|Big Rocky and Little Cocky|
Old Knudsen comes from where the wind is cold and truth is seen only through keyholes; where the ghey men are ghey men and so are the women. Ah well, any port in a storm.
During the 80's I worked out at sea a lot; I caught crabs for a living. NO! Ya durty fuckers, Old Knudsen wasn't a man whore, that came later on, he was a fisherman. I caught lobster too, and if they had went around me pubes they would have snipped my tiny cock off. I didn't become a full time ghey man whore until I started working the back doors of the rich and famous. Sylvester Stallone's back door was a place where I was always seen to be hanging out. He often left me battered and bruised around the ring after a good fisting. Old Knudsen gets around, just ask yer ma. I have been a long time personal friend to many stars including Sylvester Stallone as pictured above. Old Knudsen doesn't like to name drop but that picture was at a party hosted by DeNiro and the photo was actually taken by Hugh Jackman, its been cropped otherwise you'd see Helen Mirren and Tony Curtis on either side.
Old Knudsen had strong hands back then; many a fellow would marvel at my grip. They would ask me to squeeze things, and I could make a grown man cry like a baby. It was such fun. They used to rib me, saying,"Young Knudsen, you have hands like a girly-boy, you can pull my creels in and I'll make a man of you." Those beautiful bastards, it brings a tear to me red bunny eyes to be recalling such happy times.
Us fisher folk were always cold and smelling like fish, and so were the weemen that hung around the docks. No, Old Knudsen never paid for that pleasure, he always got his quota at sea from the Captain and first mate as they passed me around the poop deck like a damp piece of fluff. Anyway, that's none of your business, read on dear readers, read on.
We never saw on board very many of those funny boys with the frilly cuffs, lipstick and hair so full of hairspray that they could become human matches if they got within 6 feet of a naked flame. Well, Old Knudsen knew of the odd one during National Service; as you Americunts would say "don't ask don't tell," we would say, "backs to the wall."
You know how in nature if an animal was sick or weakly, it would be killed by its own? Well that's the attitude many had in Old Knudsen's town, when we saw a weedy little boy with a pale white face and lipstick red eyes. It just brings out the nature in us, poor boy must be at odds with himself. We wouldn't kill him, that's just savage and cruel. No, we would just thrash him soundly and humiliate him, making sure to shave something. I mean, we weren't animals. Of course this explains queer bashing, not the kind of bashing I like, but hey that's all natural. Blame the Lord Almighty, it's not our fault at all.
Old Knudsen has nothing against the girly looking turd burglars, real Olster men with their leather masks and sticks with nails in type of butt bandit. If Old Knudsen did have anything against them Old Knudsen would remove several layers of clothes, and position himself in plastic and wear goggles. They can do whatever they want back there, as long as no one gets splashed with musky man fat.
If you see my old pal Sly, otherwise known in special secret little circles as Cap'n Cock, don't mention it to him, or anything about his ex wife. He went on the run in Afghanistan for nearly killing her, but don't worry, he was cleared later after he brought down the Russian chopper and killed the 304,000 baddies. He still gets a little touchy at it for some reason. The man has fists of fury, one minute you're talking to him and then BAM! you're on your back with a crowd around you as he is pumping your poop shoot like there is no tomorrow. Thank God that with years of councilling Sylvester is a little slower. His glory days now are having been a minder for the guy from Abba, not the fat bearded one but the dork that looked like a ghey frog.
The 80's was when all the big stars were in their prime. Paul McCartney was forever youthful and having hit records all over the place, I liked that pipes of peace one, then he had that song with that darkie, Michael Jackson, that one was more like a big smelly number two as it spattered its way quickly down the charts. OJ was still innocent, again, and Bono was still Oirish and not so much of a cunt. Old Knudsen has always had a soft spot for the wee King of Eyeland. It's out back behind the barn.
All that ya ya ya banjo music, wrap around glasses and catchy videos, no wonder the young people's heads were turned. A crazy era, fake shoulders, fake genders, fake war memories, flocks of fucking seagulls, did you see our hair? Either we weren't hugged enough as children or we were hugged too much by the gym teacher. Either way, we wanted attention, so the bigger boys beat us up.
Nothing personal you bullying cunts, but next time just put a sign saying "kick me" on our backs.