rename the program (if they
insist on showing it) 12 Wankers in a Big House.
I can see it now…the wee program announcer man says “Now lets go
over live to the 12 wankers in the big house.”
I seriously doubt I’m the only one who thinks this way.
Secondly, I think its wrong that this falls under the category of
‘Reality TV.’ It is the most contrived and fake television show
ever to be created. This is even more true of the current series
where they [the people at Endemol] have created “Evil” Big Brother
which only adds to the sham factor.
The situations which these people are put in are totally unnatural,
yet the greater public are still stupid enough to believe that it is
real. Even the contestants aren’t “real”, or at least the reason
why they were chosen isn’t.
They haven’t been chosen on their merits or strength of character,
but for their ability to conflict with other people. Why else would
a xenophobic homosexual be put in the same place as a homophobic
asylum seeker? It isn’t so they can become friends and stand as a
testament to how
peoples of diverse backgrounds can transcend divisions and share a
common humanity, it’s so they will hopefully kick the shit out or
each other.
Or have sex.
If it were to be truly real there would be 12 people who would be
friends on the outside and we could see if they could exist living
in each others pockets, but this wouldn’t make good TV.
What would make good TV would be to put 12 people who are very
similar (i.e. 12 Victors or 12
Jasons) in the Big Brother house and see what happens. After the
novelty of their common characteristics wears off, it would be
chaos, as 12 large, identical egos slowly go mad. Will this ever
happen? I doubt it, because in the interests of political
correctness there will always be a homosexual or a black man because
if their weren’t the word “discrimination” would be screamed from
the rooftops by every neo-liberal muppet with nothing better to do.
The topic of homosexuality brings me on to my next point, but before
I continue, I must point out that I am by know means a homophobe. I’
m not going to say I know loads of gay people because I don’t, but I
have nothing against them or their particular sexual preference. It
doesn’t infringe on
my personal happiness in anyway and thus doesn’t really matter, to
me anyway.
What I’m going to say may upset a few but I despised that Kitten
person from the moment she opened her mouth. I didn’t dislike her
for what she is, a lesbian, or what she claimed to be, a political
activist/anarchist, but for what she said. Her rants about
championing gay rights is all well
and good, but to call others ignorant for being indifferent to her
cause is outrageous. She, and I’m sure countless others like her,
seem to forget that homosexuality is by no means a new trend. It
was practiced widely, without persecution, in ancient times, and the
term Greek Love (in reference to the indulgences of gay men)
signifies the ancient Greeks practice of homosexuality.
The Romans were not adverse to it either with Caligula and Nero
liking to occasionally pack fudge (sorry…I don’t know many gay love
slang terms). Only with the advent of Christianity was homosexuality
discouraged and persecuted, so perhaps in future Kitten and her kin
should direct their ragings at the religious leaders of our time,
and not the man on the street who probably doesn’t give a fuck
anyway. I have some advice for gay people in general (well, only the
socially un-adjusted ones…most gay people are just like you and
me…kinda); if you want to be treated the same as everyone else…act
like everyone else! It’s only a minority of small-minded
assholes who care about you coming out of the closet, the rest of us
don’t care so please don’t make a song and dance about it, and if
you must, keep it brief!
As for her political activism, the most successful political
activists of the 20th Century didn’t champion their causes by saying
the word “fuck” repeatedly and delivering rude gestures…something to
think about.
And for anyone who is thinking…he must be a closet Big Brother fan
because he knows such much about it…be quiet…I gave it the same
chance The Duke did and it only served to confirm what I already
thought…
It’s shite
Tootles
Sling An Email To Rosetta!
was excited, so much so that I said to my friend “Oh looksie here
mate, The Duke is reviewing TV, this should be exciting!”
I have never been more disappointed in The Duke.
As a man of culture, breeding and a sound knowledge of what’s hot
and what’s not, his positive review of the latest series of Big
Brother knocked me off my feet and has forced me to leap on to my
feet and out of the shadows to say “NO DUKE…YOU ARE WRONG!!!”
My reasons for disliking the phenomena that is Big Brother are
manifold and for your reading pleasure (well, not The Duke's, he
hates being told he is wrong) I will discuss them now.
First of all I hate the name of the show. Orwell would be turning in
his grave if he could see his creation being used for such nefarious
purposes. Big Brother was something huge, beyond
comprehension, which watched your every move and in conjunction with
the thought police was an altogether scary motherfucker. It was not
something which threw 12 one dimensional wankers into a grossly over
decorated house and made them do silly tasks like being pushed on a
roundabout whilst wearing crash helmets.
Honestly, who the fuck except the little guy with the over
protective mother wore a crash helmet whilst playing on a
roundabout?
In light of this I think they should rename the program (if they
insist on showing it) 12 Wankers in a Big House.
I can see it now…the wee program announcer man says “Now lets go
over live to the 12 wankers in the big house.”
I seriously doubt I’m the only one who thinks this way.
Secondly, I think its wrong that this falls under the category of
‘Reality TV.’ It is the most contrived and fake television show
ever to be created. This is even more true of the current series
where they [the people at Endemol] have created “Evil” Big Brother
which only adds to the sham factor.
The situations which these people are put in are totally unnatural,
yet the greater public are still stupid enough to believe that it is
real. Even the contestants aren’t “real”, or at least the reason
why they were chosen isn’t.
They haven’t been chosen on their merits or strength of character,
but for their ability to conflict with other people. Why else would
a xenophobic homosexual be put in the same place as a homophobic
asylum seeker? It isn’t so they can become friends and stand as a
testament to how
peoples of diverse backgrounds can transcend divisions and share a
common humanity, it’s so they will hopefully kick the shit out or
each other.
Or have sex.
If it were to be truly real there would be 12 people who would be
friends on the outside and we could see if they could exist living
in each others pockets, but this wouldn’t make good TV.
What would make good TV would be to put 12 people who are very
similar (i.e. 12 Victors or 12
Jasons) in the Big Brother house and see what happens. After the
novelty of their common characteristics wears off, it would be
chaos, as 12 large, identical egos slowly go mad. Will this ever
happen? I doubt it, because in the interests of political
correctness there will always be a homosexual or a black man because
if their weren’t the word “discrimination” would be screamed from
the rooftops by every neo-liberal muppet with nothing better to do.
