Mornin/ cuntlords
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Mornin/ cuntlords
Morning puntsphere avoiders.
hi JPaul :) sup ?:)
I'm just a lessee of the cunt. (The missus reminded me of that fact...just this morning.)
-bd :(
Been to Coventry for a few days.
Fucking shitehole that is.
No offence if there's anyone here from Coventry.
Ronaldo's back with a goal. :happy:
nope ..not me :)
Morning Mr Paul
Mrs Fey
Felicitations Seamus.
I thought that Coventry was the place that people didn't go.
Except for Nazi bombers. They knew the score.
I thought going to Coventry was OK as long as you didn't say anything.
Nobody goes to Coventry.
They are sent.
:dabs:
Even Nazi bombers, like.
In other news, my old Granny used to call me Jimock.
That one primarily for Chalice.
In other news, my old Granny used to call me Jimock.
That one primarily for Chalice.
:eyebrows: Noice!
'Something, like nothing, happens anywhere'.
A firm slap on the back plus won to any cunt who saw what I did there.
I'll slap my own back and look like a spastic then.
T'was a Phillip Larkin poem discussing Coventry. Or lack thereof...
I Remember, I Remember
by Philip Larkin
Coming up England by a different line
For once, early in the cold new year,
We stopped, and, watching men with number plates
Sprint down the platform to familiar gates,
"Why, Coventry!" I exclaimed. "I was born here."
I leant far out, and squinnied for a sign
That this was still the town that had been 'mine'
So long, but found I wasn't even clear
Which side was which. From where those cycle-crates
Were standing, had we annually departed
For all those family hols? . . . A whistle went:
Things moved. I sat back, staring at my boots.
'Was that,' my friend smiled, 'where you "have your roots"?'
No, only where my childhood was unspent,
I wanted to retort, just where I started:
By now I've got the whole place clearly charted.
Our garden, first: where I did not invent
Blinding theologies of flowers and fruits,
And wasn't spoken to by an old hat.
And here we have that splendid family
I never ran to when I got depressed,
The boys all biceps and the girls all chest,
Their comic Ford, their farm where I could be
'Really myself'. I'll show you, come to that,
The bracken where I never trembling sat,
Determined to go through with it; where she
Lay back, and 'all became a burning mist'.
And, in those offices, my doggerel
Was not set up in blunt ten-point, nor read
By a distinguished cousin of the mayor,
Who didn't call and tell my father There
Before us, had we the gift to see ahead -
'You look as though you wished the place in Hell,'
My friend said, 'judging from your face.' 'Oh well,
I suppose it's not the place's fault,' I said.
'Nothing, like something, happens anywhere.'
He's a brilliant poet. Thank you for reminding me of him.
-bd :happy:
My friend used to run a pub in Coventry. It was by the crown court, the job center and some Juvenile criminal place. It was rough as feckery but I always had a wicked time.
This thread is pure nonsensical horseshit say nothing jabber.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...upideffort.gif
Oh hai Auld Geiser. :wave: