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Arsefield's Hall of Shame

Saul's brother was in the 'ra apparently.

(Noting he died young. Was he a drinker as well? He looks like it. You weren't supposed to drink in the 'ra. You weren't supposed to tell anyone you were in the 'ra either, including family.)

The point anyway being that Saul's shtick brings back to me how there was a bravado that infected those who were associated with 'ra members.

Saul reminds me of that.

But first he's much too old for it. He doesn't have the excuse of being a young foolish kid anymore. Second, those days are long gone, and good riddance.

Actually the point to take from it is those with life experience learn from hard experience about the vicious circle that that variety of violence consists of. (That's why the Provos consisted only of kids and psychos.)

Those with little real life experience develop no real idea about violence. There are a lot of that type on these Irish fora. Like Saul.

Just Saul having such a high degree of the simpleton about him makes it plainer than others more circumspect.

You'd pity him really.
 
Saul's brother was in the 'ra apparently.

So he says - but he's also an awful spoofer too.

(Noting he died young. Was he a drinker as well? He looks like it. You weren't supposed to drink in the 'ra. You weren't supposed to tell anyone you were in the 'ra either, including family.)

We learned that lesson before being released onto Ballyer's streets. We had a load of lads who we knew were up to something but nobody ever interfered or crossed them. Violent men, quick to burst, the sort who'd turn on their own if they were drunk enough. I knew all the families who had members in service, and among my siblings I made connections with what's probably Ballyer's most notorious family. That saved me a bus-load of hassle, just to be seen doing business with him and him shaking my hand.

They could get you anything you asked for within a couple of days, but you better have made sure you had the money in hand next time you met them. No quarter was allowed for pussyfooting or wasting their time. Make your deal, get in, get out, shut the fuck up about it.

And even now that all of my siblings are out of Ballyer, my Mam still has all the protection she could possibly ever need: so none of us have to worry.

The point anyway being that Saul's shtick brings back to me how there was a bravado that infected those who were associated with 'ra members.

Aye, there was a rock-star element to it all back in the days of gritty cop shows like The Sweeney and Starsky & Hutch. One lad on my own street had the infamous S&H decal speed stripe down the length of his brand new Ford Capri. Every time he passed he'd beep us and we'd sing the S&H theme while breaking our shites laughing.



Saul reminds me of that.

But first he's much too old for it. He doesn't have the excuse of being a young foolish kid anymore. Second, those days are long gone, and good riddance.

For sure, nobody wants that sort of violence to return to the streets. Disappeared people, guys with their knees blown out, others afraid to even leave the house. Burglars who robbed old or otherwise infirm people without first getting permission were hunted down and battered to within an inch of their lives. We all knew someone who'd fucked up and got 'the treatment'.

The local lads went under the name 'The F Troop' and were notorious for their antics.

Not all were fun, especially if you yourself were their mark.

Actually the point to take from it is those with life experience learn from hard experience about the vicious circle that that variety of violence consists of. (That's why the Provos consisted only of kids and psychos.)

That's the character profile most local lads went under: and they had no qualms about dealing with the really messy stuff.

Those with little real life experience develop no real idea about violence. There are a lot of that type on these Irish fora. Like Saul.

It's one thing to make anonymous threats. It's another thing to consider it a lifestyle choice: lounging around all day waiting for someone you've never even met to post something/anytyhing that'll spur you into any reaction at all, whether rage and anger or all sweetness and light. The kind of violence the lads in the RA offered isn't/wasn't very pleasant, and it takes a true to the bone sadist to carry out some of the more violent actions that aren't quite death, but very close to it.

Fuck up and they'll take your knees.

Fuck them up and you're toast.

Just Saul having such a high degree of the simpleton about him makes it plainer than others more circumspect.

He's severely mentally challenged, there's no doubt about that.

Childlike, and on the spectrum for sure.

You'd pity him really.

And I truly do. He used to adore me, then he was modded on here and straight away went into a power-crazy path of self destruction within a few days. I tried to help him out regarding his son, the main family thief. He saw sense in what I was trying to tell him had to be done, but it turned out he's afraid of the lad. Can't bring himself to face the thieving cunt down and get him out of the family home.

Saul's always needed to have a helping hand - left to his own devices I'd imagine he's as meek and humble as a church mouse.