The topic of homosexuality brings me on to my next point, but before
I continue, I must point out that I am by know means a homophobe. I’
m not going to say I know loads of gay people because I don’t, but I
have nothing against them or their particular sexual preference. It
doesn’t infringe on
my personal happiness in anyway and thus doesn’t really matter, to
me anyway.
What I’m going to say may upset a few but I despised that Kitten
person from the moment she opened her mouth. I didn’t dislike her
for what she is, a lesbian, or what she claimed to be, a political
activist/anarchist, but for what she said. Her rants about
championing gay rights is all well
and good, but to call others ignorant for being indifferent to her
cause is outrageous. She, and I’m sure countless others like her,
seem to forget that homosexuality is by no means a new trend. It
was practiced widely, without persecution, in ancient times, and the
term Greek Love (in reference to the indulgences of gay men)
signifies the ancient Greeks practice of homosexuality.
The Romans were not adverse to it either with Caligula and Nero
liking to occasionally pack fudge (sorry…I don’t know many gay love
slang terms). Only with the advent of Christianity was homosexuality
discouraged and persecuted, so perhaps in future Kitten and her kin
should direct their ragings at the religious leaders of our time,
and not the man on the street who probably doesn’t give a fuck
anyway. I have some advice for gay people in general (well, only the
socially un-adjusted ones…most gay people are just like you and
me…kinda); if you want to be treated the same as everyone else…act
like everyone else! It’s only a minority of small-minded
assholes who care about you coming out of the closet, the rest of us
don’t care so please don’t make a song and dance about it, and if
you must, keep it brief!
As for her political activism, the most successful political
activists of the 20th Century didn’t champion their causes by saying
the word “fuck” repeatedly and delivering rude gestures…something to
think about.
And for anyone who is thinking…he must be a closet Big Brother fan
because he knows such much about it…be quiet…I gave it the same
chance The Duke did and it only served to confirm what I already
thought…
It’s shite
Tootles
Sling An Email To Rosetta!
THE SIMPLETON GAZETTE ISSUE #6
Greetings Studmuffins and Studmuffettes,
Ah…sweet relief!!
Now that my learn how to throw fish properly classes have ended I
can devote all my time…well…lets not get carried away here… some
of my time, to the continued excellence of The Simpleton
Gazette!!
Hurrah!
Praise Him (as those of you with religious convictions may say)
…Bless His learned toes…anoint him with oils and seeds…sorry
folks…but that Bible…it is some read!
Anyways…
Ah…sweet relief!!
Now that my learn how to throw fish properly classes have ended I
can devote all my time…well…lets not get carried away here… some
of my time, to the continued excellence of The Simpleton
Gazette!!
Hurrah!
Praise Him (as those of you with religious convictions may say)
…Bless His learned toes…anoint him with oils and seeds…sorry
folks…but that Bible…it is some read!
Anyways…
Lets be honest now, we all have had our little run-ins with the
boys in blue. No, not the smurfs, I’m talking about the police.
Whether we were speeding in our automobiles, caught a little bit
the worse for wear with alcomahol or eating cocktail sausages with
a duck (a crime punishable by death if you happen to be in
Rwanda), we all have dealings with the police.
Anyhoo, a few years ago the Duke and myself were strolling through
the…
I’m sorry…
I cant live this lie any longer.
It has all been a sham.
My adventures in Poland, my stint in the pornography industry and
the Duke and me playing badminton…it was all lies, dirty, smelly
although carefully crafted…lies.
I’m not proud of what I’ve done. I didn’t want to fool all you
good honest internet folks but you don’t understand the pressures
I’ve been under lately.
boys in blue. No, not the smurfs, I’m talking about the police.
Whether we were speeding in our automobiles, caught a little bit
the worse for wear with alcomahol or eating cocktail sausages with
a duck (a crime punishable by death if you happen to be in
Rwanda), we all have dealings with the police.
Anyhoo, a few years ago the Duke and myself were strolling through
the…
I’m sorry…
I cant live this lie any longer.
It has all been a sham.
My adventures in Poland, my stint in the pornography industry and
the Duke and me playing badminton…it was all lies, dirty, smelly
although carefully crafted…lies.
I’m not proud of what I’ve done. I didn’t want to fool all you
good honest internet folks but you don’t understand the pressures
I’ve been under lately.
I recently lost my job, you see. I was Gary Coleman’s stunt
double in Diff’rent strokes. All those times he would get into
fights with Willis I would have to fight in his place. There was
even one time when I had to deliver his famous catchphrase, you
know the one; “What you talking bout fooo?”
Anyway, things were going great until the producers noticed
something about me…I wasn’t black, and at that time all the TV
companies were going for realism in their shows so I was sacked.
Bastards.
A lot of people were made redundant during that dark, dark time.
Even the goat who was understudy to the sexy cousin in The Dukes
of Hazzard was let go.
Anyways, having seen my screen dream crushed, I went a bit loco
for a few years and I finally hit rock bottom when I was arrested
sucking on the exhaust pipes of parked cars. I realized something
had to be done so I cleaned my exhaust fume ashened face and
tried to get back into the showbiz game.
Not a chance.
I was rejected for every role I went for, even for a part as Dead
Germanic Warrior #597 in Gladiator.
In a bid to cheer myself up I went looking for porn and stumbled
across The Duke in all his glory. So impressed was I, and so
anxious for recognition, that I called The Duke and told him all
about my “adventures”, and he was desperate, so much so he almost
fell over, for me to write about them.
So I did.
Until now.
I can’t carry on like this any longer…the lies must end.
I’m sorry Duke, I’m sorry Webnetters, I’m sorry Jesus and most
importantly…no…that’s all the apologies I need to give.
I now go down on bended knees to beg for forgiveness
double in Diff’rent strokes. All those times he would get into
fights with Willis I would have to fight in his place. There was
even one time when I had to deliver his famous catchphrase, you
know the one; “What you talking bout fooo?”
Anyway, things were going great until the producers noticed
something about me…I wasn’t black, and at that time all the TV
companies were going for realism in their shows so I was sacked.
Bastards.
A lot of people were made redundant during that dark, dark time.
Even the goat who was understudy to the sexy cousin in The Dukes
of Hazzard was let go.
Anyways, having seen my screen dream crushed, I went a bit loco
for a few years and I finally hit rock bottom when I was arrested
sucking on the exhaust pipes of parked cars. I realized something
had to be done so I cleaned my exhaust fume ashened face and
tried to get back into the showbiz game.
Not a chance.
I was rejected for every role I went for, even for a part as Dead
Germanic Warrior #597 in Gladiator.
