Benny the Dip is Unwell !!
 

Let me start by saying no I'm fine really:D it's just that i was dreaming back to a time in the 90's when i went to see a show in the West End called "Jeffery Bernard is Unwell", staring at the time Peter O'Toole.
Jeffery Bernard was a writer for the Spectator but i remember when he also used to write a column in the "Weekender" weekly edition, part of "The Sporting Life" in the late 80's. Whenever i got the paper the first thing i would look for was not the runners and riders but 'Jeffery Bernard's' column. The man was so funny and so satirical to everyone in the racing world. :cool:
So i thought I'd copy an interview that Jeffery did with a jounalist (Tom Hodgkinson 'The Idler') sadley a few weeks before he died......You may be offended so if you are of a weaker nature dont read on....However if you want to get an insight to what the man was all about...This is so funny :'D
-----------------------------------------------------------
From Idler 8, February 1995

This was easily the most awkward interview I have ever done. Jeffrey Bernard, now sadly dead, was living at the time in a tower block in Soho. I had never met him before, having got the interview through his niece Kate, who I knew then.

My first mistake was to forget which flat he lived in. I called him from a phone box and he shouted “FOURTEEN!” at me, as if I was the greatest imbecile ever to cross his path.

The flat was tiny. I entered it using a key attached by a piece of string to the letterbox. I found Bernard - scowl at the ready - sitting on the sofa, his one remaining leg stlylishly clad in Levi 501s.

It struck me as sad that the window opposite him was positioned too high for him to enjoy the view over London from where he was sitting. He could see only clouds.

He made no attempt to make me feel at ease. As usual, I had not prepared any questions, relying on the conversation to produce its own momentum.

This led to long and agonising pauses.

A couple of hours later, however, he softened somewhat, and became chatty. I made him a cup of tea.

It was like he didn’t want me to leave.

It’s a clich?� to say it, but he was a great character and a great loss.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jeffrey Bernard, one of the country’s best - known journalists had a leg amputated a year ago. We visited him in his 14th floor Soho flat and talked about working, life without booze and how cosy things used to be.

Idler: Do you enjoy doing nothing?

Bernard: I enjoy doing nothing. There’s no virtue in work for its own sake. It’s a myth that was invented by people like D.H. Lawrence - back to the earth. As if there was something romantic and glamorous about hard work like being a coal miner in Sons and Lovers. If there was something romantic about it the Duke of Westminster would be digging his own f *****g garden, wouldn’t he?

Idler: That nobility of labour thing is a ruse by the people with money to make people happy doing a shitty job.

Bernard: Well, yeah, shitty jobs are alleged to have dignity. There’s nothing undignified about lying about all day and being waited on by servants, sipping bloody champagne.

Idler: Do you find it easy to work?

Bernard: I’m fed up with working. Now I find it very difficult. I do as little as possible.

Idler: Have you been driven to do things in the past?

Bernard: Well yes, a lot. Driven by a shortage of money, by nothing else. Not bloody … what, you mean a muse or something? Good God, no. Has to be done for bread and butter. Being a journalist is a shitty job. It’s a building up and then a breaking down of anxiety and tension. It’s only pleasant when you finish it.

Idler: When you’re writing are you like Dr Johnson and trying to get it out of the way as quickly as possible?

Bernard: Yeah. I dictate most stuff nowadays, since I’ve had this leg off. I’ve made up book reviews on the phone pretending that I’d already written them. I made them up off the top of my head as I’ve been talking to the copytakers at the newspapers. Very risky business because - oh, I was going to say ten times - it’s 50 times harder than it sounds.

Idler: But you had read the book?

Bernard: Oh Christ yeah.

Idler: Do you ever feel guilty doing nothing?

Bernard: I don’t think I’ve ever felt particularly guilty about it. Although I have to admit I have despised a couple of people simply because they have never had a job in their lives. Which I think is a bit wet of them. I just don’t trust people who have never really been up against it. [long pause]

You have to ask me questions, I’ve got nothing to say.

Idler: What do you mean by up against it?

Bernard: Skint, hungry, cold.

Idler: Why don’t you trust them?

Bernard: There’s a half of life that they haven’t seen. Like the other side of the moon. Incomplete.

Idler: I wanted to ask you about when you stopped drinking. How has that been? Why did you stop?

Bernard: I stopped because I was ill. I mean really ill. I had a hemorrhage last time. Like Peter Cook. He was up here a few weeks ago. Yeah.

Idler: What’s it like not drinking?

Bernard: Awful. Boring. Miserable. Lonely. It’s like being half dead.

Idler: What does drinking give people?

Bernard: A cerebral kick, a lift. Confidence. The ability to chat up crumpet. Oh, to me not drinking is like being dead, almost. I sit here taking endless journeys down memory lane. It gets boring.

Idler: Have you ever been interested in other drugs apart from drink?

Bernard: I’ve tried them. I’m not interested really. I’ve never tried heroin. I’ve got my drug which is alcohol, it’s the one that suits me. I took a lot of amphetamines in the Fifties … which I hate now, because it’s another way of talking rubbish. Marijuana I actually don’t like, I don’t like smoking pot. Physically I find it unpleasant. It makes me cough.

It doesn’t do much for me. I did like LSD, I must admit. It made me feel very cheerful, happy. I took some and I went to the Groucho Club and I sat in the reception hall. And everyone who came in apparently said to the staff and barmen, “what’s the matter with Jeff? He’s smiling. Can’t stop smiling.” Usually I look bad tempered, when I’m not feeling it. But on this occasion I really was grinning from ear to ear. It felt really good. But I don’t want any more habits, you know. All these things interfere with the smooth running of day-to-day existence. I think cuntstruck is a boring drug too.

Idler: What?

Bernard: Cuntstruck.

Idler: What’s that?

Bernard: How old are you? Cuntstruck means obsessed with C***.

Idler: Oh I see. Why is it a boring drug?

Bernard: It interferes with life, that’s part of it.

Idler: Drinking doesn’t get in the way of everyday life, does it?

Bernard: Unless you can control it, it does. I mean it doesn’t with me now. Most alcoholics dramatise themselves. They think it’s romantic and macho. They end up not being able to cope. I pay the bloody bills on time. I eat three meals a day. That’s the difference. I know what I’m doing and what I’m about. With some drunks it’s like having Alzheimer’s in the gut - they don’t know what the hell’s going on at all.
I don’t want to be like that.

Idler: Have you ever been close to that before?

Bernard: Once. I’m not a drunk anyway. I drink - these words are all wrong. I mean, do I appear to be a nutcase to you?

Idler: No. Who called you a drunk, though?

Bernard: You did, about three minutes ago.

Idler: I didn’t call you a drunk, I was just talking about drinking.
[pause]

Idler: So, what sort of things do you think about here?

Bernard: I think about the past a lot. I’m not doing anything, am I, now? I’m disabled. I don’t go out so much, since that came off. It’s eleven months. My home help sometimes takes me to the Groucho. I go there a lot because it’s the nearest. Now that pubs don’t exist any more.

Idler: What do you mean?

Bernard: They’re awful. All pubs are terrible places now. I mean you wouldn’t have known a decent pub at your age, I shouldn’t think. They didn’t have f *****g music. They didn’t have cigarette machines. They didn’t sell the chemical beer. They were for proper drinkers, not for f*****g yobs, hooligans. I want to go into a pub and meet interesting people, not to look at a lot of people sitting on the floor drinking out of tins. I can’t stand it. Mostly people in your age group. Ruin pubs.

Idler: So do you feel nostalgic?

Bernard: For company, yeah. I feel nostalgic for Soho, for what it was. There were a lot of genuinely interesting people in it. Genuine bohemians. Now it’s full of advertising agency creeps. Suits. Bloody Essex Man and Soho man - there’s very little difference nowadays. But it was like bloody Disneyland.

Idler: Because of the fun?

Bernard: I talked to people. It’s not name dropping, but not many people can say, like me, that they spent the day with the likes of Francis Bacon or that boring drunk Dylan Thomas. You don’t forget things like that. Because they were outstanding insofar as they stood out. Simple. I’ve met some extraordinary people round here over the years.

Idler: Would you say that’s the essence of life, for you?

Bernard: Yeah. Being with people. Eating and drinking and talking with people that you like. And sometimes f *****g them.

Idler: What do you like reading?

Bernard: I don’t read as much anymore. I find it hard work now, my attention span is not as good as it used to be. I read mostly journalism nowadays.

Idler: How has journalism changed?

Bernard: I don’t think writing’s got any better, despite Fleet Street trying to insist on more undergraduates in the business. Having been to university doesn’t help anyone. Reading English has got f *** all to do with writing. A lot of girls annoy me who go to university … one girl told me she was going to Oxford because it was something to do between leaving school and getting married. And I’ve got to pay for that being an income tax payer. I said to her, why can’t you read bloody Pride and Prejudice in the f *****g kitchen? Why have you got to got to Oxford? No answer. The only reason I would have liked to have gone to university is because I like cricket. Not a very good reason to want to go, but as good as any, I suppose.

