BEAMISH-WHITE me a family of nasty pretenders, Scotty.

Our Town…not a happy little town.

“Inducing More Cunning, Thieving Bastards…”

Any frontal attack on ignorance is bound to fail because the masses are always ready to defend their most precious possession… their ignorance.

Only for the thinker…

I made a computer click too far, a repetition of earlier balls-ups that caused great angst then, but with ying and yang playing their games, what can one do? We’ve been told since the year dot to return to the game with fighting vengeance, so I do as always. Fate proves there is a predetermined path for each individual, and I buy that. Those smart-arse segues will never be exactly replicated and I would like to believe the two unfinished anecdotes from a demolished folder don’t suffer too great a bibliographic purgatory.

When you are making an eulogistic finale to the last family branch in whom you had any interest or contact, even a very busy person would have difficulty in forgetting the small print. What does the sur-name Beamish-White do to you? Instant diarrhea? How do you keep a straight face when firstly, you hear there exists one so-named; secondly, is about to inflict such bull-shit on the family tree, and thirdly and certainly not finally, will the only-begotten I.T. expert be as far, or further up his fundamental than the mental image depicts?

“Aunts Up The Cross and in the Chapel on the Hill.”

Mother Dale put on quite a high-camp performance Wednesday arvo after the pimps met her out front with that day’s blogpost; her anguished cries alternated with excited whoops to be replaced by a couple of hours of pumped-up sound; and then the inevitable jabbing of poxy fingers into the dickhead’s best mate as he made arrangements for the Commonwealth Police to haul me to slanderer’s prison. I, in retaliation, should seek his banishment from theatre-land for over-acting, but I wouldn’t think of doing anything so spiteful. It was a jolly good show and I suspect there are many more on the way.

A Psychiatric Puppeteer Is Pulling Strings…Miss Marple we need you.

Why are most pimps and crawlers usually so morbidly obese? No self-confidence, certainly! I will leave a copy of this post in my open letter-box . The dreadfully ugly tub of lard out front will waddle it around to her leaders.

Lots of love. Les.


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