In a bid to cheer myself up I went looking for porn and stumbled
across The Duke in all his glory. So impressed was I, and so
anxious for recognition, that I called The Duke and told him all
about my “adventures”, and he was desperate, so much so he almost
fell over, for me to write about them.
So I did.
Until now.
I can’t carry on like this any longer…the lies must end.
I’m sorry Duke, I’m sorry Webnetters, I’m sorry Jesus and most
importantly…no…that’s all the apologies I need to give.
I now go down on bended knees to beg for forgiveness
Arthur Guinness you absolute fucknugget!
I’m sorry if that offends fans of the black stuff but if you know
what I know then you’d feel the same. Perhaps you would be more
angry but that’s not for me to hypothesize about now.
I have long been a fan of the creamy topped thirst quencher that
is Guinness. For even longer I have wondered what a widget is.
For a while I thought it was female midget who regulated the flow
of Guinness so it wouldn’t spill and make an affront of your
trousers, and as I got older I was certain it was some piece of
technological wonderment which allowed the body to come out
first, whilst keeping the aforementioned creamy head to the
last.
Imagine my disgust when, in a bid to satisfy my morbid curiosity,
I find out that it is just a plastic ball…a (f)ucking plastic
ball!
That’s all it is…honestly…just a simply run of the mill plastic
ball.
It really does ruin the mystique which surrounds Guinness, and
I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, but in my new found spirit of
honesty I had to tell you.
I guess the moral of the story is to always satisfy your
curiosity but I reckon it is to never trust a dead Irishman. I’ll
leave it for you to decide.
I’m sorry if that offends fans of the black stuff but if you know
what I know then you’d feel the same. Perhaps you would be more
angry but that’s not for me to hypothesize about now.
I have long been a fan of the creamy topped thirst quencher that
is Guinness. For even longer I have wondered what a widget is.
For a while I thought it was female midget who regulated the flow
of Guinness so it wouldn’t spill and make an affront of your
trousers, and as I got older I was certain it was some piece of
technological wonderment which allowed the body to come out
first, whilst keeping the aforementioned creamy head to the
last.
Imagine my disgust when, in a bid to satisfy my morbid curiosity,
I find out that it is just a plastic ball…a (f)ucking plastic
ball!
That’s all it is…honestly…just a simply run of the mill plastic
ball.
It really does ruin the mystique which surrounds Guinness, and
I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, but in my new found spirit of
honesty I had to tell you.
I guess the moral of the story is to always satisfy your
curiosity but I reckon it is to never trust a dead Irishman. I’ll
leave it for you to decide.
Gloves have gotten a bit of a bad name recently. You read all
these horror headlines in the newspapers like “War In Iraq Over
Stolen Gloves” and “Man With Glove Addiction Commits Suicide.”
But, I for one would like to state proudly that I love gloves.
They are great.
Not only are they very chic and stylish and great for keeping
your wee hands warm in the winter, they also have a million
other uses. For the large handed man who likes tea, a glove can
be used as a very handy tea cosy, and for anyone with abnormally
long toes, gloves can come in very handy as emergency socks. The
list goes on and on.
Anyway, I don’t have time to wax lyrically about the beauty of
gloves, suffice to say that gloves rock, much like popular rock
band Led Zeppelin. Only better.
Keep on feigning injury otherwise the compensation companies
might go bust
Tootles
Fact of the Day
Cows have wings
Next issue
A rather terrible sailing incident, Iraq and Jon Bon Jovi
these horror headlines in the newspapers like “War In Iraq Over
Stolen Gloves” and “Man With Glove Addiction Commits Suicide.”
But, I for one would like to state proudly that I love gloves.
They are great.
Not only are they very chic and stylish and great for keeping
your wee hands warm in the winter, they also have a million
other uses. For the large handed man who likes tea, a glove can
be used as a very handy tea cosy, and for anyone with abnormally
long toes, gloves can come in very handy as emergency socks. The
list goes on and on.
Anyway, I don’t have time to wax lyrically about the beauty of
gloves, suffice to say that gloves rock, much like popular rock
band Led Zeppelin. Only better.
Keep on feigning injury otherwise the compensation companies
might go bust
Tootles
Fact of the Day
Cows have wings
Next issue
A rather terrible sailing incident, Iraq and Jon Bon Jovi
THE SIMPLETON GAZETTE ISSUE #5
Howdy Ladies and Gentle-bens,
I must offer an apology to everyone. It has been a while since I
have been in contact with Mondo Towers and thus the wider world
and for that I am truly sorry but you know how it is. You save a
walrus and soon everyone wants a piece of you.
I also must say sorry to my fan. I’ve been made aware that some
actually enjoyed my rhymeless poetry so to you…whoever you are…I
say mochas gracias!!
Anyway, on to the matter at hand…
I must offer an apology to everyone. It has been a while since I
have been in contact with Mondo Towers and thus the wider world
and for that I am truly sorry but you know how it is. You save a
walrus and soon everyone wants a piece of you.
I also must say sorry to my fan. I’ve been made aware that some
actually enjoyed my rhymeless poetry so to you…whoever you are…I
say mochas gracias!!
Anyway, on to the matter at hand…
Contrary to what he would have you believe, The Duke is no athlete.
All that talk of doing the shot putt was just an elaborate plan to
lure The Duchess into his forbidden den of lust and oily things.
Knowing this, I invited The Duke to partake in some low level
exercise (my buttocks don’t stay this firm and lust inducing all by
themselves) and I thought what better then badminton?
Big mistake.
First of all, instead of a badminton racket he brought a Wellington
boot, and when I asked him to bring a shuttlecock he brought a
rooster strapped to a firework. You couldn’t make it up.
Anyway, I wanted to do at least some exercise, so we decided we
might as well try and play…
Another big mistake.
That rooster did not enjoy being thunked with a badminton racket,
never mind a fucking Wellington boot. Needless to say, the Royal
Society for the Prevention of Pointless Cruelty to Roosters,
Cockerels and other Fowl (RSPPCRCF) were called and our game was
stopped with what I saw as rather excessive force. The Duke has some
very odd scars in some places only The Duchess has seen.
Anyway, apparently those RSPPCRCF guys have some very powerful
friends in the courts and I was sentenced to do 9000 hours of
community service.
Bastards.
I suppose the moral of the story would not to be cruel to animals
but it really is never invite The Duke to play badminton. It will
end in tears.
