Monday, 12 August 2013

Desperate Fishwives Self-Combust!

(A Re-cap)

It's almost a month now since I was shat on from a very great height by someone I believed was a very close friend. But, we learn from our mistakes. I'm not interested in "The Missing Child" case any more, and rue ever getting interested in the first place. But it's amusing to watch from the sidelines and see one of the "major" support groups for this hopeless affair start sliding down the sluice where they belong. It has now been usurped and taken over by the very people it was attacking, and the ones running the show (including one who has more sides than a threepenny bit) have been kicked out of the pub! 

I suppose there were one or two nice people there, but by and large they are all fruit-loops who have nothing better to do with their meaningless little lives.

Look after your own loved ones, my dears. You won't be any better thought for doing what you're doing. It's a bit like rescuing a lion from drowning. It'll only thank you by eating you!

I've had around 100 requests for "Desperate Housewives",and a great deal of positive response for exposing what I exposed. I'm constantly asked if I will be publishing "Lost In Frances". 

No, I won't--if Dublin's Dumb Dora behaves herself. 

To recap--The Desperate Housewives wrote that my wife was actually my mother, alluding to the fact that my son is disabled because I sired him to my own mother--who would have turned 97 last February. Dumb Dora also asked for personal information about me so that she could ask two of her policemen friends to log into their station PC to see if I have a criminal record. One Mme Hardon-Gay provided this information--well, she thought she did. She and her fishwives cronies even went to Ancestry, paid to find my address, and got in touch with the church where we were married. Devious, indeed.

And the sweetest revenge? To sit back and watch them destroying one another!

1 comment:

  1. Well said. However, any time they want to have a huge bitch fight in public is fine by me, as it was far better than anything on the telly. I especially enjoyed the reaction to some Scottish tart who loomed up from out of the mist like a rabid polecat, swiftly administered a fatal bite to the back of the neck of the Chief loony, who is, let's face it, Canada's revenge on the world for SARS, and then installed herself in her ronseal-speckled trainers and declared herself Queen of the t'internet.

    Girding her loins, and so rumour has it, someone else's too, she set about informing the faithful that there had been a change at the top.

    ''And who the fuck are you?????'' they replied.

    Patiently, she explained that because they had not only inadvertently allowed in a passing halfwit with more personalities than the Band of the Coldstream Guards, but also, and quite inexplicably made him an admin too, they had been left with no choice but to invoke the ritual murder of their esteemed leader and install themselves in her place.

    ''Yes, okay'' they replied. ''But who the actual fuck are you??''..........

    Fabulous stuff.