Idler: The student lifestyle is quite attractive though, loafing around, reading …

Bernard: If you’ve got money …

Idler: But even if you haven’t got money …

Bernard: But you’ve got to have money for comfort, which obviously doesn’t matter as much when you’re young, but even so. I always like to bloody eat well and be warm. Have a drink when I want it. Which of course hasn’t been the case, but I couldn’t go through all that shit again. Being on the breadline. I’ve done some terrible bloody jobs.

Idler: What depresses us is the party conversation, “what do you do?” Everyone has to have some sort of job that they can quickly describe as if that somehow sums them up for the other person.

Bernard: Yeah. That’s boring. It was never like that. It’s got quite a lot to do with the Conservative party, I think. Mrs Thatcher. I think work should be secondary. I mean life isn’t just about working, Christ. I suppose this is one of the nice things about being a freelance writer. You just come and go. What is quite nice is being quite well known, because people are different to you. Which is true, I’m afraid. It may not meet with one’s approval, but nevertheless, it’s a fact. They’re nicer to you, generally. I wonder how I’d be treated in the Groucho if I was a dishwasher.

Idler: I suppose what you’ve done with your work is make the work out of your life. That has to be the best way.

Bernard: I’ve just written about myself, that’s all. That’s all I know anything about.

Idler: Things you write about in your column, would you write it without having talked with about it with people.

Bernard: Oh Christ yes all the time. I don’t talk to people about what I think about, necessarily. I think mostly pretty gloomy thoughts. I think that life is an absolute bastard. I think it’s awful. But I don’t go around saying so.

Idler: We had an issue where we were saying on the one hand, Life is Shit, but on the other you should drink cocktails and listen to Easy Listening music.

Bernard: Yeah well, because of the way I was brought up, I only like classical music. If I like pop music it’s old pop, like Cole Porter. The lyrics to pop music in those days were sheer poetry. I hate contemporary music. I don’t like much about today, at all.

Idler: Why not?

Bernard: It’s not cosy any more.

Idler: Not cosy? Too big and sprawling?

Bernard: Yeah.

Idler: But don’t people make their own cosiness?

Bernard: When did anyone walking up Berwick Street at this moment last sit down by a log fire with a good book and a nice glass of something to drink? As opposed to going to watch Arsenal on a Saturday, f *****g beat someone up then get pissed on lager, go home and listen to pop music till three o’clock this morning while you’re smoking pot? No. I hate it, hate life today. I wouldn’t like to be your age. Do you know Tom, the word is cosy. People
as I’ve said were skint and life was hard, as it
is now, but there was something more cosy about it.

Idler: Were people supporting each other?

Bernard: Yes. You would have been asked to supper tonight by friends, at his or her flat with three or four other people. You don’t have to go out and have your eardrums smashed in some f *****g pub by muzak or something. I suppose families don’t count for anything now … although I loathed mine. I don’t know whether they’ve ever counted for much. All the bloody hate and anger generated down.

Idler: I’m not sure you’re right about young people. if you’re talking about cosiness and people looking after each other, it seems to me that’s around more perhaps, than it was ten years ago.

Bernard: Oh good.

Idler: People do seem to be relaxing.

Bernard: I don’t remember ever being full of dislike and hatred for people, like some kids I’ve come across now. One of the things that goes with getting older is that one becomes more conservative - and I emphasise that when I use the word conservative I do not mean politically. I’d rather cut off the other leg than vote f *****g Tory. I suppose I am conservative. I don’t know what’s going to become of people. I mean the great miracle of inventing the computer was that it was going to give the people more leisure. What are they going to do with it? Beat each other up or, …

Idler: Not if you can somehow build it into the culture …

Bernard: Well they won’t will they? I mean what will the culture be?

Idler: I mean it isn’t just beating each other up, there’s all sorts of other things people do.

Bernard: watching Philip Gascoigne playing football.

Idler: But you know there’s …

Bernard: Paul Gascoigne.

Idler: There’s quite a lot of non-beating-up type activity going on now … there’s lots of groups of people who enjoy doing things together, like putting on parties, doing little magazines, printing t-shirts. And having their own cosy little families.

Bernard: I wish I knew where I could get a T-shirt without something stupid f *****g written on it.

Idler: Well do you want an Idler T-shirt? They have a snail on the front.

Bernard: No, I’ve got a phobia about slugs and snails.

Idler: Oh.

Bernard: Slimy. Like our beloved Chancellor of the Exchequer … what’s his f *****g name … Clarke … no, Portillo … all f *****g monsters of all time. Oh, it’s disgusting. [calls out to a cook who has just come in] Augustine did you buy lottery tickets today?

Augustine: No, I haven’t bought one today.

Bernard: I was just wondering.

Augustine: Do you want to pick a number?

Bernard: 27 is a lucky number

Idler: So you’re not into the lottery.

Bernard: F*****g 14 million to one against? It’s hard enough racing and I really know what I’m talking about when it comes to racing. 14 million to one. And you’ve got to be a special person to win. You’ve got to be either a housewife from Scunthorpe or a panel beater from Warrington as far as I can make out. Not a freelance journalist from Soho, Christ, that’s asking too much. :loveme:

updated by (Benny):cool:

ahhh
 

I see the automatic editing has wiped some swear words .. oh well you get the story anyways:scribe:

Ahhhhh !!!! shuhhhhh ??
 

Good i seem to have found a little part of the forum that has it's own exclusive corner, where no other f~~~~r has filled up with tips, gallops, golf, football.....:loveme: ..I think i'll make this my 'column area' so keep out you tipsters and gamblers, if i tip something i don't want to hear someone say, "Oh, ive been told so an so, that's like being given a rub down, before the bad beat".....
Jeez hark at me sounding like 'Jeffery Bernard' already, i don't wont to offend anyone but ive had enough of being 'Mr Polite' on here, trying to be the f~~~~~g Diplomat, in future I'll be telling it as i see it, if you don't like it don't post something that's going to wind me up....This thread will now be known as "Benny's Unwell" :eek!:...
So lets see if i can put a smile on mine and your faces.... I have had a phone call today from someone in the racing world (top man) tells me,
"Ebn Malk" 8 20 Haydock...will be busy tonight :loveme:
On another note ..Tomorrow (Saturday) at Walthamstow, 'The Greyhound Derby', Well i'd love to see Mark Wallis win it and with two dogs still in
( Commander Chief T3 and Seanis Lad T4) both drawn the same 2nd heat at 9 40. After the draw was made they were generally available at 33/1 both however i notice Ladcrooks have them at 25/1 and 20/1..f~~~~~g Cheapskates.....anyways i'm having another little bet small win double's each of them with "Katiyra" o:D to win 'The Epsom Oaks' ive already backed her at 10/1 and 8/1.. she's now 2nd favourite and "trust me" she'll win it , or my name's not Mick Kinnane...:eek!:...
Well that's it for this week, seems im in a good mood at the moment, still with the weekend ahead, that can all change !!! :frog: benny

lol how do u see it m88-P

Must tell ya this !!
 

Blonde Essex bird gets a job as a teacher in a boys school :cool: Anyways on her first day she looks out of her window and see's this lad standing all on his own, so she goes out to the playing field and says to him, "You can go and play with the other boys you know" :h?: The boy looks around to her and says, " Oh i'd better stay here miss":cool:















"I'm the f`````g goalkeeper" :'D

................
 

The Benny Interview
----------------------
TOUGH:

What is your position on crime?

On dole cheats?

On drug users?

On miscarriages of justice in soap operas?

On killers writing books?

On the Euro, high ranking police officers?

On masons, drivers, scholars, teachers and miscreant kids?
“We’re tough.”


“Thankyou, Prime Minister. You’re f~~~~~g hard as nails.” :-O

You been on the absinthe again?

...
 

.............;).............................. Pkrplaya, I ain't even started yet !!:'D

No more mr nice guy huh :cool: Should be entertaining dont forget to tell everyone, Make your own mind up, never follow tips! :-O

It doesn’t do much for me. I did like LSD, I must admit. It made me feel very cheerful, happy. I took some and I went to the Groucho Club and I sat in the reception hall. And everyone who came in apparently said to the staff and barmen, “what’s the matter with Jeff? He’s smiling. Can’t stop smiling.” Usually I look bad tempered, when I’m not feeling it. But on this occasion I really was grinning from ear to ear. It felt really good. But I don’t want any more habits, you know. All these things interfere with the smooth running of day-to-day existence. I think cuntstruck is a boring drug too.
LMAO

....
 

Marvelous, Coronation Street on Sunday Evening.
It always reminds me of Wakefield !!
Famous residents: The pop group “Black Lace”, responsible for such timeless gems as “We’re having a gang bang” and “Aggadoo”

Squashed like a Lamb’s testicles into the kebab of West Yorkshire is the city of Wakefield. Known locally (and somewhat confusingly) as the “Merry City”, this depressing abyss now passes its days as a staging post for the freshly paroled.

For the casual shoplifter, the city centre is an opportunity not to be missed, but If it’s bargains you’re after, why not try the “Ridings Shopping Centre”, the local containment unit for farting pensioners and pregnant toddlers. If that’s not your cup of tea you could always do battle with 2000 other nicotine stained fingers in the broken biscuit section of the “Food Weighouse”.

Street entertainment is varied yet painful, as the Bolivian foot-tappers are coined by pre-pubescent skiprats, abusive old women in Dunlop Green Flash hurl insults and beg for shrapnel from passers by… their cause usually aided by a broken Bontempi or keyless accordion.