More out of fear than anything else.

I tried to help him all I can, but now I can't do nothing for him, Man.

Poor Saul.

Wash your butt.

 
You awoke at dawn to post this, 👇 Saul Bucket??



Heh! It's 0945 on Friday morning here in Helsinki, and I've been up and at it for a couple of hours clearing out my email inbox before the weekend begins. The city guys from the maintenance department are all over my roof and balcony cleaning out the wet autumn leaves, which are mostly mushy lumps of crap. But they have to be cleared so that the electrical line that melts the ice and snow in the vertical drains can function properly and keep them clear until next spring. It's a very clever system: a small electrical charge on a dedicated and well-insulated cable warms the line and causes the ice that forms inside the drains to melt as the cable heats up. Even just that tiny amount of heat keeps a clear channel within the ice in the pipe all throughout the harsh winter.

They're all using tie-lines in case they slip, and the vacuum pumps that clear the gutters with pressure/suction are as loud as Motorhead up close.

I note that this chump ☝️ is up and it already - and in Ireland, it's still only 0730.

What the fuck kind of life do you actually live, Bucket?
 
As if a billionaire with a supermodel wife could give a flying fuck about Saul and the lads on Arsefield's. Trump got the vote, he'll go down in history as having served his two terms as president. I doubt he could care less about who got him there, or why. These lads would have as much chance of being invited for dinner with Donald and the wife as an 18th century peasant farmer from Brittany would have of being invited to dine at Versailles with Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.

p.s. just because you get someone elected doesn't mean (a) they could give a shit about you, or (b) they consider you their equals. You'd have more chance of playing golf with Donald as a millionaire/ billionaire Democrat than you would as a MAGA-supporting coal miner from an impoverished town in West Virginia. It's hilarious how these morons think they're on the same team as Trump simply because they shout their support for him on a constant basis.
 

The party begins.

As if a billionaire with a supermodel wife could give a flying fuck about Saul and the lads on Arsefield's. Trump got the vote, he'll go down in history as having served his two terms as president. I doubt he could care less about who got him there, or why. These lads would have as much chance of being invited for dinner with Donald and the wife as an 18th century peasant farmer from Brittany would have of being invited to dine at Versailles with Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.

It's the combination of fawning admiration over Trump contrasted with the use of stupid emojis like :sneaky: and :cool: that make me laugh.

Saul's so pathetic I want to wrap him up in industrial quality cellophane and stick him into the deep freezer for six months.

p.s. just because you get someone elected doesn't mean (a) they could give a shit about you, or (b) they consider you their equals. You'd have more chance of playing golf with Donald as a millionaire/ billionaire Democrat than you would as a MAGA-supporting coal miner from an impoverished town in West Virginia. It's hilarious how these morons think they're on the same team as Trump simply because they shout their support for him on a constant basis.

Those fools got nobody elected - and what's even more fucked up than that is that they'll probably even manage to vote against Val Martin when the next Irish general election actually takes place. That's if Val can last the pace, which I both hope he does but doubt he will. Although he claims he's with the Irish Freedom Party, in reality he's running as a one-man show. Doesn't matter with whom he affiliates, he's all about the cult of personality. Hence his live singing of the American national anthem (jazes wept) two days ago after the results came in. David David : is that video you made still around? That was a gas.

Which brings to mind Val's campaign plans. First up, Val needs a photo for his election poster. That's not going to be too easy, especially with the missing front teeth he knocked out by dropping a spanner on his own face while under the tractor cleaning out the fox and dog entrails from his last roadkill. Knocked two teeth out and refuses point blank to see a dentist. Way too expensive. Serious voters aren't going to like that. Clowns who use their ballot paper to troll the system will love him though. Val's left way too much detritus in his wake over the last twenty years of his online habits. He can't clean it all up either as he can't access it. He's got shit still up on every active site out there. Anyone knowing exactly who he is can use all of it to embarrass and lampoon the stupid fucker from Day One until eternity. He has to know he's stepping into the lion's den? Or maybe he simply mistook it for a slurry pit?