I myself do not smoke, never have done and probably never will. I
know you are expecting a tirade of abuse at smoking and smokers but
I’m going to do quite the opposite.
Although I don’t see the point in smoking, I think you guys are the
bravest fucking people in the world!!
Despite all the medical proof about the dangers of smoking and the
increasingly astronomical cost of doing so, you continue to shun
logic and puff away to your wee brave lungs are as black as Michael
Jackson is...well…was. I find that very encouraging and now when I’m
faced with a problem or I have to make a decision I think to myself
“what would a smoker do?” And you know what? I have yet to take a
wrong turn…so everyone raise a glass (and for any whales that are
reading blow some water out of your blowhole) to the bravest people
on earth…and consequently those with the least time left on it…
smokers!!
Hurrah for smokers!!
Spam Update
Maude Davila has told me to “stop paying out the ass for cigarettes”
…now there’s a neat trick…
Permanent Male has offered this: “Gain 1-3 inches or your money back”
…mmm…could be useful…I’ve needed a bigger more reliable ruler for
months…
Rosario Thomson has told me to ‘meet her there.’ Don’t you just hate
it when they don’t tell you where there is?
Tameka Folund has offered to make me feel “young and strong”
again…how sweet!
Fact Of The Day
Wearing camouflage clothing actually makes you invisible.
Next Issue
I’m open to any suggestions for discussion but in case nobody cares
I have the police (the law enforcement agency…not the band),
Guinness and gloves to talk about.
All that talk of doing the shot putt was just an elaborate plan to
lure The Duchess into his forbidden den of lust and oily things.
Knowing this, I invited The Duke to partake in some low level
exercise (my buttocks don’t stay this firm and lust inducing all by
themselves) and I thought what better then badminton?
Big mistake.
First of all, instead of a badminton racket he brought a Wellington
boot, and when I asked him to bring a shuttlecock he brought a
rooster strapped to a firework. You couldn’t make it up.
Anyway, I wanted to do at least some exercise, so we decided we
might as well try and play…
Another big mistake.
That rooster did not enjoy being thunked with a badminton racket,
never mind a fucking Wellington boot. Needless to say, the Royal
Society for the Prevention of Pointless Cruelty to Roosters,
Cockerels and other Fowl (RSPPCRCF) were called and our game was
stopped with what I saw as rather excessive force. The Duke has some
very odd scars in some places only The Duchess has seen.
Anyway, apparently those RSPPCRCF guys have some very powerful
friends in the courts and I was sentenced to do 9000 hours of
community service.
Bastards.
I suppose the moral of the story would not to be cruel to animals
but it really is never invite The Duke to play badminton. It will
end in tears.
I myself do not smoke, never have done and probably never will. I
know you are expecting a tirade of abuse at smoking and smokers but
I’m going to do quite the opposite.
Although I don’t see the point in smoking, I think you guys are the
bravest fucking people in the world!!
Despite all the medical proof about the dangers of smoking and the
increasingly astronomical cost of doing so, you continue to shun
logic and puff away to your wee brave lungs are as black as Michael
Jackson is...well…was. I find that very encouraging and now when I’m
faced with a problem or I have to make a decision I think to myself
“what would a smoker do?” And you know what? I have yet to take a
wrong turn…so everyone raise a glass (and for any whales that are
reading blow some water out of your blowhole) to the bravest people
on earth…and consequently those with the least time left on it…
smokers!!
Hurrah for smokers!!
Spam Update
Maude Davila has told me to “stop paying out the ass for cigarettes”
…now there’s a neat trick…
Permanent Male has offered this: “Gain 1-3 inches or your money back”
…mmm…could be useful…I’ve needed a bigger more reliable ruler for
months…
Rosario Thomson has told me to ‘meet her there.’ Don’t you just hate
it when they don’t tell you where there is?
Tameka Folund has offered to make me feel “young and strong”
again…how sweet!
Fact Of The Day
Wearing camouflage clothing actually makes you invisible.
Next Issue
I’m open to any suggestions for discussion but in case nobody cares
I have the police (the law enforcement agency…not the band),
Guinness and gloves to talk about.
THE SIMPLETON GAZETTE ISSUE #4
Ciao pizza people,
I have been made aware that Ciao means hello as well as goodbye in
Italian so I thought I’d use it. Aren’t I clever?
Last time I promised a mystery and a surprise (as well as that
godforsaken cunt-trunpet Bush) so I shant keep you in suspense any
longer.
I have been made aware that Ciao means hello as well as goodbye in
Italian so I thought I’d use it. Aren’t I clever?
Last time I promised a mystery and a surprise (as well as that
godforsaken cunt-trunpet Bush) so I shant keep you in suspense any
longer.
Having been deported from Poland, (damn you Kaluzny, damn you to
hell!!) I felt I was at a crossroads in my life. It was by sheer
coincidence that I noticed I was actually at a cross roads.
What are the chances?
The debate of whether to go left to Portugal, right to Norway or
straight on had me in a frenzy (so much so that when I asked a
passer-by if it was Tuesday and he said “yes you’re right”, I killed
him).
Said frenzy had meant that I was institutionalized for a brief
period where under heavy sedation I was moved to a secure wing in a
mental hospital in the Good old US of R. Oops, damned flashing
dyslexia, I of course meant US of A. Having ran some surprisingly
invasive tests, (you wouldn’t think rectal probing would be
necessary to evaluate mental health) I was deemed of relatively
sound mind and was released.
Hey, it was New York, I was fucking Buddha compared to those freaks!
In a bid to get my life back on track I enrolled at the local higher
educational facility and trained to become a psychiatrist (no, the
irony wasn’t lost on me either).
America being the land of opportunity, I soon had a job. I was hired
as a nipple tweaker for a prominent gay pornography company “Hot n’
Heavy Homo Humpers”. I wasn’t aware of the demand for erect nipples
amongst the New York homosexual community, but you learn something
new everyday I suppose.
I gradually worked my way up through the industry, (cleaning the
stained bed-sheets and the like) and became psychiatrist to the
stars!!
Porn stars that is.
Soon, I was advising the likes of Randy Papa, Shannon Revlarice and
Szugar Nutzs, the legendary Czech erotic actor. I know all they do
is hump, suck, fuck etc. all day, but they have feelings, feelings
that can hurt, just like ours, or a rabbit.
