I am Old Knudsen

Old Knudsen sometimes wakes up soaked in guilt ridden piss the morning after a sleepless night due to my court order ankle bracelet chaffing like, FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU'RE ALL GONNA DIE. Sorry, my tourettes is quite bad today, it's the old pretend war wound playing up again. I had to have a metal plate fitted in my head after I banged it hiding under the stairs from the military hunting deserters back in 43. There was more blood than the time I was trying to escape from the bigger boys intent on bashing the bunny-eyed boy and I fell off my skateboard and broke my large nose. Claret everywhere........ Also the Fresno police still need to know where I am all of the time even though I swore I'd never go near another stable again.

I look at myself in the mirror, but never in the eyes, and say, "you're a funny ghey intelligent person and well liked, no matter what everyone in America says about me and that dear Mexican boy. After my daily affirmation its time for some fruit loops, a long crap, a quick wipe on the inside of my shorts, then off to the 'office I go'.
To stay fit I skip to work while smacking two coconut shells together, on occasion I like to pretend that I am a eunuch waiter named Manuel. I often stop to accuse people I don't know of being out to get me, its what I do when I'm not waiting tables for tips.

I know another fake Manuel, he is the one who reported me to the police for animal sexual abuse, it was only a gerbil and I would have wiped it before I gave it back to Richard. He has never forgiven me for outing him in public while I stayed in the cupboard for a few murky years. Go on say he'd never do a thing like that, as you have e-mailed with him twice and therefore know him. Don't piss on my one good leg and tell me it's raining. Next its, "oh you are so paranoid". You dumb fucks are the kind of people who drive compacts and have hot keys to Facebook on yer Nokias and always get killed in slasher movies. I face booked your Ma, so there.

I once worked as a shellfish shucker but was fired for interfering with too many young clams, now I work in the Maritime industry............ as a cleaner. Not of hard drives or nuclear subs, but of shiny surfaces, it's company policy to hire a mentally challenged window licker like on "L.A. Law" I love that show, I watch it every night though it ended years ago and I don't have a TV, I'm special. I tell people I'm a secret agent, a special farcer, an ex soldier with fake medals to prove it, but really I spend the day fetching coffee and cleaning when I'm not spamming with my many, many, multi-personalities and not forgetting arguing with the water cooler. I gain your confidence with nice comments and emails, then I lather you up with spam for a quick buck before I slither back under my rock of ages.

I use lots of compooters when the others are on their lunch breaks and have many different faces, fuck I'm sooo clever and your not. I'm a dog, a monkey, for a long time a japing ape, then a hat stand, an Oirish singer, several hot gurls and one ugly Canadian lesley, as well as a posh lady in Brussels and a poet called Mr P. I am ashamed of my working class parents. I've been a writer, a Limerick hearse driver, an Italian entertainer, and once I was even  mermaid in a tank full of seemen, nyuk nyuk. I used to have nightmares about people realising my hair is ginger and my eyes are bunny red, but the deportation issues sorted that out with the aid of peroxide and a pair of Raybans.
 
Most of my blogs are victim blogs, these are half-assed boring as fuck blogs so when I spam people and they accuse me I say, "but look, I'm a blogger a victim myself." Lord Lookin, Goober the dog and monkey nuts comment on me so I must a real bone fide blogger. Clever huh? disinformation is the key, bloggers are not clever, fact.
I check into my Nemesis' blog "Old Bitter Balls," yet another fantastically awesome post, I don't know how he does it, no wait, I do. He copies me! He has his comment moderation on but comments are never shown to annoy the other haters like me, so now I have to get the attention from him that I yearn for as he is the father figure and hunk of ghey loving I have always wanted.

:::::sticks tongue out and starts to type::::: "The Monday club said jerk-off, jerk-off, jerk-off, jerk-off "etc :::takes a break:::: "Fiona said........looser looser looser looser "etc ::::::mis-spells it 20 times ah the irony::::::: oh no, OBB has permanently slapped on his moderation and foiled my efforts to fill up his comment box, this isn't over, someday I shall destroy you for some reason I haven't thought out yet.

Later in the day I try again, but huh? my IP is blocked? I use another server to post ::::sticks out tongue again::::: "Mandy Onslow said....... . . . . . . ." fuck I'm so clever just dots heh heh I may go through a lot of trouble, time and effort but I'm sure OBB is crying because I type nasty things on his blog, I'm sure hes never gone through anything as bad as this in his life hehe. Am I malicious? Nah, it's just payback for being dumped and then written about. They say payback is a bitch, but what they should say is that being a bitch is indeed payback. 