The infamous “Westgate Run”, a crawl of over 20 pubs, takes in a number of semi-night clubs, including the exclusively titled: “Bitz”, “Toffs” and “Rumours”, all of which can be relied upon as a ticket to a quick knee trembler with Leanne or Donna and a certain dose of Yorkshire cock-rot!


:cool:

The Great Train Robbery...
Interview with Bruce Reynolds :cool:
14, March 1996

Escape! Adventure! Limitless cash! Bruce Reynolds, the Great Train Robber, now 65, had it all. But his quest for freedom led to frequent and lengthy spells inside. Was it worth it? Maybe …:cool:

IDLER: Were you ever interested in conventional jobs?

REYNOLDS: I started off with a regular job, I was a messenger boy at Northcliffe House, where the Daily Mail was, at fourteen and a half. Then I got a job in the accounts department, and it was basically filing invoices. There must have been 100 people working in there, in long lines and all graded. You start working as a junior and get moved up. I used to look up and see the old boy who was head of the department. He was about 50 and I thought, I don’t want to be like that. I was doing a lot of cycling at that time and I thought, that’s what I want to do. So I left the job I was doing and got a job at a cycle firm. They had an independent team. I was more or less a bike bum. Me and a couple of other guys, we lived on nothing, we used to run up and down on the coast. And then I met what you might call my nemesis in the shape of a wide boy, then I got educated. I didn’t know any criminals as such. And the life of the young outlaw appealed to me tremendously. Till I got nicked.

IDLER: How long were you locked up for, the first time.

REYNOLDS: I got three years, but you could be out in nine months theoretically, if they thought you was the right material. As an outlaw, I thought, “I’ve got to escape”. We had compasses, iron rations, which was chocolate stolen from the kitchen, and three of us escaped. I was the only one that got away. I left the other two out ‘cos they wouldn’t swim the river. I was home for about three or four days before I got nicked then I went to what was familiarly known as the Hate Factory. It was very, very tough. You could only talk to other prisoners on a Saturday afternoon. You had three library books which you couldn’t change with the guy next door. And of course there was no radios then, it was 1949. The whole thing was supposedly to teach people a lesson, but what it actually did was make people harder. What do people care about society if society’s never cared about them? I mean it’s total nonsense, all it ever did was brutalise. As soon as I got back to borstal I was away again. Then they put me in a closed borstal. I escaped again. the thing was, all throughout history, all heroes have escaped at some time. Escape… it’s magic, romantic. And the only thing you can do on the run is a bit of crime. At the time that was basically smashing shop windows, nothing particularly skilful, but I didn’t know any different. I was in London, staying in various people’s places, and we got nicked on burglary charges - putting in a whole front window. I did go back into the army once and of course I ran away again and then when I got nicked, they said three years imprisonment, which was a very heavy sentence then. I went to Wandsworth. what you get of course, is you going from prep school to university. From smashing shop windows, I was talking to people who had blown safes.

IDLER: Did you get a reputation at that point?

REYNOLDS: No, not really. The way you actually get on in the criminal world is to make a reputation for yourself and basically I had more bottle than anyone else. I got nicked for shoplifting and while I was away I got a contact and he said: “I’ll have you go into safeblowing”. So when I came home I had this in mind. My closest friend at the time had moved up the criminal circle and I realised that there was a circle within the circle. I thought, that’s where I gotta get.

IDLER: Were you making money at this point?

REYNOLDS: Not really, no, but that’s when - this is 1954 - I got introduced into the country house business which is called ‘climbing’. That means you went round a house found a ladder and opened the window. I was game for anything. If someone said they had a safe to blow I said yeah, but because you were a jewel thief your self-image was a little bit different from smashing a window. I was mixing with an older crowd at that time, who dressed well, had nice cars and I had some excellent mentors in this respect. Everything was new: I got my first car, it was a Triumph TR2 and then an Aston Martin, and I was having suits made in Saville Row.

IDLER: How much money were you making at that time?

REYNOLDS: At my peak, which was just before I got nicked, I had three cars, including a Zodiac convertible, and I was paying about six quid a week for a flat in Streatham, which was quite a bit of money.

IDLER: When you were going in and out of prison, was there ever a moment when you thought, I’m going to get out of this?

REYNOLDS: No. By this time I was committed to it and knew that this was where my destiny lay. I’d met enough people to see that you could make a business out of it, and that a lot of these people didn’t have any brains at all. You put a little bit of skill and little bit of research and a little bit of expertise…

IDLER: Did you have regular hang-outs?

REYNOLDS: We had one pub, the Star in Belgravia, which at that time was a bit of a hangout but all sorts of people came there. Once your reputation started then you start getting invites to things and people think oh, good worker, and also the great thing was, everyone wants to be with someone who’s lucky, who is successful and if they see you’re successful they think it’s going to rub off on them.

IDLER: If you were running away from the police and you got caught, would the police beat you up?

REYNOLDS: Oh yeah, badly. You bash a policeman up, they’re going to bash you up. I mean that will always be the case. I had a very hard time during that three and a half years locked up. The girl I was with had an alliance with a friend of mine, who subsequently killed himself as a result of what was gong on. She disappeared to America or Canada and I haven’t seen her since. And this is when I had this plot to try and get some time back and had a gun brought into the prison.

IDLER: What do you mean “try to get some time back?”

REYNOLDS: Well, the old king of the underworld, Billy Hill, whilst he was serving his sentence, he got a pal of his to attack a screw and then Bill rescued the screw from his pal and he got six months off. So I knew that had been done a couple of times, I thought they won’t wear that, but if I have a gun brought in, and make out I was disclosing an escape plot… anyway, it went wrong, because the weekend I did it, the governor was off-duty, so when he came back Monday, the deputy governor had got all the kudos for discovering this plot. He didn’t like that, the governor, so he suggested it could be a plot. To prove it wasn’t a plot, I had to get someone to stab me. They moved me to Durham prison, which made me tougher, a lot more bitter. So I thought when I get home, there’d be no more messing about. Of course in that period, things had changed, the criminal climate had changed and I realised that the old ways was out.

IDLER: What’s it like, the contrast going from expensive cars and champagne to being in prison?

REYNOLDS: You never get used to it. When you’re first nicked, you literally want to cry. Because it’s all gone, you’ve lost everything, the women generally, and just a bare cell.

IDLER: Can you get over confident? If you have a string of successes…

REYNOLDS: You think “I can’t go wrong” and that was bullshit, you get drawn into it don’t you? You think I can do that, I can do anything”. And that’s how you get nicked. So that’s what really started the confrontational aspect and then I realised that we had to organise; in other words we had to have other people with us. Initially we weren’t too successful, I think we were waiting about for something and we waited too long.

IDLER: So you’re out in 1960?

REYNOLDS: I’m out in 1960 and I’m fully active. I had money. I went straight over to the south of France.

IDLER: What about the money? Did people keep it for you.

REYNOLDS: I had bank accounts. They never used to look in the bank accounts like they do now. When I got out in 1960 I had ��20,000. When I came home, I went round to see a friend, and he’d just found a piece of work that was as easy as anything. Someone was selling a house, they had an au pair girl in the house. They were away, she was there but the house was also up for sale so it’s just a case of ringing up as someone who wants to look at the house. She opened the door, showed us around. I opened a cupboard and said “What’s in there?” She said, “nothing.” I said, “Well there is now,” and pushed her in and shut the door. There was a safe upstairs. We got ��20,000. It was so easy.

IDLER: In between doing jobs, what was your lifestyle?

REYNOLDS: Basically, living as expensively as I could. All the restaurants at the time. You’ve always got The Caprice, not so much The Ivy; all the big hotels. We all used to like to go to the south of France, you’d have two or three months in the south of France.

IDLER: A holiday?

REYNOLDS: Yeah but we always used to justify it as research or planning. And of course I loved that. Cary Grant, it’s just like To Catch a Thief

IDLER: Did you feel the Great Train Robbery was really going to be the big one?

REYNOLDS: Yeah I did. To the extent that it was my Sistine Chapel. And really everything went right. The only problem was the fact that Mills got whacked, Mills the driver. Everyone was under orders that he mustn’t be touched because we needed him to drive the train even though we did have our own driver with us.

IDLER: How did he get whacked.

REYNOLDS: Well, I wasn’t there. I was further up the track, identifying the train. The train stopped. The signalman stepped down to phone the signal box, leaving the driver in the cab. So all it needed was someone to say “What’s going on mate?” and get up on the cab and just get hold of him. But this guy anticipated a move and instead of him getting hold of him physically, he whacked the guy. People are nervous. He reacted. No-one could really blame him and at the time Mills was perfectly all right. He drove the train so it wasn’t that bad and there was no other gratuitous violence. The whole operation went well and we had approximately 30 minutes to unload. We had a trouble-free drive back to the farmhouse. I went to bed and Buster woke me up a couple of hours later and he said, “It’s two and a half million mate”. I said, “How do you feel about that?” He said, “Oh I think that’ll do nicely”. I said, “Yeah, that’ll do me”.

IDLER: Did you feel at that point that you could do anything you wanted?