A life of endless meaningless sex with what amounts to complete
strangers can lead to severe mental issues. So the next time you see
a porn star, spare a thought for them but whatever you do, DON’T try
and help them. That’s my job and I get paid a pretty fucking penny
for doing it!!
hell!!) I felt I was at a crossroads in my life. It was by sheer
coincidence that I noticed I was actually at a cross roads.
What are the chances?
The debate of whether to go left to Portugal, right to Norway or
straight on had me in a frenzy (so much so that when I asked a
passer-by if it was Tuesday and he said “yes you’re right”, I killed
him).
Said frenzy had meant that I was institutionalized for a brief
period where under heavy sedation I was moved to a secure wing in a
mental hospital in the Good old US of R. Oops, damned flashing
dyslexia, I of course meant US of A. Having ran some surprisingly
invasive tests, (you wouldn’t think rectal probing would be
necessary to evaluate mental health) I was deemed of relatively
sound mind and was released.
Hey, it was New York, I was fucking Buddha compared to those freaks!
In a bid to get my life back on track I enrolled at the local higher
educational facility and trained to become a psychiatrist (no, the
irony wasn’t lost on me either).
America being the land of opportunity, I soon had a job. I was hired
as a nipple tweaker for a prominent gay pornography company “Hot n’
Heavy Homo Humpers”. I wasn’t aware of the demand for erect nipples
amongst the New York homosexual community, but you learn something
new everyday I suppose.
I gradually worked my way up through the industry, (cleaning the
stained bed-sheets and the like) and became psychiatrist to the
stars!!
Porn stars that is.
Soon, I was advising the likes of Randy Papa, Shannon Revlarice and
Szugar Nutzs, the legendary Czech erotic actor. I know all they do
is hump, suck, fuck etc. all day, but they have feelings, feelings
that can hurt, just like ours, or a rabbit.
A life of endless meaningless sex with what amounts to complete
strangers can lead to severe mental issues. So the next time you see
a porn star, spare a thought for them but whatever you do, DON’T try
and help them. That’s my job and I get paid a pretty fucking penny
for doing it!!
Caught a glimpse of an episode of NYPD Blue the other day and
nearly imploded with laughter at what I heard.
A rather hulking black man had just been told that his girlfriend
was pregnant, and, I assume fearing for his career, he yelped “How
did this happen?”
Flashback time for this large man - Remember that time you put your
man shaft deep inside your girlfriend?
Now I’m no expert (yes, its true) on biological processes, but I’m
fairly certain that’s how your lover beCAME (oh I crack myself up!)
with child.
This piece of advice goes to all drama scriptwriters, and not just
the people at NYPD Blah.
Please do not bore us, and insult our intelligence, I suppose, by
asking stupid fucking questions. It really is irritating.
So, to help you writers, I have provided scenarios and the
explanations so you need not include them in your scripts:
(1) Man found at bottom of tall building without small explanatory
note in pocket?
Bungee accident not suicide or murder.
(2) Small child found in basket among reeds by the river?
Return of Moses, not mother abandoning child by ironically placing
it at scene of her happy youthful days spent reed picking.
(3)Erratic behavior of the Superintendent?
Unusual planetary alignment, not drugs or break-up of marriage.
I hope this will allow you to include more moments of biting
tension, as opposed to coma inducing moments of banality. Thank you
nearly imploded with laughter at what I heard.
A rather hulking black man had just been told that his girlfriend
was pregnant, and, I assume fearing for his career, he yelped “How
did this happen?”
Flashback time for this large man - Remember that time you put your
man shaft deep inside your girlfriend?
Now I’m no expert (yes, its true) on biological processes, but I’m
fairly certain that’s how your lover beCAME (oh I crack myself up!)
with child.
This piece of advice goes to all drama scriptwriters, and not just
the people at NYPD Blah.
Please do not bore us, and insult our intelligence, I suppose, by
asking stupid fucking questions. It really is irritating.
So, to help you writers, I have provided scenarios and the
explanations so you need not include them in your scripts:
(1) Man found at bottom of tall building without small explanatory
note in pocket?
Bungee accident not suicide or murder.
(2) Small child found in basket among reeds by the river?
Return of Moses, not mother abandoning child by ironically placing
it at scene of her happy youthful days spent reed picking.
(3)Erratic behavior of the Superintendent?
Unusual planetary alignment, not drugs or break-up of marriage.
I hope this will allow you to include more moments of biting
tension, as opposed to coma inducing moments of banality. Thank you
Dubya, Dubya, Dubya!!
Where has it all gone wrong?
You started so well, what with becoming president without winning
the election, but now, well, its going downhill faster than a
greased up fat man going down a bobsleigh course naked.
Two illegitimate wars, a massive budget deficit and a vocabulary
smaller than Rumsfeld’s sense of remorse for the death of innocent
civilians. Couldn’t really get much worse.
Oh, that’s right, your popularity is slipping too! Oh how the mighty
have falle…
I have just realized [been informed] that George W. Bush is a wise
and benevolent Statesman who has only good in his heart and world
peace on his mind. Under his leadership we have foiled the plans of
two maniacal fanatics who had, unlike our President, only death on
their minds.
Praise the Lord God.
Bless George W. Bush.
I must also stress that this reversal of opinion was of my own free
will after proper review of the facts and not at gunpoint.
Tootles
Until next time, keep fighting The War Against Terror
Fact of the Day
Eating butter will kill you
Next Issue
Me and The Duke play badminton, smoking and Spam update!
Where has it all gone wrong?
You started so well, what with becoming president without winning
the election, but now, well, its going downhill faster than a
greased up fat man going down a bobsleigh course naked.
Two illegitimate wars, a massive budget deficit and a vocabulary
smaller than Rumsfeld’s sense of remorse for the death of innocent
civilians. Couldn’t really get much worse.
Oh, that’s right, your popularity is slipping too! Oh how the mighty
have falle…
I have just realized [been informed] that George W. Bush is a wise
and benevolent Statesman who has only good in his heart and world
peace on his mind. Under his leadership we have foiled the plans of
two maniacal fanatics who had, unlike our President, only death on
their minds.
Praise the Lord God.
Bless George W. Bush.
I must also stress that this reversal of opinion was of my own free
will after proper review of the facts and not at gunpoint.
Tootles
Until next time, keep fighting The War Against Terror
Fact of the Day
Eating butter will kill you
Next Issue
Me and The Duke play badminton, smoking and Spam update!