My mother cheated on my drunken kiddy diddling father by fucking a retarded monkey at the Bronx zoo, but look at me, do I look like I still got any monkey genes under my cap? It was actually another japing ape, did you know that gorillas have a peenee no bigger than a pencil, perhaps I did get something from my true daddy after all. Apart from the idea of the Trojans and of course the construction of an awesomely huge wooden horse.

Oh no, there goes the moderation again, this isn't over OBB, someday I shall out you for some reason I haven't put together yet. Jaywalking on the sidewalk, perhaps spreading dog crap on my carpet with your extremely small feet.
After a hard day of spamming, cleaning, licking boogers and wiping up coffee grounds from the front of my shirt I stick some sewing needles into my groin and head home on the uptown bus.

My life ambition is to break my fathers cycle of animal and young Mexican boys abuse, get off vicodin and enhance the reputation of  untalented peeple who imitate me on the intershed, but not in that order.
So it's off to stalk some old boyfriends, they think they can change fone numbers and addresses, but I find them due to my special farces training and I slowly plot to boil their little bunnies. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKI FUCK, sorry, there goes that darn tourettes again.

I wonder why I have no real friends, oh yeah, I remember why, the voices in my head just told me.

Two Queens Go To War

Having sworn an oath to protect her Majesty and her heirs and successors I just want you to know what she means to me. Very fucking little. We met once in a darkened doorway in 1943 during an air raid. I was scouting for bodies to rob, she had just split from the Irish hero Martin McGuinness. I thought at first she was a he, yer normal ghey auxiliary driver just trying to stay alive and find some hard cock like I was. I used all my best lines on her as the Doodlebugs exploded nearby saying how we should embrace this moment in passion as it may be our last, she said her heart belonged to some Greek murderer fella named Phil. I said I wasn't interested in her heart just a go at molesting her sons smooth buttocks. She smiled at my mannish ghey roughness and was violently sick in that dark doorway. I have that effect on weemen. We both exploded with far more intensity than any of the bombs and as we stood there spent and panting, we heard the all clear signal and giggled at the timing.

We apologised to the other drunks who were also sheltering in the doorway and we parted, not knowing our fates would be intertwined from that moment onwards. She would become THE Queen of England, I would become THE Queen of Scallyfornia, Northern Ireland, and Scotland. Although in Scotland they didn't so much heil me, more just hate me for being the bunny eyed queer that I am.

Filthy Dirty Weemen

     Young Knudsen the original bastard

Why is it always weemen you turds want me to talk about? I'm a ghey man for fuck sake, weemen to me are merely entertainment value with their clothes on, nothing more. Blinding pigeons in the park is more sexual to me than touching durty weemens stinky bits. However, you lot pay my rent so for once I will relent and wax as lyrically as a ghey man can.

I love weemen with their curves and jelly like globes of flesh and moist inviting recesses, waxed entrances and trowled on whale blubber faces. Weemen are also more pleasing to gaze upon than men unless the man is me of course. Obviously Old Knudsen has put his pee pee into a woman once, just once mind. Some washed up bit part actress by the name of Angelina Jolie she was, and very grateful too that I gave up my lunch break to fill her up with old mans cum. To this day she still brings up my only child as I bring up my lunch at the thought of ever sticking my sword into another female flesh pie.

When a woman is interested in you she is most accommodating and will literally bend over backwards and swallow the gravy. As soon as you commit and its a gold ring that gets fingered not a brown one then weemen get too comfortable and their demon side cums out and the flatulence begins. Then its all about picking up clothes, no more wiping snooters on yer trousers and not pissing on the bathroom floor, the things they used to find so adorable about you. The only cure for  their emotional snivelling they call "love" is marriage.

Another thing brings out the demon side of weemen and that is their period. Do not trust something that bleeds for 5 days an does not die.
So much complaining about cramps. You know I had my eye hanging out on to my cheek , my left arm was shattered and I had 4 large musket holes in my body as I rode through Chicago into the valley of the shadow of death, no I don't mean having sex with yer Ma I mean the Crimean war and did I complain? No, I was just fucking grateful, weemen don't know they are born.

I've been around weemen long enough to hear the period talk. Weemen talking about gushing, heavy and light flows and sticky itchy yucky goop that cums out off their stench trench.
What ever happened to the dirty talk about licking yer rim as they work the pipe and can my hot friend join us? Gone... all fucking gone. And you wonder why I now worship the cock?