REYNOLDS: Oh yeah. What we’d done was a challenge really. The highest authority was the country, and we’d challenged the country. But none of us envisaged the wrath that was going to fall down upon us.

IDLER: Was it because the establishment had been humiliated?

REYNOLDS: Yeah, there’s all of that plus you’ve got to remember the government then was suffering under the Profumo scandal and they was really in a f~~~~~g state of f~~~~~g disarray. But it’s 1963, it’s the first televised crime. By this time television had just about become universal in most homes and of course they could follow it day by day: “Oh, another one’s been nicked.” Then there was money found in bills, which created a great treasure hunt.

IDLER: So what did you do with the money?

REYNOLDS: This was a big problem because it was a vast amount of money. Everybody you knew was liable to be searched. Eventually I got a friend of mine to buy the lease of a mews house down in South Kensington and I moved and stayed in there until the passport came through safely, about six months.

IDLER: What was it like to have pulled off this amazing thing, to have all that cash somewhere, but not be able to go out?

REYNOLDS: I had some freedom as I had two guys helping me. I used to give them my shopping list at Harrods. I had a weekly order at Christophers - used to be in Jermyn St - and I’d have a dozen bottles of champagne and a dozen bottles of what he’d recommended, plus a little barrel of bitter. I blew up to about sixteen stone. A friend had the rest of the money, he was putting it through to Switzerland. Which was a standard procedure, you pay 10% I think. So I was imprisoned in luxury in this mews place. My friend had flown from Elstree to Ostend to test out an escape route. There was no customs, no passport control. I’d had an introduction to someone who supposedly knew the president of Mexico. Mexico was the place to go.

IDLER: You were planning to get out and stay out?

REYNOLDS: Oh yeah, we had the money. So Mexico. We landed at Ostend and he said “You go through that gateway there.” I walked through the gateway. There’s no officialdom whatsoever and another one of my guys stepped out from behind this Mercedes that he’d hired and he had a white trench mac on. The Man From Interpol - that’s who he was playing that day. We drove into Brussels, spent the night there, flew to Toronto, spent the night there and the next day, Mexico. I’d already worked out I was going to stay in The Hilton because that was central. I walked in there and had a couple of days looking around, just familiarising myself with the place. I liked it. Soon I just walked into this tailor’s and the guy said “Yes I speak English, I am English.” He’d been born in Manchester of Syrian Jew parentage, he was multi-lingual so we got talking and I made a friend. He introduced me to all the right people - all the politicos, because they used to use his store and as such I was virtually above the law even if things had gone wrong. I had a lovely name - Keith Clement Miller. I had six Cadillacs in Mexico City.

IDLER: How did you get the money to Mexico?

REYNOLDS: It was in Switzerland so all you needed to do was telephone through and get it in a bank in Mexico. And when you’re abroad you’re more accepted because culturally they accept people who speak like I speak. When you’re traveling abroad, they don’t know the class thing. If you’re staying in the Metropole Hotel, same as them, you must be the same as them. We left Canada and I thought there’s only one thing left to do - go back to the South of France. A good excuse. And we get a place there and work out what the next move is going to be.

IDLER: Didn’t you still have enough money to retire?

REYNOLDS: Not then. If I’d decided to retire when I got to Mexico, yeah, for sure. I suppose I thought to myself that the money would always be there. I was just living for the moment as much as I could and I’d always had a supreme confidence that something would turn up. I came back to this country and I didn’t have very much money. We had unlimited champagne before, now we were eking out a bottle of vodka.

IDLER: Where was the money?

REYNOLDS: We’d spent it in about three years. Then I did have a bit of luck. We had another big score and got fifty grand. My plan was to go to New Zealand. I knew Ronnie Biggs was in Australia and there was another group of fellas that was on the run and they was in Australia so I didn’t want to go there. But I was out on something, came home, got nicked the next morning. ‘68. When I was nicked in Torquay I had about three grand - that’s what I was down to.

IDLER: Literally three grand in the bank, that was it?

REYNOLDS: Hardly even that. So, Butler, who was in charge of the case, he said we’ll do you and I said, “Well, it was all those years ago, you can’t”. He said: “Bruce, we got your fingerprints on all the labels, all the equipment, that was down at the farm.” I did buy all the equipment. Naturally I burnt all the receipts. How they got duplicates, I don’t know. Not only that, he also said, “Your wife’s nicked, your dad’s nicked, your stepmother’s nicked” - and a great woman friend of mine who had been looking after my son Nick - “she’s nicked. And Terry your best pal. They’re all nicked for aiding and abetting and passport offences”. that’s the deal he presented me with: plead not guilty and they’d all be nicked. I gave him the look; he gave me the look. I got 25 years.

IDLER: That must have been the longest stretch you’d had. Were you able to adjust to it?

REYNOLDS: Of course. I went straight into maximum security. who’s in there? Charlie Richardson doing 25 years, four or five others doing life. So you’re all in it together, I didn’t feel that much different. In a way we’re f~~~~~g different from other prisoners. We’re doing in effect, longer than life sentences. Really and truly, I don’t think anybody thought they were going to do that sort of time. It was outrageous, it’d never been done before. It was a crime with a minimum of violence. OK it was a lot of money but murderers were doing ten years for really violent murders so it was definitely a political thing handed down to teach them a lesson.

IDLER: So what year did you come out?

REYNOLDS: In 1978 and you are totally institutionalised after 10 years in prison. Your whole life’s been laid out for you. You don’t have to worry about food and things like that. It’s all done for you - you’re pampered really. If you’ve got a position, which I had in the nick hierarchy, you get things done for you. I never wanted for anything really. I wasn’t into drugs. I started smoking cigarettes while I was away. That’s one bad habit. I wasn’t interested in booze. I finished off at Maidstone, which is a good prison. I had a year in the library there and a year as a gym orderly when I used to run 10 miles a day, play badminton and then swim. f~~~~~g marvellous life. All my aggro with my wife had gone so I didn’t have any women worries. As we used to say, we had the best looking girls in the world. I’d swap my Mayfair with his Fiesta and that was it. Everyone had photoboards and put up pictures of their wives or girlfriends. Frank my mate used to say “She’s nice isn’t she?” and “Do you want to see my photographs of my wife?” and we’d swap them for the night. It’s what we called wife swapping - only a joke. I got into smoking dope there which was a revelation. It was an absolutely marvellous time. Those two years were the happiest years of my life.

IDLER: Really.

REYNOLDS: Because I had no contact really with the world. I used to have visits. A pal of mine used to fetch me up a girl so I’d be groped on visits just to make sure you were still alive. Other times, my son Nick used to come and see me, that was a different type of visit, but in the main I couldn’t wait for the visit to be over to get back to my pals when we’d sit down and smoke a bit of dope in the evening. The governor of the prison used to come round and push the doors: “Oh it’s a bit smokey in here.” He was very liberal. When I came out I was alienated from the people that had been my friends before because I had ten years living with different buddies to the buddies they lived with. with my oldest and best friend - at one particular time I would have died cheerfully for him and he for me - it was totally different. I had nothing in common with him. I felt really lonely. I used to walk the street at night. I used to think, “How can I get back in prison without making it look as if I’ve volunteered myself to go back?”

IDLER: So you felt freer in prison?

REYNOLDS: Ostensibly. One of my friends was in the textile business and another one was partners with him. That was it: I was going to go straight into the business but within two months of my coming home, whether or not I was the grit in the oyster I don’t know, but they started to row very badly and the partnership split up. So that lost me my safe position in the textile business. Then I didn’t know what to do. I was 46 at the time, what can I do? Drive a car. I never saw myself as a mini-cab driver. Some people that I’d been away with came up and said “We’ve got a bit of work. Are you interested?” It involved a major train shipment of money to London Airport and it was half a million each. So I said yeah. Looking back on it there was no hesitation. I thought “That’s it, cause half a million could set me up and if I get nicked I don’t give a f~~k anyway.”

updated by ..........Bennythedip:cool:

Just found out !!
 

I was trying to find out about flight cost's, when someone told me (nothing to do with the flight ) that women with silicone implants run a high risk of them exploding at high altitude :eek!:















I wont be sitting next any women with big tit's then :'D


benny:gh:

ohhhhh shittttttttttt lol
 

i got my balls enlarged lol .ohhhhhh no

Strange thing dream's, they seem so real, a sense of "Dajavue" as if i'd been there before......oh ekkk maybe thats why i keep getting sore throats !:h?:
WILD HIGHWAY
Being the memoirs of wild hearted Black-Arsed Jack, by himself, in gaol, awaiting the rope at Plymouth, for Mutiny, Piracy and crimes against mankind. As discovered by Mark Manning in a bin in Clerkenwell ….

I make no excuses for my life beneath the Jolly Roger.

Sacking, raping and murdering on the wild highway that is the Spanish main. Piracy, Privateering, call it what you will, to me it was simply freedom and a hazy dream of Libertalia. A land where men were equal in each other’s eyes and the law took care of itself.

Where fortunes were taken by the brave, and the lapdogs of the perfumed and powdered nobility were treated with the contempt that they deserved. At my trial, the judge - that effete, bewigged sodomist - called me a callous, murdering, brutal enemy of mankind. The list of crimes I was accused of meant nothing to me. The Admiralty’s pompous captains and buggerous officers that we fed to Neptune’s handsome guard of black eyed sharks was no crime in our eyes, but sport.

We fed those thrashing beauties one extremity at a time. Revelling in the horror on the faces of these fine Naval officers, as they watched hands that once caressed lovers and feet that carried them through the green fields of childhood feeding the ocean’s most gruesome and efficient predators.

We rovers are not without our own brand of bloody humour and style. In mine and my fellow brothers’ eyes we were above the laws of our European oppressors and their ridiculous circus of judges and powdered clowns. The tide was in their favour this time, but tides turn and in their frightened eyes you could tell that they knew this as well as we.

I laughed loud and hearty as the judge donned his black cap. We gentlemen of fortune understand the symbolism of terror as well ?� if not better ?� than those fools.

A man only has to take a look at laughing King Death, beneath whose bony face we frolic, to see that.

I was sixteen years old when I first became the Captain of a Pirate Ship. I set sail as cabin boy aboard a Merchant trader with the Devil himself for a Captain.

The bugger signed his own death warrant when he anointed my behind with a dollop of Jamaican snake oil and rammed himself into the main brace.

I took the scarred old sodomite’s life with his own cutlass, slid the steel into his lungs like cutting into butter. In an inspired frenzy I hacked off the pig’s head and strode out onto the quarter deck holding my dripping trophy aloft, warm brainblood splashing onto my face. I dare say I cut a Hellish dash, awash in that devil’s blood, my long black hair dressed in tar and whipped by the wild wind. The men, as one, cheered and set about the terrified officers, clapping them in irons. Like their Captain they were a bloody bunch of bastards, all of them far too fond of the Cat and buggery.

The men themselves turned out to be as brave and as wild in the heart as mine own self. We set about the rum and grog immediately, celebrating our liberation and toasting the wind in communion with our fellow outlaws on the high seas. We knew our lives were to be short, but ah, with what sweetness they would be lived.

I helped myself to a bottle of fine Madeira from the Captain’s quarters and shared it with the waves. On that sweet and bloody day, my life truly began.

The only problem now was what to do with the officers. Would it be the plank? A taste of their own beloved Cat? Keelhauling, or death by Sodomy?

Strapped to the mast and buggered all the way to hell. “Death by Sodomy!” I shouted, my arse still smarting from the Captain’s surprise attack from the rear. “Death by Sodomy, Master Jack?!” Shouted Onan Sam. “I reckon those bastards would enjoy that, why they’d probably more’n choose it themselves given half the chance!”

“You’re right there, Sam!” I agreed. w~~~~r Sam was the one-legged ship’s cook, and f~~~~~g useless he was as well. All the best vittles he reserved for his onanistic self and his buggerist Captain, for which he was loathed almost as much as the officers themselves.

“Not with the Sodomising I have in mind,” I said, as slowly as a snake in the slow hours of its venomous morning. “Irons for the w~~~~r Mr Gimpo!” I called to the able-bodied seaman who, grinning like Roger himself, had the unpopular, masturbating, one-legged cook bound and shackled in under a minute.

The most hated of all the officers, Midshipman Hornsmoker, loved the Cat more than any officer I’d ever seen. He always watched with the upmost glee, hands in his pockets up on the quarter deck, pants tented up like a Big Top. He was first to go.

We layed his backbone bare with his beloved cat and then stuffed his arse with enough powder to scupper a Galleon.

The Gimp lit the fuse and we laughed like madmen as his arse exploded all over the main deck.

His fellow officers dripping blood and shite screamed for mercy as they realised the nature of their transportation to Hell. How we laughed at their pleas for mercy.

My God. What sorry cowardly bastards they were, stood there pissing their dainty breeches.

The men were in a riotous mood, stoked up on rum and laughing till their ribs ached as we blew those fuckers’ arses to kingdom come. All of us were drunker than cross-eyed skunks when old Israel Hands called up my name for the post as Captain. The men roared with approval, and carrying me on their shoulders, placed me on the quarter deck and allotted me the Captain’s quarters. Old Grindhorn the sail mender had finished our rough and ready flag, that grinning terror the Jolly Roger. How my heart sang when King Death’s head was hoisted high amongst the sails cracking in the cloudless blue skies. “What now shipmates?” I called to my brave hearties, knowing full well the answer. As one they shouted out “Panama!” Tossing their rum into the air. “Get ourselves fucked up and sh~g those Spanish whores!” Roared Scottish Bill, brandishing his scarred purple reptile like a billy club. “Drink till we’re blind, and kill everyone we see!” Shouted Fat Arsed Pete, not the brightest sailor in the world but with a heart as true and big as a lion. The whole company roared their approval. Sammy the Shagger grabbed his accordion and started squeezing out some ass-kicking sea shanties. We shantied, drank and danced till the stars came out, revelling in our new found freedom. We were playing for high stakes now, but with the rum, the whores and the gold, we didn’t give a flying f~~k at a rolling ship’s biscuit.

Since I was knee high to a cockroach my father, God rest his roving soul, had schooled me not only on getting fucked out of my head on rum but on that occult mariner’s skill, Dead Reckoning. Celestial Navigation. Finding your way round these oceans and wild seas with only the stars and gut instinct for a guide. It’s not as hard as it seems, it’s harder. You must know in your blood, not only how to read the stars, but how to read and understand the different winds and the strange currents that run like invisible highways around our watery world. Dead Reckoning: it ran in my veins, like rum.

We arrived in Panama a week later. We struck old scary bones and hoisted Spanish colours, no point in warning those oil-drinking Papist bastards that early in the game.

Those black-haired sons of Spain were raping the Americas of Aztec gold, and by force of arms and the rights of our balls of steel we planned to take what was ours. Bog-Eyed Frankenstein was the only f~~~~r amongst us that could speak any Spanish, so we loosed a small boat and sent him to check out the lay of the land. There were three ships in the cosy, sheltered harbour, one a Galleon, a square-rigged beauty packing forty two guns. I eyed it jealously through my eyeglass. To take command of a Galleon. One of the most beautiful wooden worlds on earth: now that, shipmates, that would be paradise indeed. Bog-Eyed Frankenstein returned before sunset. “The Galleon is loaded with gold,” he said eagerly. I had half-suspected as much, the ship sat enticingly low in the water. “Her crew are a bunch of hornsmokers,” he added. “We can take them easy.” Of that I had no doubt. “Sails tomorrow, forty two guns.|” We would have to move quickly, under cover of night, when her crew would be drunk and useless. Around midnight, daggers in our teeth, pistols hung around our necks like jewellery, we slid silently across the silver water. A full moon hung high and beautiful, stars like diamonds spattered in their millions across the Prussian blue infinity. Sounds travel quick and far on a calm sea; we held our breath as we slipped alongside the galleon.

Two boats stoked with death and murderous intent we were. Thirty five men, seventy balls as big as Mars. “No fire,” I whispered, as quiet as a rat. “I want this ship.” The watch slid silently to the deck as Gimpo slit his throat. We padded barefoot on to the deck. Like cats we were. Seventy men met their maker that night. Not one man woke as our steel bled their death.

We set sail on a midnight breeze waiting till we were well clear of land before dumping the corpses.

The dawn rose gloriously as able- bodied Gimpo repainted the name of the ship. We called her “The F~~KER” - a jibe at those inbred inbeciles who claimed sovereignty over free men by accident of birth. A righteous name for a righteous ship. This surely had to be the most wonderful morning in the world.

Then it got better.

Bog-Eyed Frankenstein had found a couple of women hiding in the hold. An old hag and a Spanish beauty. She could speak a little English, and pleaded, “Please Captain Black-Arsed Jack, do not rape me, I am with child, the father is Don Assholio, he is very important man in Madrid, he will pay you much money. Please do not rape me.” A ripple of lecherous laughter danced across the decks. “What made you think we would rape you?” I said grinning and undoing my leather belt.

After the last one of us had fucked the Spanish bitch’s brains out, she didn’t look that good anymore. We threw the pair of them overboard, it was bad luck to have women on board, every horny-fisted salt knew that. The sharks who lunched on the officers were still with us. Which was odd indeed, usually it’s those gay porpoise that trail a ships wake. We took it as a good sign. ‘The F~~KER'’ trailed a guard of great whites. We hoisted The Jolly Roger just to see it flapping in the wind.

Ordinarily you don’t fly her until you wish to strike terror and force your adversary to surrender. If the prize ship’s Captain does not strike his colours immediately, the blood flag is hoisted. A flapping sheet of scarlet. It means that no quarter would be given, that every man, woman and infant were to be slaughtered with relish and glee.

‘The F~~KER’ was an awesome vessel. I couldn’t wait to smash the shit out of another ship. Any ship. I didn’t have to wait long. On the horizon was one of John Companies’ ships, slow, loaded with spices and assorted trade goods. Ordinarily we wouldn’t bother with such a vessel, the prizes being of little value to a vessel of our intentions, but I just couldn’t wait to smash the f~~k out of any thing that moved. The ship struck her Portugese colours immediately. We didn’t give a f~~k, up went Laughing King Death as we let fly a massive salvo of cannonfire.

Most of the shot missed of course, we were too far away to cause any real damage, but one lucky piece of flying iron took down the spice trader’s main mast, which meant it hadn’t a snowball in hell’s chance of escaping our satanic intentions. We smashed the living shite out of them with our Spanish guns and boarded an orgy of gore. Decks awash with blood. The crew of the spice trader were a cowardly bunch. Lying in bits all over the ship groaning and blubbing like women. Legs and arms, heads and so much blood, it splashed around our ankles as we leapt aboard. The surviving officers were hiding in the hold, all pleaded for mercy. f~~k that. I beheaded a couple and took the rest aboard for some torture fun on our long journey back to the Caribbean. Now that we were gentlemen of fortune we no longer had the pointless chores most sailors have to put up with, so we had much spare time. There were five of them. We decided that they were to be slaves and treated them accordingly, cursing them and treating them worse than dogs. We slaughtered them one at a time, when we were heavily soaked in rum. After traditionally hacking off a limb at a time and tossing the severed extremities to our loyal troops of sharks we roasted their still living torsos like pigs and ate them.

Cannibalism was an accepted form of nourishment for sailors on long journeys. Even the Queen’s Admiralty were partial to the odd roasted cabin boy with their boiled hams. Mind you, it wasn’t talked about much in front of lubbers, they couldn’t imagine how hungry a man gets sailing these cruel waves.

We arrived at Port Royal, the wickedest place on Earth, early in the morning. News of ‘The F~~KER’ and its boy captain travelled faster than a bosun after cabin boy chutney. The whores greeted us like conquering heroes as we leapt ashore ready to f~~k and drink like madmen, our pockets jangling with bloody doubloons. Gimpo couldn’t wait and payed a cute little Mullato girl to suck his pizzle right there on the street.

I got loaded on fine Jamaican rum and took my turns on the women. One of these predatory slatterns tried to get me to fall in love with her, a dark beauty she was, how she loved her diamonds and French Champagne. ‘Oh, Master Jackie, why do you have to leave so soon?’ She cooed in my ear. I could smell my pubescent nad jam on her breath and stood up quickly. “We’ve been here over two months, the loot’s gone, we have to set sail for Panama again!” I told her. Madame Jean Duvall’s attitude changed from sex kitten to frosty bitch in less than a second, “You are not the only sixteen year old pirate captain in ze world you know!” She hissed, naked apart from the diamonds I had bought for her. We did have quite a stash of gold left, but my roving desire was stronger than all this pointless debauchery. I longed for adventure and violence. I punched the mendacious f~~~a in her face and ripped the diamond necklace from her long neck. She went wild: “Those diamonds are mine!” she screamed, before cursing me in French. The stupid f~~k. I was only sixteen but my father had taught me well about the ways of women. Drain a man of his sperm and money, then make his life a living hell until at last he collapses and gives her everything, just to leave him be.

We caught a good wind and set sail for Panama the following morning. We had to the man fucked, drank and gambled away almost all our booty in just over a month of total and absolute pant-shitting debauchery that would have shamed Caligula. To the man, we longed for high seas and scarlet violence. We were anxious to blood our new cutlasses and pistols.

This time Panama was waiting for us. A Spanish man-of-war with more than eighty guns lurked behind the Mandings Straits as we sailed into Portobello. I was an older, but no wiser, seventeen. We were held in awe by most other pirate captains, mainly because of our unrivalled ferocity and cruelty. Our capacity for debauchery was legendary. Midshipman Gimpo cut a dashing figure in his blood red silk shirt, Scottish Bill was also a handsome figure of a man in his gore stained kilt. And I with no false modesty was a most outstanding and dashing young Captain. Whores all over the Caribbean threw in extra free sex for me because of my big-cocked ability to make those jaded crib kittens come like waterfalls. Of course, news of the theft of one of the Spanish King’s ships was not taken lightly. The Santa Bellender hit us with forty guns, our beloved galleon was fucked, main mast and hull damaged beyond repair. We hoisted the Jolly Roger and sailed to within boarding range of the enemy. Man, was that a sea rumble and a half. The Spaniards were as stoked on rum as we. Swords clashed and bellies spilled open, the decks of the Bellender swilled with blood and rum. We were outnumbered but winning the battle. What we lacked in numbers was made up for by our outstanding savagery. The Spaniards were paid to fight for their King and Country, whereas we fought because we loved violence and bloodshed. Part of the appeal of being a pirate is to spit in the eye of established authority. The rum, rape and pillage came a close second but what any pirate worth his weight in rum and spunk loved more than anything else was the old sea-borne ultra violence. We soon finished our mad slaughter and started hacking into any moaning pieces of Spanish dog shit left alive, throwing pieces of them to the sharks. We kept a couple of cabin boys to sodomise and eat later; their young flesh was as tender and sweet as veal.

Not one of my savage shipmates had fallen. There were plenty of non fatal wounds but the old sawbones in Portobello could cauterize and fix us up. Shitfaced Sam, a good sailor, seemed to have recieved the worst injury, lost his right leg from the hip. Bog-Eyed Frankenstein, as usual, was in a real mess, bleeding from three deep wounds, all about his face. It didn’t bother the old sea dog, he knew that women liked scars on a man. His entire face had been re-arranged by so many cutlasses over the years it looked like a demented child’s jigsaw puzzle. One eye socket beneath a patch was a good four inches above the other one, his nose lost in some low dive, fighting over a woman with a drunken French sailor. To those not accustomed to hand-to-hand combat, to pikes, pistols and swords, it is impossible to convey the sweetness of this close up slaughter, savouring your foe’s last breath upon your face. All of the men seemed to enjoy murder on the high sea as much - if not more than - sport with whores and rum.

I know I certainly did. Before my thirty third summer I had sent over two hundred men, women and whores to lie with the fishes. Black, white, yellow, red - I showed no prejudice and killed the lot of them, regardless of age, colour or creed. Life on the waves was worth swinging for. A gaoler here in Plymouth asked whether I’d do it all again. I smiled contemptuously at the landlubber and laughed. What a stupid question.

I swing tomorrow, I shall meet death with as much courage and defiance I showed in my raging fire of a life.

I am 33 years old, but I tasted more than half of those years far more sweetly than many a landsman has experienced in twice that amount. A priest asked if I wanted confession, I told him I would die as I lived: laughing in the face of the Devil with a request for him to do his worst. Death, gentlemen, as that other famous boy pirate, master Peter Pan himself said, will be an awfully great adventure.

With no regrets, yours in blood
Viva Libertalia!
WILD HEARTED
Black-Arsed JACK
Plymouth 1667

updated by Benny. "hmm my throats better now thanks" :'D

here's one
 

A class of five-year old schoolchildren return to the classroom after
playing in the playground during their break time.
The teacher says to the first child 'hello Becky, what have you been doing this playtime?'
Becky replies ' I have been playing in the sand box'
'Very good' says the teacher 'if you can spell "sand" on the blackboard, I will give you a biscuit'
Becky duly goes and writes 's a n d' on the blackboard.
'Very good' says the teacher and gives Becky a biscuit.
The teacher then says 'Freddie, what have you been doing in your playtime?'
Freddie replies 'playing with Becky in the sand box'
'Very good' says the teacher. 'If you can spell "box" on the
blackboard, I will also give you a biscuit'
Freddie duly goes and writes 'b o x' on the blackboard.
'Very good' says the teacher and gives Freddie a
biscuit.
Teacher then says 'Hello Mohammed, have you been playing in the sand box with Becky and Freddie?'
'No' replies Mohammed, 'I wanted to, but they would not let me. Every time I went near them they started throwing sand at me and calling me nasty names'
'Oh dear' says the teacher. 'That sounds like blatant racial discrimination to me.
I tell you what, if you can spell "blatant racial discrimination" I will give you a biscuit'


"what"....:'D

hahaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
 

The boss wondered why one of his most valued employee had not phoned in sick one day. Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialed the employee's home phone number and was greeted with a child's whisper.

'Hello ? '

'Is your daddy home?' he asked.

' Yes ,' whispered the small voice.

May I talk with him?'

The child whispered, ' No .'

Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, 'Is your Mommy

there?'

'Yes.'

'May I talk with her?'

Again the small voice whispered, 'No .'

Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss asked, 'Is anybody else there?'

' Yes ,' whispered the child, ' a policeman '.

Wondering what a cop would be doing at his employee's home, the boss asked, 'May I speak with the policeman?'

' No, he's busy ', whispered the child.

'Busy doing what?'

' Talking to Daddy and Mommy and the Fireman ,' came the whispered answer.

Growing more worried as he heard a loud noise in the background through the earpiece on the phone, the boss asked, 'What is that noise?'


' A helicopter ' answered the whispering voice.

'What is going on there?' demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive.

Again, whispering, the child answered, ' The search team just landed a helicopter .'

Alarmed, concerned and a little frustrated the boss asked, 'What are they searching for?'

Still whispering, the young voice replied with a muffled giggle...










'ME' ...






........

.....
 

