Showing posts with label Russia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Russia. Show all posts

1 October 2011

A new Dawn

So of course we were unable to secure the services of nurses Suki and Ling Ling after a protracted struggle to cover the exit visas expenses via wildly optimistic football betting.

I was gazumped by a Russian, but two can play at that game and as of this weekend a new quest begins to secure the services of the house keeper of the very same Russian billionaire who stole Suki and Ling Ling from me.

Her name is Dawn Dvornin. She is 22 and apparently possesses the full range of Shake n' Vac products. She is an Aries and her C.V. states she has spent on average 30 hours a week on all fours since she was 16.

That is exactly the sort of work ethic I am looking for. I will need Dawn to head up my personal house keeping staff immediately, so in order to offer her the sort of contract that will entice her out from beneath Vladimir I will need the following two wagers to come in this weekend:

Wager number 1: (Treble) Racing Santander to beat Rayo Vallecano, Roma to beat Atalanta and Polermo to beat Siena.

Wager number 2: (Yankee) Wins for Roma and Leeds, draw in the Merseyside derby and overs (2.5) for Bolton v Chelsea.

If we're fortunate enough to land both bets Dawn ought to be doing the Shake n' Vac on my living room carpets by Monday afternoon and I will have the freshness back soon after. Good luck with all your bets everyone.

28 September 2011

Too little too late



Well now it was a bittersweet evening's sports wagering. Our Champions League yankee finally returned a significant enough profit to finance the exit visas of nurses Suki and Ling Ling from China who I was in desperate need of to head up my personal medical staff.

Unfortunately the lengthy delays have allowed a feindish Russian cabillionaire to swoop in and gazump me. Consequently Suki and Ling Ling are now in Moscow probably applying a liberal measure of an Eastern soothing balm not know to us here in the west to the chest and genitals of Vladimir Krotcykhgitcnivoviociciv.

I will instead invest my winnings on tins of beans and American football pads to prepare for the coming apocalypse caused by Germans who thought they could enjoy an symbiotic economic relationship with Greeks and other nations who consider paying taxes to be just something that happens to other people.

We're doomed people. Doomed. It's every man woman and child for him her and itself. Good luck everyone.



29 June 2011

Things I love this week and things I don't



So this week it's been an intriguing mix of loving things and really hating things. Let's begin by simply listing the things this week that I have loved and then flesh the post out with further details: Jelly Babies obviously, Sammiches, Victoria Azarenka (Rrrrroooooooooooooooar), Pampas baby wipes.

Now at first glance it's not an extensive list, but it's been enough to keep me occupied. Jelly babies and sammiches are a standing positive so no further discussion needed on them, but Azarenka is someone we only became familiar with when Wimbledon began so let's discuss her.

Going back a few years I seem to recall a male tennis player commenting on how the women players were all pigs. I think he actually did call them pigs. He might have been Australian. And at the time, I think even the women were sort of looking at each other and agreeing he had a point.

These were the days of Arancha Sanchez Vicario who really was more swine than woman. For this reason I've never paid any attention to the women's game, which means I've paid no attention to the game of tennis at all as it is of course a woman's game and should not be played by men.

Fast forward a decade or so and there seems to have been some changes. Where has this new breed of no-pinters evolved from? Were the Vicarios of the tennis world screened out by the tennis authorities via a sophisticated programme of genetic engineering?

They've done a cracking job. It's mostly eastern European and Russian DNA that has been used it seems. There's an evolutionary reason for this, we touched upon on the previous blog. It's something to do with how the eastern European male genes are weaker than the females, as all the strong healthy men from the Soviet Union countries all spent decades at war and left the ugly infirm crazies at home with all the women folk.

So the females, sat at home all pampered and playing nice with each other and their genes became dominant producing millions of blonde 6 footers who all went on to either play tennis or do porn and the men were all deformed 5ft dwarfs with low foreheads and stubby noses predominately called Andrei.

Anyway, so this explains the Azarenka woman. A mixture of warrior and porn star. Awesome. She's engineered to sexually dominate her mate. And when he lays sated and exhausted she then snaps his neck with one hand and inherits all his money with the other. It's a win win situation! If only I was rich, what a way to go.


I also love Pampas baby wipes as they can be used to clean furniture, hands, toilet seats and my face - in that order.

Now then..things this week I've hated. Johann Hari.

I'm taking deep breaths as I type this such is my struggle to remain composed. Where to start..so Johann was caught fabricating his interviews.

Caught however is not the word. He admitted to it, he explained in a blog post how he inserts previous quotes from his interviewees if they're struggling to articulate themselves during his interviews with them.

Ironically I can't fully articulate myself how wrong this man's creativity is without cutting and pasting other peoples thoughts on the matter. He's simply an utter hypocrite and cunt is all I can manage at this time.

He won't accept that his "intellectual portraits" are a betrayal of the most fundamental standards we ought to be able to expect from journalists. This man has won the Orwell prize for fucks sake. How ridiculous does that seem now? Orwell could have written about him.

What reeeeally irritates me about this, is how this lefty hummus eating holier than thou sandal wearing son of a Swiss bus driver, has set himself up as the paradigm of journalistic integrity.

Any right wing journalist caught doing this would be savaged. If Peter Hitchens had been found lifting great blocks of text from all over the place and passing it off as his own he'd be dead by now. They'd have brought back hanging just for him. They'd have shown it after the tennis.

It's all dismissed as justifiable however by the left, if the essential truth, the greater truth is told. Usually only a mad communist dictator in fatigues could use language like this and keep a straight face. What truth? Who's truth? How can something that's been manipulated, altered, doctored, massaged and sexed up be the truth?

Tosser.

It's not for Mr Hari to decide what we ought to be reading or reading into something. If an interviewee is inarticulate, hesitant, or babbling then this in itself is information. It's a part of the interview, part of the truth. The greater sodding truth. You can't just edit it all out and replace it with a polished speech the person made a few years ago because you felt this was what they meant to say...especially when the interviewee is one of your leftie heroes who you want to portray in a positive light.

This is what I hate about lefties. When they are caught red-handed lying, cheating, or just being wankers - everything they indiscriminately accuse Conservative types of, there's always a higher purpose. It's never as bad as something Richard Littlejohn said last week in the Daily Mail.

Well now it seems there's a higher power even than Johann, one reaps what one sows and it is time for him to pay the piper and other mixed metaphors I can't be bothered to lift from Google.

His career is being examined with a fine tooth comb and with every hour that passes new and more astonishing bullshit is emerging. I'm guessing all his Iraq stuff is bollocks, I'm doubting he's been within 50 miles of a war zone. It's likely every serious interview he's ever conducted with have these embellishments in them, or just made up entirely, which makes his entire career a fabrication. I hope he ends up driving his father's bus.

13 June 2011

Russia DOES read my blog


Having blogged recently (here) about how Iran reads my blog, I also noted that it was silly of Russia to hack my blogging statistics so Russia isn't shaded on my 'hits' map and therefore giving the impression it doesn't read my blog.

I knew from my man in Moscow that Putin himself reads the blog as he is also a keen lover of sammiches, so his clandestine games were simply folly. Conversely it is equally as silly of Canada to pretend it reads my blog as we all no one in Canada can read.

16 February 2011

Russian of the day


Andrey Arshavin is the blog's Russian of the day and this surely makes him favourite to win the Russian of the week award for the 73rd successive week. Well done Andrey.