THE SIMPLETON GAZETTE ISSUE #3
Salutations Webjockeys,
I’m always unsure of how to start the Simpleton Gazette. The rebel in
me wants to rush in like Jill at a Jack saving convention, but my more
cautious side wants me to be cool, casual almost, like the Fonz before
he went all “there is a moral lesson to be learned from my manic
adventures” and “underneath my leather jacket is a heart of gold”.
Why couldn’t he have remained cool? WHY GOD WHY????
But in my wisdom I’ll choose to take neither of these paths and just
say…
I’m always unsure of how to start the Simpleton Gazette. The rebel in
me wants to rush in like Jill at a Jack saving convention, but my more
cautious side wants me to be cool, casual almost, like the Fonz before
he went all “there is a moral lesson to be learned from my manic
adventures” and “underneath my leather jacket is a heart of gold”.
Why couldn’t he have remained cool? WHY GOD WHY????
But in my wisdom I’ll choose to take neither of these paths and just
say…
Back in my more youthful days I was an active activist who took action
over many contentious issues. My centre of activity was Warsaw, where I
had came to live on account of winning a competition where you had to
collect 8000 Polo wrappers to win the prize of a house in Poland (it
took me many years to understand the reasoning behind the
prize…POLo…POLand…quite clever I suppose but anyway).
It never dawned on me that the prize was very extravagant in comparison
to the task involved in winning the prize but hey, I didn’t care (as
being young I wasn’t permitted to have a care in the world).
I set about contesting many unpopular laws introduced by the maniacal
Piotr Kaluzny(Mayor at the time) like the Monkey Toe Law of 1966 and the
evil Shin Pad Law of 1968 which banned senior citizens from wearing
protective shinwear during intercourse. If you’ve ever watched old
people make love, you’ll know why protective shinwear is vital. I was
eventually persuaded by my fellow anti-Kaluzny activists to run for
mayor due to my stunning good looks and minty fresh breath (you didn’t
just think I kept the wrapper and threw the polo’s away did you?).
Unsurprisingly I had mustered up huge support for my pro-anti-pro-
Kaluzny stance and with only a few days away from the election I was
neck and neck with Kaluzny in the media polls.
Election Day came and the exit polls showed it was as tight as a ducks
arse between us and here is the point of the story. You know in TV
coverage of elections you see various candidates dropping their names
into the ballot box but you always assume it is a largely ceremonious
gesture?
Well it isn’t.
Those votes actually count! I missed my little fancy (yet
retrospectively vital) voting ceremony because I stopped to help an old
lady cross the street (all the boy scouts must have been at a jamboree
or something) and missed my bus. I lost the election by one vote and
was subsequently kicked out of the country. The moral lesson (one which
the uncool Fonz never taught you) - never help anyone.
over many contentious issues. My centre of activity was Warsaw, where I
had came to live on account of winning a competition where you had to
collect 8000 Polo wrappers to win the prize of a house in Poland (it
took me many years to understand the reasoning behind the
prize…POLo…POLand…quite clever I suppose but anyway).
It never dawned on me that the prize was very extravagant in comparison
to the task involved in winning the prize but hey, I didn’t care (as
being young I wasn’t permitted to have a care in the world).
I set about contesting many unpopular laws introduced by the maniacal
Piotr Kaluzny(Mayor at the time) like the Monkey Toe Law of 1966 and the
evil Shin Pad Law of 1968 which banned senior citizens from wearing
protective shinwear during intercourse. If you’ve ever watched old
people make love, you’ll know why protective shinwear is vital. I was
eventually persuaded by my fellow anti-Kaluzny activists to run for
mayor due to my stunning good looks and minty fresh breath (you didn’t
just think I kept the wrapper and threw the polo’s away did you?).
Unsurprisingly I had mustered up huge support for my pro-anti-pro-
Kaluzny stance and with only a few days away from the election I was
neck and neck with Kaluzny in the media polls.
Election Day came and the exit polls showed it was as tight as a ducks
arse between us and here is the point of the story. You know in TV
coverage of elections you see various candidates dropping their names
into the ballot box but you always assume it is a largely ceremonious
gesture?
Well it isn’t.
Those votes actually count! I missed my little fancy (yet
retrospectively vital) voting ceremony because I stopped to help an old
lady cross the street (all the boy scouts must have been at a jamboree
or something) and missed my bus. I lost the election by one vote and
was subsequently kicked out of the country. The moral lesson (one which
the uncool Fonz never taught you) - never help anyone.
Caught an episode of the new Scooby-Doo cartoon recently and all I can
say is oh dear god!
Not only is the new pop-shite-rock theme music very offensive to my
aural passages, but gone are all the old elements which made it cult
viewing. I’ve never seen the film version I might add and on the
basis of the cartoon I shall make no attempt to do so. Although his
scarf remains, gone are Fred’s overwhelmingly homosexual mannerisms.
Gone is Velma’s frustration at seeing her love of Daphne go
unrequited, in its place a gross overuse of the word ‘Jinkies’.
And since when did Daphne become some sort of heroine figure?
Thankfully Shaggy remains in his bumbling, shit your pants at every
opportunity glory but, alas, even he can’t save this once hallowed
institution. And don’t even get me started on that fucking dog!!
I could understand if he could talk…but that incomprehensible half
speech?
No wonder kids are becoming increasingly stupid!
Wait a minute, was that a review? I’m sorry Duke! It was an
accident! It’ll never happen again!
say is oh dear god!
Not only is the new pop-shite-rock theme music very offensive to my
aural passages, but gone are all the old elements which made it cult
viewing. I’ve never seen the film version I might add and on the
basis of the cartoon I shall make no attempt to do so. Although his
scarf remains, gone are Fred’s overwhelmingly homosexual mannerisms.
Gone is Velma’s frustration at seeing her love of Daphne go
unrequited, in its place a gross overuse of the word ‘Jinkies’.
And since when did Daphne become some sort of heroine figure?
Thankfully Shaggy remains in his bumbling, shit your pants at every
opportunity glory but, alas, even he can’t save this once hallowed
institution. And don’t even get me started on that fucking dog!!
I could understand if he could talk…but that incomprehensible half
speech?
No wonder kids are becoming increasingly stupid!
Wait a minute, was that a review? I’m sorry Duke! It was an
accident! It’ll never happen again!
Can I ask one question? Well, two.
Has anyone, anywhere on this huge planet ever seen a Leprechaun? As
of yet I haven’t seen one, yet I’m constantly told they are at the end
of rainbows with pots of gold. What a crock of shit! If I were a
leprechaun and had a pot of gold I’d be damn sure I wasn’t hanging
around at the end of a rainbow with hoards of westerners (note how non-
European/non-Caucasian peoples don’t believe in such nonsense) chasing
after me! I’d be on the first plane to Tahiti with a beautiful hooker
on my arm! This is of course only based on the assumption that I, as
a leprechaun, exist! It says a lot about our society when we still
devote time to believing in little men in green suits with pots of
gold instead of striving to cure the world of its cancerous elements,
which, if achieved, would make searching for such little men
irrelevant because we would all be happy.
Just a thought.
Has anyone, anywhere on this huge planet ever seen a Leprechaun? As
of yet I haven’t seen one, yet I’m constantly told they are at the end
of rainbows with pots of gold. What a crock of shit! If I were a
leprechaun and had a pot of gold I’d be damn sure I wasn’t hanging
around at the end of a rainbow with hoards of westerners (note how non-
European/non-Caucasian peoples don’t believe in such nonsense) chasing
after me! I’d be on the first plane to Tahiti with a beautiful hooker
on my arm! This is of course only based on the assumption that I, as
a leprechaun, exist! It says a lot about our society when we still
devote time to believing in little men in green suits with pots of
gold instead of striving to cure the world of its cancerous elements,
which, if achieved, would make searching for such little men
irrelevant because we would all be happy.
Just a thought.
Until next time keeping rocking around the Christmas tree!
Tootles
Tootles
Fact of the day
2 + 2 = eternal happiness (and not 4 as those bedamned
mathematicians would have you believe)
Next issue
A surprise, a mystery and George W. Bush
2 + 2 = eternal happiness (and not 4 as those bedamned
mathematicians would have you believe)
Next issue
A surprise, a mystery and George W. Bush
THE SIMPLETON GAZETTE ISSUE #2
G’day, Mates,
Unequivocal apologies for that unnecessary burst of Australian
introductory lingo, if anyone feels the urge to spank me by all
means do so.
I’ve been a naughty boy!
Anyway, last time I promised the history of The Duke and I, so at
the risk of being branded a dirty liar, let the story commence…
Unequivocal apologies for that unnecessary burst of Australian
introductory lingo, if anyone feels the urge to spank me by all
means do so.
I’ve been a naughty boy!
Anyway, last time I promised the history of The Duke and I, so at
the risk of being branded a dirty liar, let the story commence…
Once upon a time…
No, can’t use that, that’s Hans Christian Anderson’s intro.
How’s about this…
The year was 1911 and it was a typically sunny day in Murcia (for
those not in the know, it’s in Spain) and I was in town for the
World Badger Wrestling Championships. It’s my yearly pilgrimage,
and because it was rest day for the athletes, I was wandering about
the town. I was thinking to myself, what could I do to amuse
myself? Since throwing sharpened objects at children had been
outlawed two years previous, I figured the pub was as good an option
as any. I spied a tavern at the end of the street and was making my
way when, lo and behold, I fell flat on my face, having tripped over
a homeless man lying in the street.
Needless to say, I was ready to bust a cap in his ass (or the
whatever the 1911 equivalent was) when a little voice popped up and
said “It happens to me all the time!”
It was The Duke. He just happened to be traveling the other way,
going to a Burlesque house (note - this was a time long before The
Duchess) and had tripped over the very same vagrant.
We both knew something mystical had happened and that these cosmic
coming togethers don’t occur very often. A friendship was born. We
wiled away the rest of our time there (I still don’t know why The
Duke was in Murcia but I guess it’s not important) watching badgers
perform suplexes and half-nelsons and debating the value of freshly
trimmed nasal hair.
Good times.
Now when I see a homeless man, sorry, person, I don’t think “get up
off your ass you lazy no good motherfucker”. I think “these are
people who have been dealt a savage blow but still bring people
together”.
Lovely
No, can’t use that, that’s Hans Christian Anderson’s intro.
How’s about this…
The year was 1911 and it was a typically sunny day in Murcia (for
those not in the know, it’s in Spain) and I was in town for the
World Badger Wrestling Championships. It’s my yearly pilgrimage,
and because it was rest day for the athletes, I was wandering about
the town. I was thinking to myself, what could I do to amuse
myself? Since throwing sharpened objects at children had been
outlawed two years previous, I figured the pub was as good an option
as any. I spied a tavern at the end of the street and was making my
way when, lo and behold, I fell flat on my face, having tripped over
a homeless man lying in the street.
Needless to say, I was ready to bust a cap in his ass (or the
whatever the 1911 equivalent was) when a little voice popped up and
said “It happens to me all the time!”
It was The Duke. He just happened to be traveling the other way,
going to a Burlesque house (note - this was a time long before The
Duchess) and had tripped over the very same vagrant.
We both knew something mystical had happened and that these cosmic
coming togethers don’t occur very often. A friendship was born. We
wiled away the rest of our time there (I still don’t know why The
Duke was in Murcia but I guess it’s not important) watching badgers
perform suplexes and half-nelsons and debating the value of freshly
trimmed nasal hair.
Good times.
Now when I see a homeless man, sorry, person, I don’t think “get up
off your ass you lazy no good motherfucker”. I think “these are
people who have been dealt a savage blow but still bring people
together”.
Lovely
Much has been said about mobile phones of late. They give you
cancer, cripple your thumbs and are very popular amongst street
thieves. I have nothing against mobile phones, I own one myself and
find them useful when I have emergencies, such as when my baby
turtle has an upset tummy.
I give the on-call turtle vet a buzz and all is well. What I do not
like is these new types of pointlessly fancy, multifunctional
phones. You know what I mean; those phones that take pictures,
download songs and can mow the lawn, amongst other things. My phone
allows me to ring people, send SMS text messages and play Snake.
That’s all I need it to do. If I need to convert Miles into
kilometers I’ll use a calculator. At least that way my workings-out
wont be interrupted by someone ringing me and asking me to go to the
pub.
If I want to take a picture, I will use my camera, have the picture
(plus others depending on the size of the film) developed at my
local pharmacy and then post it to whoever I wish to see it. Am I
the only one who hankers for a return for the much revered yet
seldom fought for “good old days”? It appears so.
cancer, cripple your thumbs and are very popular amongst street
thieves. I have nothing against mobile phones, I own one myself and
find them useful when I have emergencies, such as when my baby
turtle has an upset tummy.