A man met a beautiful blonde lady and decided he wanted to marry her
rightaway.
She said, 'But we don't know anything about each other.' He said, 'That's all right, we'll learn about each other as we go along.'
So she consented, they were married, and off they went on a honeymoon
at a very nice resort.
One morning they were lying by the pool, when he got up off of his
towel, climbed up to the 10 meter board and did a two and a half
tuck, followed by three rotations in the pike position, at which
point he straightened out and cut the water like a knife.
After a few more demonstrations, he came back and lay down on the
towel.
She said, 'That was incredible!' :loveme:
He said, 'I used to be an Olympic diving champion. You see, I told
you we'd learn more about each other as we went along.'
So she got up, jumped in the pool and started doing lengths. After
seventy-five lengths she climbed out of the pool, lay down on her
towel and was hardly out of breath.
He said, 'That was incredible! Were you an Olympic endurance
swimmer?' :h?:

'No,' she said, :gh:











'I was a prostitute in Liverpool but I worked both sides of the Mersey :'D

........
 

Mick met Paddy in the street and said, 'Paddy, will you draw your bedroom curtains before making love to your wife in future?'

'Why?' Paddy asked.

'Because,' said Mick, 'all the street was laughing when they saw you making love yesterday.'

Paddy said, 'Silly buggers, the laugh's on them". :h?:
















"I wasn't home yesterday". !!!!!:'D

Loooool
 

Extraordinary behaviour really.”

The phone rang and and Ernesto said, "Benny guess who's at Ascot today, International Financier and Playboy, Ali Irvano" !!! "O'k Ernesto come and get me, i'm on the beach at Camber Sands" !! Now not exactly Monte Carlo i know but us poor punters get our kicks anyway we can .“We arrived at the racecourse by helicopter with my friend's Ernesto and Valerie the actress. "No Amy then Valerie" ? I enquired, "No" she said, "If she stands up she might make it later" !! As we disembarked I noticed a figure in a heavily stained overcoat trapped beneath the aircraft! I thought we’d killed someone, however, it was this Ladbrokes fellow. He was mumbling ‘Get this F~~~~n thing off me.’:'D Mister Ivano came over not looking to pleased, as we freed him and I proffered him my hip-flask. He greedily drained its contents as I tried to restrain him. Valerie and I assisted him to the weighing room where they fixed him up with a mug of tea and a fresh pair of trousers. I revealed to him that my hip-flask had contained a medicinal draught, known in showbiz circles as a “Percodan Perambulator”. Dean Martin put me onto it. You can get blind drunk on it and still walk, but you only need a sip. He failed utterly to comprehend the meaning of this news, and in fact spoke lucidly to me about his childhood for ten minutes or so before dropping the mug of tea and keeling over. It was then I think that he banged his head.”

We were introduced to Mr Irvano who also revealed that his companion, Anna Robinson, is suing the Ladbrokes chappie for suggestions and moves he made toward her as she attempted to give him the “Kiss of life”. Laddie fellow claims in his defence that he “must have been got at” and that “anyway, she made the first move”. Dashing Euro MP, Sonny 'boy' Lennox spoke with Laddie in the gents: “I could hear someone singing an old Bob Dylan song, it was Shane. I recognised him as he clambered over the top of my cubicle. I tried to calm him down, but he began chopping out lines of cocaine! I stopped that right away, the stuff was everywhere. I hurried him to Ivano's private box where I poured black coffee down him. To no avail. He quickly became objectionable and launched into an anti-Irish tirade, claiming the IRA were after him with helicopters because he knew what really happened to Shergar! Incredible stuff. I’m sure he was concussed. The last straw was when he unzipped his fly and pissed over the verandah onto the crowd below. It was chaos, they were throwing bottles into our box, we had to ask him to leave.”

His whereabouts for the rest of the day remain a mystery. Unreliable reports include a drunken appearance outside Windsor Castle, where a verger saw a “religious maniac” whipping a great oak door with a Long Tom.

Later that night a man answering his description was seen attempting to scale the wall of Ascot Ladies College. Who was it Shane or Laddie's man, dont ask !!! .......


benny

Ring Ring !!
 

Phone rings again, "sigh, who is it this time" I say to myself. No sooner had I got the phone to my ear than," Bennyyyyyy, i got summat to F~~~~n ask ya mate !!! It's Shane, "yes mate go on i'm listening" (why did i pick the phone up, he's never been sober before, so why think he might be now? )

Listen mate, he shouted, " Rent or Buy", "I did the math on the Paul McCartney-Heather Mills divorce. After 5 years of marriage, he paid her $49 million. Assuming he banged her every night during their 5 year relationship, it ends up costing him $26,849 per lay, not
counting attorney's fees and court costs."

"On the other hand, Elliot Spitzer's call girl Kristen charges $4,000 an hour. Crazy, right" ?

"But...Had Paul McCartney employed Kristen for 5 years, he would've paid $7.3 million for an hour of sex every night for 5 years (a savings of $41+million)."

"Value-added benefits are: a 22 year old hot babe, no begging, no coaxing, never a headache, wide open menu, ability to put BOTH legs around you, no bitching and complaining or "to do" lists. Best of all, she leaves when you're done, and comes back the next day, ready for another round. All at 1/7th the cost, with no legal fees."

"Benny, Is it just me, or is it better to rent?" :h?:



:'D :smoke:............I hung up !!!!

Loooooooool..
 

Psychology of Poker Tournament's !!
 

The Benny Interview !!:cool:
I was recently asked about tournament poker and how to play consistently and win !!:'D
To learn to understand a tournament poker players life you have to look at or imagine the life of a boxer in the ring. From the first bell, when he is sparring and jabbing, feeling his opponents out, looking to go the distance and finally looking to land the knock out punch.
In many ways there are similarities from the beginning when your starting out learning your trade to the end , when maybe you become the world or European champion, or, you fall by the wayside, another contender !
You have to take the bumps, use the ropes, roll with the punches and take the breaks when the bell rings and above all you need patience and a big heart. Confidence is of course the major part in any boxers time in the ring and the same has to be said of a winning tournament poker player .
In both sports there have been great champions on their day, but how many also ran, how many could have been a contender if only they had done the homework, the training, practiced the moves and learnt their trade !!
In any sport psychology is probably the biggest factor and good psychology is about forming good habits !!... Bad habits are like a disease and losing can become a habit and after a while you start to accept losing, it becomes a habit !! However if you make good habits, it can help you to win, all of a sudden winning can become a habit !!!....
So, as in all sports and life itself, ultimately we must take control of what we do, form good habits ,change things when we're losing, dont let losing become a habit because that is the quickest way to
'The Poker Hospital' !! ..........now where was i.............Nurse !!!!!! 8-P
Benny !

updated from summer last year by BTD

postion
 

make sure you use your position,
try and change your postion.
if your postion is compremised.close your eyes and either cry..or all in
sit in a comfertable postion,use cushions.
have your fags and spare under wear,for the dreaded river in a handy postion.
find out what postion the aggresive person is sitting.
find out the postions of the tight players postion is.
find out what postion your mind is in,can you pick out the table clown,if you cant its you
what postion are you in,with chips.against the big blind
what postion do you want finish,to win you go play aggressive.and use postion.first to bet has massavive advantage
are you in postion
are you out of postion
whos in postion
whos out of postion
why cant you get into postion
why are you in that postion
can you get out of that postion
can u bluff postion
why did you bluff in that postion
should you fold in this postion
will you compremise your postion
will you strengthen your postion
wil you weaken your postion
whats your favourite postion
whats your weakest postion


because im great at poker.i am in a POSTION to share this with you

:h?:

benny
 

your confused..so your out of postion...if you understood that,you would have been in a postion,of not being confused.its simple.suggest you keep reading it,until you are in a postion to understand,or a postion to sleep well,better than counting sheep

Jim
 

Yes right, I'll read that nonsense again:'D

GOT to be more careful!!!!!!





A man was laying in bed with his new girlfriend.

After having great sex, she spent the next hour just stroking his penis, something she seemed to love to do.

Enjoying it, he turned and asked her, 'Why do you love doing that?':'D


















She replied, 'Because I really miss mine.' :eek!:

Golf Anyone ?
 

A Catholic Priest, an Indian Doctor, a rich Chinese Businessman and an Aussie were waiting one morning for a particularly slow group of golfers in front of them.

The Aussie fumed, 'What's with those blokes? We must have been waiting for fifteen minutes!'



The Indian Doctor chimed in, 'I don't know, but I've never seen such poor golf!'



The Chinese Businessman called out 'Move it, time is money'



The Catholic Priest said, 'Here comes George the greens keeper. Let's have a word with him.'



'Hello, George!', said the Catholic Priest, 'What's wrong with that group ahead of us? They're rather slow, aren't they?'



George the greens keeper replied, 'Oh, yes. That's a group of blind fire fighters. They lost their sight saving our clubhouse from a fire last year, so we always let them play for free anytime.'



The group fell silent for a moment.



The Catholic Priest said, 'That's so sad. I think I will say a special prayer for them tonight.'



The Indian Doctor said, 'Good idea. I'm going to contact my ophthalmologist colleague and see if there's anything he can do for them.'



The Chinese Businessman replied, 'I think I'll donate $50,000 to the fire-fighters in honor of these brave souls'



The Aussie said, 'Why the F~ck can't they play at night?'




:loveme:

3 Ducks
 

Three little ducks go into a Bar.............................. 8-P8-P8-P











"Say, what's your name?" the bartender asked the first duck.

"Huey," was the reply. 8-P

"How's your day been, Huey?"