The Scratchin' Song? Best scratch that one now before it's too late. The videos of him in drag? There were more than two or three occasions of him going full-on transvestite, lipstick, fake titties, the wig, the whole works: and we all have the photos and videos, the gifs and the printed words. I have a million shots of him from over the years and sadly for him I great mileage out of them on the lampooning stakes. By the time his posters go up he'll already be a laughing stock. He is already right now, but only within the thin sliver of actual life on these type of chat-boards. By the time he goes full public, the manky jumpers and the general toothlessness aren't going to win any votes from anyone under the age of eighty-five.

Here's a quick mock-up he can use if he likes: I appreciate the honesty written all over his big fat face, don't you?



Of course, when doing some cold calling to the front doors of the people of Cavan, they'll love that he showed up in his manky tractor. The big slurry spreader still attached to the back of it and throwing out fresh spuds covered in muck in his wake. Let no man go hungry under Val's watch. A big feed of spuds swimming in butter followed by copious amounts of Guinness down at the local. He'll be taking requests and singing along to the karaoke machine, still in his wellies and farm suit. His plugs of ear hair sticking out like the wings on a plane. A big mad gap in his teeth when he smiles down upon his Cavan minions.

He'll be giving his election pitch just like when he's on Real through Edikayshin (not Fake News) only this time it'll be off the back of his tractor out on the town square. All the mucky rednecks out doing the hokey-kokey and sticking their left leg in. Then back out. Then back in again. Gas lads.

Val should get Kevin McAleer here to be his campaign manager - they speak the same language and clearly have a lot in common.



Be deadly to see Val stand up in Leinster House and give his acceptance speech. The shinners all gobsmacked, Fine Gael stuck for words, Fianna Fail wondering how they missed him. He could park his tractor under the €335,000 bike shed. Maybe crash it into the €1,400,000 'security' hut and put a few dents in it. For the craic like. Besides, that's some bizarre term really: 'security hut'. What's secure about a hut? It's a fucking hut. A little box that serves as a room, but only because it has a roof over it. Otherwise it'd be a gate. Which is STILL what it is. A hut. One and half million euros on a fucking hut?

You'd wonder too what brief might suit him?

Minister For Slurry?
Inspectorate Of Shitting Ditches?
Minister For Sewage?
Department Of Manky Jumpers?

Eeesh..

'Anyway, gimme a thumbs-up or a thumbs down, comment underneath and we'll seeya back for somethin' - bye, now, bye, bye-bye-bye....bye, bye, .. . .'
 
I'd actually prefer to live in America were it run for the benefit of the people as opposed to large corporations. I've been influenced by a lot of US ideas and culture down through the years - music, television, literature etc. Same language as well as opposed to having to learn French or German from scratch.

Anywhere is preferable to this shithole island full of thick cunts and badly run services. I used to find terms such as Paddyland and Thick Paddy offensive, but as I get older I'm beginning to see why people might use such terminology.
 
I could never live in America.

I'd rather be dead than American, or even Irish in America.

Give me Europe any day: the languages, the endless culture, the architecture, the beauty of it all, I can never get enough of it.
 


Give it your best shot, you wimp-dicked and yellow-bellied middle-aged fat rat-bastard loser. In fact, give it your entire crew's best shot, you culchie boot-licking son of a rat-bitch's melt. You were born to lick the shit off the arses of your betters, you terminal loser. It's all you're capable of. And you're not even that good at it either. Are you so simple-minded that you think people can read something profound from your:

I'm cool: :cool:

I'm smart: :sneaky:

I have taste: 👌

- bullshit? What's fucking wrong with you, you thick redneck cunt? Is lifting your arm a little bit to type in a few words too much effort for you? It's not like you're busy with anything other than your butt groove, now is it? Still waiting on the wife to get in from work and toast you a rasher sandwich? Maybe warm up your tay? Just how many times a day DO you actually jerk yourself off, Saul? Cop onto yourself, you fucking twat - even your own son wants to batter you and you're afraid to say anything in case he does clatter you around your caravan. What a stupid little prick you are, .? I cannot fathom the depths of the pointlessness that is your mind-numbingly dull and predictable life existence.

Utter fucking mong.

Utter, eh..
 