Periods, giving birth and cervical biopsies don't look that sore so why so cranky? I believe its merely an excuse to eat chocolate, fart and stay in bed half the day watching Jerry Springer and his trailer trash following.

Do I constantly talk about my anal itch or my bleeding piles? well ok that's a bad example but really when you scratch and get blood when you should be getting poop, ach you don't understand about suffering.
Vadges should only be talked about in a sexy way or not at all or the wonder is gone. I believe the woes of the world are not violent video games, religious genocide or foods pumped with steroids but are caused by weemen talking about their periods and how special the women become due to the ensuing anger, "LOOK ME IN THE EYES AGAIN AND I'LL CUT YA" . No its not about you its about the hoo hoo.

Its like warm apple pie, yeah right not like mama used to make that's fer sure. Give me a great big cock any day. You haven't lived until you've been rimmed and felched by a bear in a Police unifrom. Thanks to George Michael for the tip! Literally.

I was sat in the tattoo parlour earlier when a butterfly flew past with a picture of a slut on its wing. To quote the great thinker Aristotle, "Men and young boys rule and weemen drool" another great thinker Stephen Hawking may also drool but he talks like a robot which is so fucking cool. The Troll doesn't count as being a man so don't even think about using her as an example.

I encourage the thoughts of my female readers, but not in the comments section, these are reserved for coded messages from my hordes of ghey under age street boys. No doubt there will be lots of talk of womanly things like knitting ,having babies and other delicate subjects, but I like the cock, deal with it.
Take this as constructive criticism now go fetch me a cup of tea then suck on my balls as I watch the telly, CSINSFW Miami is cuming on. I just love how realistic these crime shows are.

Old Soldiers Never Lie

The great pretender at work

No one worth a damn reads a blog on a Friday and good for them, unlike me most bloggers have a real life, so I will add this to my latest Facebook account where it appears that I have a wider audience of gullible mongs who crave attention and lie through their two remaining teeth. And I don't just mean those fat weemen fuckers amongst you. I'm talking to my ghey following of rams, bucks and bears. An animal magnetism is what I definitely have. That's probably why I am banned from the Bronx zoo.

 A certain, well I don't want to call her a blogger, has accused me of never having served in the military. I just wanted to remind her that other cuntries than the US do have a military, far better ones than the US military I must add. No, I won't bring up who has won and lost most wars between the USA and the UK as that would be like comparing a seasoned veteran warrior (like me) against a young fat wee seal clubbing cry-baby.

Don't worry yanks some day you'll beat some semi stone-age culture like gooks in the jungle or Arab's in the desert. Let's just hope that 30,000 Brits don't have to die due to your "accidental" firing. Murdering gung-ho bastids.

The picture above is me when I served with the Spartans along with my 300 hand picked brave Irish Republican soldiers to fight off the Proddies or the ghey Englanders. We were called the Orange Squeezers, also very ghey, but so fitting for me in particular. Yep we kicked the Prod arses and yep I have framed pictures of myself all over the house in various other nations militaria. I look very fetching in my Viet-Cong Generals uniform, so many medals, so few corpses. You coontz keep forgetting that I am a half-man half-mong trying desperately to establish an identity by choosing the toughest nations I fantasise about.

So far I have been McScottish, it worked well with my ginger hair, red bunny eyes and pale skin, but I failed at that when I shat myself when a car backfired and I yelled for my Maw. I was Northern Irish for about a year, again I failed miserably at that, the powers that be over there can recognise a pretender when they see one. I still have the scars where they removed my foreskin with pair of kitchen tongs and a cheese grater. Then I had a go at being a french fries loving, burger scoffing, arrogant cock sucking American. I got the cock sucking bit right, nyuk nyuk. Going forward I am now claiming to be a Brit. This is a grey, not ghey, ok, possibly ghey nondescript smokescreen which ties me down to no cuntry other than the one I am in at the time. I plan on being Italian this evening, just about an hour after I have barfed up my pizza.

This my dear Troll is something you'll be seeing soon. Me.. If I am finally allowed back in to the USA then I shall aim to be a Marine! If not, well then fuck it, I don't need to prove myself to Americans, you should be smart enough you'd know what a trained keeler I am, remember the Alamo? I didn't kill 500 Japs at Normandy just to have some fat reality show loving cunt question me.
I didn't kill 3,000 Russians at the battle of the belly bulge during the cold war just to have some pussy lover delete my comments on their blog because I is funnier than a hairy legged Canadian lesbian.

And most of all I didn't kill JFK .............. no wait I think I may have. Don't worry I have a statue of limitations, well its actually a lamp.