THE BRITISH THREAD

Go boil yer 'ead, you tosser.

the Silverback wannabe

You need technique to spar Lord S for B, your like a fish out of water, a little boy caught red handed with his hand in the toffee jar and it's everybody's fault but your own.

Looks like I've got you angry, Mathos. Good.



A wannabe who no doubt realised years ago he was simply the result of a quicky behind a dis-used air raid shelter. In short, your trying to tell me your over the hill, redundant but happy to be on call and run along for the coffers and play on the office computer with total impunity for your actions. If you had a tail it would be wagging every time they gave you a call to stand in for a brief hearing, a pre-trial review, or simply making the Judge a cup of coffee.

Nope, the conception was the result of a naughty weekend in Southend, I believe.
And nope again, as I have more than enough to keep me busy, with the other irons I have in the fire.
As far as anything else is concerned in that paragraph of yours, it's what I have come to expect from you. Hot air, basically...and pretty foul smelling at that.

Your on here making out your hard done to with a hook having a wank in front of your colleagues, a bit of graffiti and a cistern full of **** when it didn't concern you one bit. You didn't have to evict the wanker, or clean the **** and graffiti up, it was done for you. You even stopped work to have a look, watch, hear everybody's tale, did the wage clock get put on hold whilst you yammered on about how hard it was being a number?

I didn't say I was hard done by. I couldn't say that, as I was not in the office when all this happened. I was merely pointing out what happens in a usual week, in that particular office.
I did, however, get a mop and bucket and carried out most of the cleaning up of the aforementioned vomit. I've done it before, and will probably do it again. It didn't bother me.

You have spent a lifetime being mollycoddled, fed and watered; You couldn't get of your arse and earn a living with your hands, you wouldn't know how to start. You think they are there for scratching your piles, or picking your nose.
Nope, I'm not going to feed your apparent need for jerk off material by going into detail about my early life, but I will tell you that, for twelve years, I worked a minimum of a 60 hour week, and took any overtimne that was available. At the time I was saving every penny, and investing it in as much brick and mortar as I could lay my hands on, and doing those places up myself, with the aid of my older brother (a good, working class electrician) who was my business partner in those ventures.
My work was very manual, and I wouldn't turn down any task, however shitty it was. If it made good money and it was legal, I would have a go at doing it.
Having got to the stage when family life became more important, we stopped knackering ourselves, and sat back, watching the London property prices go crazy. It all turned out to be very well worth it in the end.
Once again, you make sweeping assumptions, you overbearing prig.

You remind me of a vibrator in many ways, handy every now and then when her soldier husbands away, but not essential to anyone. A cuckoo in a strange nest. You have a psychological ego trip you enjoy most when you convince yourself and self alone it be, that your of some credibility; When you have eloquently spelt out that your inescapable ennui and obvious lethargy has produced a totally dis-satisfied, licentious, secret miscreant, more of a drain on society, than the pillar of society you wish you could be acredited with.