I give the on-call turtle vet a buzz and all is well. What I do not
like is these new types of pointlessly fancy, multifunctional
phones. You know what I mean; those phones that take pictures,
download songs and can mow the lawn, amongst other things. My phone
allows me to ring people, send SMS text messages and play Snake.
That’s all I need it to do. If I need to convert Miles into
kilometers I’ll use a calculator. At least that way my workings-out
wont be interrupted by someone ringing me and asking me to go to the
pub.
If I want to take a picture, I will use my camera, have the picture
(plus others depending on the size of the film) developed at my
local pharmacy and then post it to whoever I wish to see it. Am I
the only one who hankers for a return for the much revered yet
seldom fought for “good old days”? It appears so.
For the ladies, I have discovered, during the course of my daily
dallyings, the perfect man. And it is none other than…
wait for it…
Mr. Potato Head.
Think about it. His arms are designed for hugging, perfect for
those days you are feeling a little blue. His face can be re-
arranged to your every whim and he has a little compartment at
the back to store valuables such as jewelry and Art Garfunkel
memorabilia. If there is a more complete man out there I have
yet to see him (yes, that includes you Duke).
Until next time, keep reaching for the stars!
Tootles
dallyings, the perfect man. And it is none other than…
wait for it…
Mr. Potato Head.
Think about it. His arms are designed for hugging, perfect for
those days you are feeling a little blue. His face can be re-
arranged to your every whim and he has a little compartment at
the back to store valuables such as jewelry and Art Garfunkel
memorabilia. If there is a more complete man out there I have
yet to see him (yes, that includes you Duke).
Until next time, keep reaching for the stars!
Tootles
Fact Of The Day
Jesus had webbed feet
Next Issue
My campaign to be Mayor of Warsaw, Scooby-Doo and Leprechauns
Jesus had webbed feet
Next Issue
My campaign to be Mayor of Warsaw, Scooby-Doo and Leprechauns
THE SIMPLETON GAZETTE ISSUE #1
Oh the pressure.
I hope I can live up to the much hyped billing I have been
given by The Duke, but I feel I am up to the task and must
thank The Duke for this tip-top fantastic opportunity to work
at Mondo Towers, where men are made and frogs are ate for
brunch. For those who wandered away from The Duke's critique
of modern film and are wondering "Just whothe fuck is
interrupting my review reading bliss?" I feel I must offer an
explanation.
I am Rosetta, a cross-dressing salad muncher from Salzburg in
the beautiful, Dictator-producing wonderland that is Austria.
But worry not, there will be no referring to myself in the
third person as The Duke seems to love doing (myself and The
Duke have often come to blows over that issue). I will
continue to refer to myself in the traditional way...stick
that in your pipe Duke...ahaha!!
I hope I can live up to the much hyped billing I have been
given by The Duke, but I feel I am up to the task and must
thank The Duke for this tip-top fantastic opportunity to work
at Mondo Towers, where men are made and frogs are ate for
brunch. For those who wandered away from The Duke's critique
of modern film and are wondering "Just whothe fuck is
interrupting my review reading bliss?" I feel I must offer an
explanation.
I am Rosetta, a cross-dressing salad muncher from Salzburg in
the beautiful, Dictator-producing wonderland that is Austria.
But worry not, there will be no referring to myself in the
third person as The Duke seems to love doing (myself and The
Duke have often come to blows over that issue). I will
continue to refer to myself in the traditional way...stick
that in your pipe Duke...ahaha!!
Now, on to the matter at hand, I have been asked by The
Internet Overlords to talk about spam. It seems spam has got
a bad name lately. I can't think why but I would like to let
it be known (perhaps at the cost of my street cred) that I
LOVE SPAM...emails that is, not the almost-meat-type substance
you get in the tin.
Where else could I get warned that I'm overpaying for auto
repair AND...AND be told that my small penis won't satisfy my
lover? (two of any mans primary concerns) I have never felt
so safe knowing that there are people out there who, despite
my many indiscretions over the years, still feel the need to
look out for me. The fact that they want to keep their
anonymity only adds to their charm...long live the spammers!
HURRAH for spam!
And anyone who is thinking 'oh my god...he is actually doing
spam jokes?'...fuck off...I'm the one with the highly paid
internship at Mondo Towers, not you, so go suck on some
lemons, no, scratch that, go suck on some hand grenades.
Maybe the swirling of your ugly, ulcer-ridden tongues can
dislodge the pin and KABLAMMO!!
Mankind one...fuckwits zero!
Oh that felt good, like getting your toe sucked by a
beautiful, young, nubile and naive ostrich.
Don’t worry Duke fans, once I get into the swing of things
I'll be as interesting and as witty as the inimitable Les
Dennis(A hero of both The Duke and myself).
Until next time my peeps!
( thought I'd throw in some hip hop lingo...you know...just to
keep it real)
Internet Overlords to talk about spam. It seems spam has got
a bad name lately. I can't think why but I would like to let
it be known (perhaps at the cost of my street cred) that I
LOVE SPAM...emails that is, not the almost-meat-type substance
you get in the tin.
Where else could I get warned that I'm overpaying for auto
repair AND...AND be told that my small penis won't satisfy my
lover? (two of any mans primary concerns) I have never felt
so safe knowing that there are people out there who, despite
my many indiscretions over the years, still feel the need to
look out for me. The fact that they want to keep their
anonymity only adds to their charm...long live the spammers!
HURRAH for spam!
And anyone who is thinking 'oh my god...he is actually doing
spam jokes?'...fuck off...I'm the one with the highly paid
internship at Mondo Towers, not you, so go suck on some
lemons, no, scratch that, go suck on some hand grenades.
Maybe the swirling of your ugly, ulcer-ridden tongues can
dislodge the pin and KABLAMMO!!
Mankind one...fuckwits zero!
Oh that felt good, like getting your toe sucked by a
beautiful, young, nubile and naive ostrich.
Don’t worry Duke fans, once I get into the swing of things
I'll be as interesting and as witty as the inimitable Les
Dennis(A hero of both The Duke and myself).
Until next time my peeps!
( thought I'd throw in some hip hop lingo...you know...just to
keep it real)
| Next Issue The History of Rosetta and The Duke, mobile telephones and Mr. Potato Head. Tootles Fact Of The Day Dr. Peppers is actually made from General Practitioners of medicine smothered in Saxo ground black pepper and melted into a refreshing beverage. |
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