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What the fuck? There isn't any graffiti in Kluuvi (Gloet) you stupid cunt, it's an uptown shopping centre in the heart of the city. If you're referring to the rear of the store which overlooks Aleksanterinkatu, then understand a simple fact: those aren't trains, you dopey fuck. Those are trams. In fact, the chances of finding any graffiti at all around Aleksi is minimal, as it's a heavily policed area which is home to some of Finland's biggest banks and private companies. Any idiot deciding to tag any walls or other surfaces over there will be hauled up before the ink is even dry.



And no: it doesn't make you look smart to try making sly but absurd comments like the above, you ignorant culchie shitebag.

I know perfectly well that you're fascinated with both Helsinki and the Mowl, but given your current position as a runner in the upcoming elections, if I were you I'd be very careful about trying to rouse the Mowl with your weird redneck culchie 'funny jokes' you totally unfunny mental case. If you're so interested, fly up, hire me to show you around. I can hook you up with some Finnish rednecks with farms if that's your interest and I can show you all the dive bars around town too. You won't be able to afford a hotel room in the city, but I can recommend a nearby hostel that does twelve to a room for a tenner a night. You'll likely be robbed of anything valuable but then again I'm sure the rotten smell of slurry off you might keep even the Afro-pickpockets at bay.

Kluuvikatu is a shopping street but it's close by Hotel Kämp, which is where the very rich and famous stay when they're in town. You wouldn't be able to afford taking a piss in there, Val. It's way out of your league, you smelly cunt. You could always try booking the local hostel over in Vallila, that's more within your price range. There's a branch of Alepa supermarket underneath it that's open 24/7 and is very cheap. That'll be the very thing for you. It's full of immigrants from all over the world waiting to find out about their future here: and the state rents out all of their large halls and fills them with bunk beds, so you might even be able to afford a double bedroom which you can share with one other person. Male or female. Can you handle that? It's only twenty yoyos a night after all. Quite often, the hostel is full of ex-criminals recently released from prison trying to restart their lives.

Suicide is very common in that place.

Men with deportation orders sending them back to wherever they came from frequently hang themselves rather than go back and face the music, so you might well walk in on some suicidal type still struggling and kicking out the death throes. If you do spot one, don't try to cut him down - leave him alone. He'll stop struggling and give in soon enough. It only takes around fifteen minutes to fully die by hanging yourself without breaking your neck by dropping a meter or two first. First the brain stem is pulled out of socket which will null some of the pain but not enough to kill you. Not yet, at least. After the brain stem situation comes the choking and gasping for air, the pointless struggling against the rope, which is really just the beginning of the death throes. You'll eventually lose consciousness and you won't feel a thing after that because your mind is now in the world of the dead. You'll be fully body/brain dead in fifteen minutes or less.

Not that your brain is alive or anything - but you get my drift.

Kluuvi - and Val?

Hah!

Not in a million fucking years, you mad bastard.
 
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Who the fuck gives a shit what Val does or doesn't do, you drunken loser sop.

Val's going nowhere: he'll be a laughing stock by the time I'm through with him, which in all fairness I've already done and have continued doing since I first came across the utter gobshite. As for you, you thick and retarded alco, you're going nowhere either. You'll stay right where you are in the gusset of Swordid's big yellow knickers with your Sir this and Miss that - you sad, sad bastard.
 
Post in thread: https://www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com/threads/general-election-2024.1027/post-119818

SwordOfZippers asks: 'Do you think if Val asked the Mowl to help out in the campaign that Mowl would be able to give effective help?'

Unbeknownst to you lot, I've actually been championing Val Martin for a few months already. I contacted my mole in RTE (he works on the Katy Hannon Show) and linked him to Val's online antics from several weeks before he made his announcement to run. In private, I've discussed this with a number of posters (none of whom are on Arsefield's) and they all know my viewpoint. I may not particularly like Val, I may even consider him a buffoon, a culchie through and through. But that doesn't change the fact that he could be a very valuable tool for the independent and nationalist runners.

I've campaigned for others far less aware or clued in than Val, and I helped them secure votes in the hopes of helping Ballyfermot and her people along. But these days are different: I'm not only concerned about Ballyer, but also about the whole country. You guys are deep, deep, deep in the shit and there's no light on your horizon either. The country's finances are in the hands of un-elected full-timers and the entire administration is top-heavy and cannot be sustained in the longer term. The model of (say) the HSE is a similar model to the national model. Keep throwing money at it, it'll eventually cop itself on.

But this doesn't change the fact that Ireland is a fake: you may look rich, the world may think you're living first class lives, but that's only on paper and the giant corporations know better: they can fling even more money around or they can leave, it's all the same to them. Look at the last budget and the Apple Tax grushee and tell me that FF/FG aren't still trying to blindside you? They're already vying for first dibs at being Taoiseach. At the same time they're already trying to distance themselves from each other? They want you to believe they have the answers. That they're distinct from each other when in fact they're inbred kissing cousins. They're both currently (and as one) cozying up to Labour and at the same time trying to dismiss the Greens. These are the same tired-out old games as ever, and if you fall for them then you deserve everything you get.

So do I think Val can change things?

No, not really - but I do think he could light a fire under their asses. Same as I said to everyone in Ballyer over the last ten years: vote for Sinn Fein, not because you like them or trust them but rather that they can throw a big fucking spanner into the works and destroy the entire pyramid and bring it to its knees (whether by accident or design) so that there's no other option than to begin again from scratch. Even if it only happens by accident. Yes, it'll be hard. Yes, it'll be complicated and of course it's going to take time. But change isn't coming from within: therefore the only place it can come from is without. So after telling the ten thousand souls who follow me to give Sinn Fein a shot, I then nonetheless championed for the local National Party member, Serina Irvine, Ballyfermot Upper. And she did well because of it. Again: I didn't promote her because I think she's good or clued in; quite the opposite. Like Sinn Fein, she might well fuck things up enough that a clean-out and restart is warranted.

I support no party, definitely NOT Sinn Fein as Val would have you believe. The simple truth is, O'Snodaigh despises me, Brid Smith always cold-shouldered me. Cllr Hazel De Nortúin likes me, and Serina Irvine remains grateful even though she retired. I'm an old friend of Mannix Flynn. Besides: I have no vote. As far as I'm concerned, there isn't a straight shooter in any party, independent, or otherwise. What I'd like to see is what everyone else to see: clear the boards, shut it down, begin again. Reduce the house membership of over 170 members to less than half that. There are too many chiefs and not enough indians. The money is all upstairs, you lot are locked in the basement. You are not the concern of your puppet government: they answer to powers higher than Ireland or the Irish people. They don't really give a fuck about the national debt - because it keeps them in a job. For life.

Now that you've seen every party leader out shaking hands and singing songs with the rabble over the last days, you're already feeling charmed, right?

Not me: I find it appalling that they think campaigning the grannies in the afternoon tea shops and culchies in the farming supplies depots, on the Luas and on the street: not Grafton Street, not Wicklow Street, nor around St Stephen's Green. They already have that middle class voting section covered. Instead they hang around Moore Street, the GPO, they talk about Irish heroes and Irish history. They sing along with the Irish songs, big shit-eating grins on their chops. But you know as well as I do that as soon as their seat is secured, Moore Street will be torn down and rebuilt as apartment blocks stuffed full of young male immigrants. Erasing your ancient history for future profit. That's their game and they play it their own way.

So, if he asked me, I would give him a shot on the BBBB. I'd introduce him as the man he is and the mission he's on. Because I admire the old goat for it, even if he is a laughing stock. Because his heart and his determination are all in the right place. Yes, he's a country bumpkin that the Dubliners will laugh at. Yes, he's a buffoon too. But that never stopped the likes of Michael Mansergh, Justin Barrett, or even Gerard Mannix Flynn from taking their chances. I want to see change, so does Val, and so do you lot. The Irish blogging community has had few actual politicians on any of their sites. I can count one or two off the top of my head. Val Martin is the only current blogger actually willing to get up off his arse.

The rest of you are useless pundits, after the fact type mouth-pieces.

But you have the vote, and you can influence a few people if you go about it the right way.

I have the respect of the folks in Dublin 10: they know my family, they know my siblings, they know me.

I can help Val as I helped Mrs Irvine, because change is vital, absolutely necessary, and you're not going to get it with the two party state running things.

Not with Labour added, and definitely NOT with the Greens either - those planks need seeping and straightening out.

