Tillyman's and the Tard
Being a ghey man of the world, Old Knudsen knows a bit about everything and he will be happy to tell it to you abnormal fuckers who trawl here in your hundreds every day looking for ghey sex tips and army deserter stories. "Christian Evertard" from my past emails me on a regular basis. Normally 5 times a day, but sometimes as many as 10. Christian is one unhappy cunt. He is unhappy because I always head my replies to him as: Dear Mong.... He is also unhappy that I have a habit, heroin mostly, but I am partial to a few sniffs of China white off the washboard stomachs of 15 year old Mexican boys on occasion. I have a habit of reminding him of the bad old days before I came out of the closet and made fun of him 25 hours a day. Christian now likes to blog under the stage name of Bock The Robber. You won't have heard of him unless of course you have ever googled the words 'sanctimonious cunt'.
Mongs in blogland prefer to be called "Bloggers," they have feelings, too, you know. They should also be washed with a mild detergent once a week and have plenty of room to run about and dig. Always have a spray bottle handy to squirt them if they try to go on the rug.
When Old Knudsen was a Young Knudsen, and worked as a fry cook at Tillyman's Fish and Chip Shop (the best battered cod on the mainland), he met his very first Mong. His name was Christian; he had a withered hand, and in order to walk he would fling his leg out in front of him. Of course he wasn't too bright, but Old Knudsen found him to be a great source of amusement. His walking must have taken a lot of effort, as Christian used to sweat like a defrosting turkey on Christmas Eve. He'd also rip off sequences of pharts as he went. Now, if you don't think a sweaty, farting blogger-mong is funny then you've had a humor bypass operation. Now go get me a pint, ya boring fucker.
By the way, Tillyman, you owe me 8 bucks from the time Old Knudsen covered Albert Sorelson's shift; you had better still be alive, ya welching shite.
On one of Old Knudsen's days off I met Christian who was on his way to work at Tillyman's. Christian picked up rubbish and cleaned the tables there, for just a few hours every week. Of course the sweat was dripping off him. "How's it going, Christian old pal?" says I. "If your shift starts at eleven then you're running late; it's ten after," I tell him. With that, Christian flung his leg out and loped down the road at breakneck speed. Well, it was fast for him. Old Knudsen went about his business and promptly forgot all about Christian .
About a week later, Mary-Jane Lezzer, who also worked at Tillyman's, was telling me how one day last week Christian came rushing in. He went upstairs at Tillyman's to put his stuff away, and he was so panicked about being late for his shift he fell down the small flight of stairs. He wasn't hurt; he just landed on his back and flopped about like an upturned ghey turtle.
Mary-Jane nearly pissed herself laughing, she does that a lot, pisses, squirts, pisses and then squirts again.. Aren't Canadian weemen filthy for fuck sake? Old Knudsen had missed it, so we had to put Christian on his back for a re-enactment, and yes, it was funny. The really funny part was that Old Knudsen had just been kidding about him being late; that silly blogger still had 20 minutes until his shift started.
C'mon, people; Mongs love it when you treat them like shit like you would anyone else. At least we don't string them up like the bloody Americunts do.