i guess we get it from the hebrews,
as the stereotype goes -
i don't know how it happened -
i had a student bank account,
long after i graduated -
what is a student bank account?
2000 quid over-draft limit: interest free!
funny, isn't it?
i had that way past the expiry date,
i'd say way over fives years...
and i was titilating the -2000 quid
over a few months...
evidently some genius at the bank
noticed this, and said:
no no, you've have your little
student honemoon, time's up!
so i gets me a letter and says they'll
be reducing my expiry date to
500 quid below par -
at nearly -2000 quid in my account,
what? what else?! panic...
so i calls them up and say:
look... i can get on the + scale,
i just need more time,
i can't do it within your stated
authority...
nice lady, great conversation,
so she goes through the routine
questions...
mobile phone? no.
car? no.
mortgage? no.
how much do you spend on
luxury goods?
em... i have all the "luxury" goods
i might ever need,
take a philosophy book...
sometimes you find one that can last
you 2 ****** years to digest...
that's like picking pennies off
the pavement...
and, luckily, she said:
we'll reduce the overdraft limit by
200 pounds per month...
last time i remember i hovered
above 800+ quid in my bank account...
obviously i have *******-of-a-drinking
habbit...
but like now...
i'm drinking, and tomorrow?
i'll be drinking...
and only in western europe is this
stigma of living with your parents...
look... mate... come here:
jean-paul sartre (the nobel living
author for the novel nausea)?
he lived with his mother,
had a ****-of-a-girlfriend and ******
university students...
plus he was cross-eyed...
to ever think that i.v.f. and test-tube
babies pander this "non-existent"
disciplinary commune of "dear brothers
& sisters"....
the current pupeteer in poland,
this pan kaczka? lives with his mummy...
he's not the president, he's not
the prime-minister... but he's playing
the one joker card in politics:
he's probably 2 inches shorter than napoleon,
ugly as a ******* touristee mug
with the houses of parliament on it,
or a i (heart) london... whatever...
point being: he's playing the last remaming
card, it's not a joker card...
it's the entry point of the last remaining
card: the schadenfreude card...
sorry... but this card does come into play
after certain limits are breached,
but that's hopw ontology works.
i still remember that joke told by my glaswegian
english teacher (imagine
learning english from a pict) -
how was copper-wire invented?
two scots arguing over a penny.
still... how i managed to get from a -2000 quid
dept and into the +, how did i manage
to ease the blow by allowing a gradual deflation
of the overdraft limit by charming
the bank lady...
i do have to admit, one little
noughty secret... i found myself wake-akin
*****, i walked into my bank and talked
to the manager: i need you to increase my
overdraft limit, my great-grandmother has died
and i need enough money for travel expenses...
what really happened?
oh... you know... 3 hours in a brothel...
10 quid entry, one-hundred-and-ten quid an hour...
and the perfume of bourbon everywhere...
what?! sometimes a man has to do something
about his libido trapped in a strait-jacket...
girls don't mind...
i just kept minding that they
were bulgarian, and lied about being romanian
as if to imply that romanian girls
better outsource bulgarian girls in the trade...
so this is me thinking:
you really want to argue "feminism"?
go to a *******, see what she thinks,
namely? feminists abhor her trade,
they want to liberate them!
the girls? far **** away from being liberated...
thrill ***... i heard one story of a friend
of her's being killed by a pundit...
russian roulette they call it, i guess...
then this other ******* telling me:
oh, personally? i think that every woman should
try prostitution for a while...
what's that beautician's word? poly...
poly-amorous?
oh hell... looks pretty...
does it feel "pretty" in practice?
not really...
there are really two
great dissatisfactions in the realm of prostitution:
1. not giving a man an ****** after
one 1 of working the piston (sorry,
imagery and *** are always crass and laughable)
and (this will shock you)
2. actually receiving an ****** on the job...
oh boy, no. 2 is horrifying to them....
it's not the job that debases the *******:
it's an ****** with a pundit!
an ****** with client is probably as bad
as being ****** with an egg-beater,
or an elephants trunk, or a horn of a rhino...
sorry... but that's how it's written...
+ lucky me, she just sighed an "ouch" -
and said: you're only the second -
and so out went my ***** envy:
anyway, i was always more envious of beards;
taking notes in a sikh temple.
yeah... -2000 under par, and still i managed
to wriggle out...
i swear one of my ancestors was
either jewish or scottish...
smooches for that lady in the bank
that allowed me a gradual decrease in my
interest free overdraft limit.