"Great. Lovely day. Had a ball. Been in and out of puddles all day. What else could a duck want?" said Huey.

"Oh. That's nice," said the bartender. He turned to the second duck, "Hi, and what's your name?"


"Dewey," came the answer from duck number two. 8-P

"So how's your day been, Dewey! ?" he asked.


"Great. Lovely day. I've had a ball too. Been in and out of puddles all day myself. What else could a duck want?"

The bartender turned to the third duck and said, "So, you must be Louie?"





"No," she said, batting her eyelashes.

"My name is Puddles." 8-P





Now tell me you're NOT going to forward this! :'D

Drug's are O'K then ?
 

This post...I removed...It wasn't funny !!

The Blonde Mortician !!
 

A man who just died is delivered to a local mortuary wearing an expensive, expertly tailored black suit.

The female blonde mortician asks the deceased's wife how she would like the body dressed. She points out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing.

The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked his best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit. She gives the blonde mortician a blank check and says, 'I don't care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing.'

The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly.

She says to the mortician, 'Whatever this cost, I'm very satisfied. You did an excellent job and I'm very grateful. How much did you spend?' To her astonishment, the blonde mortician presents her with the blank check.

'There's no charge,' she says.

'No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit!' she says.

'Honestly, ma'am,' the blonde says, 'it cost nothing. You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice.'

'So I just switched the heads..' !!! :eek!:





BET YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING!!! :'D

Good Man George !!
 

George Bush has a heart attack and dies. He goes to Hell

> where the Devil is waiting for him.
>
> "I don't know what to do," says the Devil.
> "You're on my list but I have no room for you. But
> you definitely have to stay here, so I'll tell you what
> I'm going to do. I've got three people here who
> weren't quite as bad as you. I'll let one of them
> go, but you have to take their place.
>
> I'll even let YOU decide who leaves."
>
> George thought that sounded pretty good so he agreed.
>
> The devil opened the first room. In it was Richard Nixon
> and a large pool of water. He kept diving in and surfacing
> empty handed over and over and over, such was his fate in
> Hell.
>
> "No!" George said. "I don't think so.
> I'm not a good swimmer and I don't think I could do
> that all day long."
>
> The Devil led him to the next room. In it was Tony Blair
with a sledgehammer and a room full of rocks. All he did
> was swing that hammer, time after time after time.
>
"No! I've got this problem with my shoulder. I
> would be in constant agony if all I could do was break
> rocks all day!" commented George.
>
> The Devil opened a third door. In it, George saw Bill
> Clinton lying naked on the floor with his arms staked over
> his head and his legs staked in spread-eagle pose. Bent
> over him was Monica Lewinsky, doing what she does best.
>
> Bush looked at this in disbelief for a while and finally
> said, "Yeah, I can handle this."
>
> The Devil smiled and said, !! (you'll love this ):'D





















"Monica, you're free to go!" 3:-)

Ascot King George Saturday !!
 

Well here we go, one of the best races of the year 'The King George V1 and Queen Elizabeth Stakes :loveme:
So lets ask a few who can win..
"Shane you understand Irish, Translate what Richard Hughs say's for me ,:cool: "Richard what do you think about your mount Youmzain" ?
"He is flying at the moment and it was a real treat to ride him in France,"
"They went a good gallop that day and it proves that when there is pace, he never runs a bad race."

Hughes will continue to emply waiting tactics on Mick Channon's five year old as they seem to be the key to his success.

"We tried to ride him third or fourth with no excuses in Germany last year and he failed to finish properly and could not beat the first four," :h?: Hughes explained.

"We have to be out the back with him and if there is no pace then we have to try and find another way of winning on board him".
"But if there is a decent clip there are no problems at all and he really starts to finish once he begins to pass horses. I enjoy riding him and get a real kick out of it!";)
Did we understand that Shane ? "Hic yus i did"
Lets find someone else, "Valerie who do you know" ?
Hmmm Aidan speaks Irish or double dutch, i'd like to talk to him :h?:
"Oh Aidan can i have a chat about you horse Duke of Marmalade"
"I'm happy with him and everything has been good since Ascot, at two he injured his shin at Goodwood and he had to get a couple of screws and a plate inserted. We found that they were bothering him, but we got it sorted over the winter and he has been a different horse this year.
"We were happy with him going into the Ganay, his work was very good and we knew what he was able to do last year carrying an injury.
"It was the same story in the Tattersalls Gold Cup, he came forward again and won nicely.
"All any horse can do is win those Group Ones, some horses shy away from them. He didn't do a lot when he hit the front at Ascot, but we were delighted with him.
"There's loads of races for him after this and we always take one race at a time, but this is his first time over a mile and a half and we don't really know what is going to happen when he goes past a mile and a quarter, it's going to be interesting."
"This horse has won three Group Ones and Soldier Of Fortune had already had two runs - we decided to give him a mid-summer break with an autumn campaign in mind so the decision was easy enough.
"He's very good this horse, his physique, pedigree, mentally, attitude, everything about him. He just wins his races and is very professional.":scribe:
"Valerie, did he take a breath there"? Geeez ..sigh !!
"What do ya think guys" ? "Lets take a break, drink time"B (:
"What about Lucano" ?......Amy said,
Shane looked up, "I'll talk wid that Gosden tomorrow, lets get down the pub Benny !!!

No Baby Talk !!
 

A group of kindergartners were trying very hard to become accustomed to the first grade.
The biggest hurdle they faced was that the teacher Insisted on NO baby talk! :h?:
You need to use 'Big People' words,' she was always reminding them.

She asked John what he had done over the weekend?

'I went to visit my Nana'.... No, you went to visit your GRANDMOTHER.
Use 'Big People' words!':eek!:
She then asked Mitchell what he had done
'I took a ride on a choo-choo'. She said. 'No, you took a ride on a TRAIN.
You must remember to use 'Big People' words'.

She then asked little Alex what he had done? 'I read a book' he replied.
That's WONDERFUL!' the teacher said. 'What book did you read?'






( I love this.....)


Alex thought real hard about it,
Then puffed out his chest with great pride, and said, ;)
















'Winnie the SHIT'. ......:'D

Shane how about this..."The nerve of women"
I received a phone call from a gorgeous ex-girlfriend who this afternoon called 'out-of-the-blue' to see if I was still around. We lost track of time, chatting about the wild, romantic times we used to enjoy together. I couldn't believe it when she asked if I'd be interested in meeting up and rekindling a little of that 'old magic'. Wow!' I was flabbergasted. 'I don't know if I could keep pace with you now', I said, 'I'm a bit older and a bit grayer and balder than when you last saw me. Plus I don't really have the energy I used to have.' She just giggled and said she was sure I would 'rise to the challenge'. 'Yeah.' I said. 'Just so long as you don't mind a waistline that's a few inches wider these days! Not to mention my total lack of muscle and developing jowls like a Great Dane!' She laughed and told me to stop being so silly. She teased me saying that tubby, gray haired, older men were cute, and she was sure I would still be a great lover. Anyway, she giggled and said, 'I've put on a few pounds myself!':eek!:

So I told her to f~~k off.!!!










"Yeah mate f~~king Liberty" !!

Never be to careful !!
 

TARZAN & JANE

When Jane initially met Tarzan in
the jungle, she was attracted to him, and during her questions about his
life, she asked him how he had sex?

'Tarzan not know sex' he replied.
Jane explained to him what sex was.

Tarzan said 'Oh, ..... Tarzan use
knot hole in trunk of tree.'

Horrified Jane said, 'Tarzan you have it
all wrong, but I will show You how to do it properly.'

She took off
her clothing and laid down on the ground. 'Here' she said, pointing to
her private area, 'you must put it in here.'

Tarzan removed his loin
cloth, showing Jane his considerable manhood, stepped closer to her and
kicked her in the crotch !!!!!:eek!:

Jane rolled around in agony for what
seemed like an eternity.

Eventually she managed to grasp for air and
screamed, ' What did you do that for?'

Tarzan replied,






'Checking for squirrel's '!!!!! :'D

The largest cell in the human body is the female egg and the smallest is the male sperm.

It takes the food seven seconds to get from your mouth to your stomach.

One human hair can support 3 kg (6 lb).

The average man's penis is three times the length of his thumb.

Human thighbones are stronger than concrete.

A woman's heart beats faster than a man's.

There are about one trillion bacteria on each of your feet.

Women blink twice as often as men.

The average person's skin weighs twice as much as the brain.

Your body uses 300 muscles to balance itself when you are standing still.

If saliva cannot dissolve something, you cannot taste it.

Men that read this are













"probably still busy checking their thumbs." :'D

Shane and Valerie were having a row, Amy said to Shane,"Don't you understand what i'm sayin, are you stoned or something" ??
Shane looked at Amy and said, "You think English is easy"???
"What a bout this then" !!


1) The bandage was wound around the wound.


2) The farm was used to produce produce .


3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.


4) We must polish the Polish furniture.


5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.

6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.

7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.

8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.

9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.

10) I did not object to the object.

11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.

12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.

13) They were too close to the door to close it.

14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.

15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.

16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.

18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.

19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?


Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France . Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take English for granted.
But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.

AND .. Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick' :gn::

Amy had a last drag of her ciggie and went to bed !!!!:'D