The Nationalist parties are too extreme, little Hitlers like Barrett with his Nazi uniform doesn't help matters either. Same with Reynolds, the gold bars, the slagging and firing and dividing the party in two. The confirmation suit and the noose in one hand, the megaphone in the other. Independents are little better: they're totally disorganized, there's no clear strategy or planning, only shouting and roaring. Y'all need to do much better than this in the short time available. Hence my willingness to put Val in the spotlight with the Ballyer folks. I can post his (relevant and concise) video(s) to the page and let the 185,000 residents of Dublin 10 (10,000+ of whom subscribe to me) check him out and talk him up. Why not? It's not about me, it's not strictly about Val either. It's about Ireland and her future, and that comes before any of the bullshit pea-shooting we all indulge ourselves in every passing day.

But he has to do it on my terms. He can have the questions in advance if he wants to prepare himself for it. I can also talk to my man in RTE who already knows Val's name and his online activities.

You twats think you're on the ball.

You're not - for all your yap you achieve precisely nothing.

I get results because I can speak the working class man's language better than any of you.

Which is why 10,000+ authentic Dubliners subscribe to me.

You lot can only read each other - but you have no power, no influence, and zero purpose.

But I do.

 
I see Val opted to use a photograph from 1987 as his cover shot in the contender's listings.

Link: https://www.thejournal.ie/section/ge24/candidate/1704/val-martin/

It was taken when he took his son to visit Machu Picchu when Val was a much younger and less dopey cunt.


I got a copy of it on his Facebook page - which he was barred from suing at the time, after acting the bollocks they left his profile up and scrambled his password, so he's kind of stuck in the Facebook loop of the 1980's.

Perhaps we should make a point of posting more recent and less toothed photos of the scrawny auld culchie lest he get ahead of himself?

Use a recent photo, Val - otherwise I'm going to haunt everything you do and say online between now and polling day. Show the people what they need to see: your gummy gum-drops and your new lisp that comes with it, you dodgy aulf fella trying to look young.

This is your final warning, Val: post a real photo or I'll post the worse ones I have in my Val file - and believe me, you do NOT want the general public to see what I have on you. Quit your spoofery, you near-seventy year-old thicko manky jumper-wearing culchie redneck asshole.
 
duan.jpg


Another dirty-up-all-nighter, Jambo?

Jaze, you must be so glad Ireland can still afford your dole allowances. What was your chosen tipple last night? The filthy Dutch Gold or did you splash out on some Polish fizz that gives you terrible gas? Those big mad belches you let off in the wee hours that wake the neighbours for blocks around? Man, you must suffer with the aul depression something fucking awful, eh.

Prozac and lager - the breakfast of hard-ons.
 


As ever, Val's got his wires crossed again. As far as he's concerned he's already won the election. He never seems to know when enough is enough, he has to wring every drop of blood from whatever stone he has in hand. The histrionics are excessive to say the least. You can't be everyone's friend, you have to be a bit more selective than that, otherwise you get through to nobody. But Val doesn't give a shit. As far as he's concerned, nobody comes close to him.

No teeth? Doesn't give a flying fuck.
No presentation? Couldn't care less.
The ego? Out of control.
The culchie nodding and winking? Non-stop.
The chances of getting any radio or telly coverage? Remote at best.
Likelihood of him getting a few votes? Never underestimate the stupidity of culchies.
Likelihood of him getting into Leinster House? Minimal, at best.

He's making a pile of garbage that's going to break his back by this time next weekend.

We haven't even reached peak Val Martin yet either.

This'll be a shit-show like nothing these blogs have ever seen

Oh sweet jayzussing Ireland, what have you become?
 
I doubt the damp and cold in that room will do that violin any good. You can see it's so cold his breath is even misting in the video. Is the mad yoke refusing to turn on his electricity because of wind turbines or something?
 
I doubt the damp and cold in that room will do that violin any good.

That plank is as good as dead already. Dampness warps the delicate body and once it sets in it's extremely difficult for even the most patient luthier to put it right. There's an allotment garden nearby where locals grow their own vegetables, herbs, and flowers. The rents are very cheap and it's always busy on the harvest day party: great homegrown foods for half the price of the supermarket.

This one guy collects old stringed instruments beyond their lifespan and all repair and uses the necks of them as support sticks for his cabbages and tomatoes. He's a gas man: doesn't speak a word of English, but knows how a tomato should taste.

stradovarious.jpg


Val's fiddle serves the same function as this fat little van-driver's Celtic cross:

fatso.jpg


You can see it's so cold his breath is even misting in the video.

Yeah, sadly Val's too tight to spring for heating bills.

I bet he pisses on his own hands to warm them up when out in the fields whacking the cows into line.

Is the mad yoke refusing to turn on his electricity because of wind turbines or something?

Val ought to attach a windmill to his face - he could generate loads of energy with his incessant yap.

Hot air, foul odours, spitting teeth out all over the shop.

He's a gas man alright.
 
Gosh, all the snow we had over the last few days has completely disappeared after temperatures swung back up towards the plus eight degrees line overnight. On Saturday afternoon we had a blizzard the likes of which I haven't seen in many years. Vision limited to around two meters, I donned my winter gear and strode out onto the estuary and heard the cracks spreading all around me before I had to turn back. After the mist cleared, I found this yesterday morning when out for a walk at dawn:

bay.jpg


Someone (rather small) had come out onto the bay after me and created that with just a length of string tied to a length of wood near the lonely tree that sits on a rock peeking just above sea level. This is the same point on the estuary this morning at 0800:

467615501_10160520030362227_7710825142637594712_n.jpg


Crazy temperatures really, up and down like a yo-yo.

But anyway, seeing as it's a rather grey Monday, perhaps Jambo might like to once again regale us with that 'my funny jokes' type spoof he actually said last week. The one about where he said that he 'invented' the facepalm for snorting at fellow bloggers when he's been cornered and poked at with a stick. That was a really funny 'funny joke'. Even Val would have laughed if he wasn't busy counting his donations and blowing off about himself over on youtube.

face.jpg


I guess the loss of one of the site's biggest contributors (of mostly vile racist white supremacist/nationalist horseshit) has put a dent in Arsefield's fender.

But at least you have Jambo to carry the flag for his ex-compatriots of The A Team now that the dust has settled.

Your clown car has a wheel in the ditch - and a wheel on the track.



:facepalm:🤦‍♂️🤦‍♀️:facepalm:🤦‍♂️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♂️:facepalm:🤦‍♀️🤦‍♂️:facepalm:
 
Nice work, Aul Lad! And here's the good news: you'll be dead and in the ground shortly, which pleases me greatly. The way you rammed your long snake tongue up Fats Kelly's rat bastard arse after finding out that the roundy fucker called Saul at home days before he croaked makes me happy to know you're here on borrowed time. Death is calling you. It'll be fun watching you react to it. Your days are numbered and they're coloured by your own racist Nazi bastard shit. And your sad-arsed grasping at your dying world view.

aul-rat.jpg


The only people who'll miss you (or Saul Bucket) is the fat bastard white-supremacist Declan Kelly - and his pied piper rats in tow - like Jambo. This being the first time I've ever addressed you directly, I want you to know that I've read bits and pieces of your walls of text (that defy the basic rules of the English language in that your have no idea what a capital letter is for, never mind a comma, a hyphen, a paragraph, an exclamation mark, or otherwise). You also - on occasion - use all capital letters in some of your dim posts that tell me you're so old that (even with your glasses on) you can no longer read lower-case text, which indicates what I said earlier. You'll be dead soon enough. And that the entire body of your remaining few months of opinions will languish on Arsefield's after you're gone. So that if anyone asks anything about you (which I doubt they will) I can point them to your lackey-butt-licking activities on the gay bar site.

You're scum - you do know that, yes?

And you're old - right?

So your legacy will be that of of a subservient old scumbag, which is fairly accurate, I'm sure you agree?

Die, old man - kill yourself.

Nobody will care.

Not even me.

Just look at Saul Bucket's legacy: he's not even in the ground yet, and you're about the same temperature as him.

Keep that in mind when you lay your head down on your pillow and say your prayers before sleepy-time.

You're utterly fucking malignant, but only for a short time more.

I'll be happy to see you get the same send-off the Bucket got: none at all - bar a few lines by Declan 'Roundy' Kelly.

Because nobody cares.

Why would they?

Die.

Just get it over with, eh..
 
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