Keeling Time.

You may of heard in the news about the journalist Anna Politkovskaya being assassinated by a Russian Hitman, these guns for hire aren't new, they have killed several high profile people over the past few years and are the current epidemic to hit Russia since David Hasslehoff and his car with the fruity voice defeated the communists .
These Killers or Keelers as they are called in Russia come from out of work KGB or other military, which means they are bad bastards,even the lowest of the soldiers and the least trained in combat, cooks, still tough as fuck, Russian army cooks don't use oven mitts, oven mitts are for the weak pussy westerners, as is washing their hands, no offense if any ex army cooks are reading, ah fuck yous , I bet you didn't eat your own cooking, they put stuff in the tea you know so you don't get stiffies. On a side note, before these gourmet rations that you just add water too and you have a Christmas dinner in a packet, we had cans of pate with crackers and mystery meat cans of stew, these were designed to bung you up so you'd only shit once a week, this means more fighting men at the ready, sneaky cunts,I pity the special forces who have to shit into bags and carry it with them so the enemy can't stick their finger in it and say, "2 hours old, tastes like *chips*, must be British SAS, they went that way" .

Old Knudsen's (remember me?) career as a bodyguard literally went up in smoke, it just didn't pan out for me, all politics, so in the early 80's I enrolled in a 'Keeler for hire' course down in Somerset, lovely country, plenty of sun too. It was run by an ex KGB assassin named Mikhail, he was a wiry wee shite but solid, ugly as fuck with an expression as if he was about to fall asleep or always drunk, a keeler's lust for keeling is only matched by his lust for strong foul smelling cigarettes, he seemed to always have a lit one in his mouth at all times, even when he took his respirator (gas mask) off after being in a room full of CS gas a lit cigarette would still be in his gob, I once asked if he ever felt like stopping, he flew into a rage and screamed, "I'm not a weak quitter I never give up, quitting is for losers " , after that I didn't really engage in small talk anymore.
What did I learn at my camp for Keelers?
I learnt to size up every room I enter, where the exits are, is there any alcohol, and who is more likely to buy a round and who is not, those that do not return the favour of round buying are subhuman scum and should be squashed.
I learnt that a true Keeler doesn't use mixers, and can get his hole anywhere from anything with his Keeler charm, I learned what parts of my body could be used as weapons, for instance if your leg gets blown off it then makes an excellent club, Mikhail taught me that only the weak pass out through lack of blood, I think he may be right.
During that rugged tough 3 day course I put my body through things I never thought I could, I stood in line at Tescos and never once complained about only two cashiers open during lunch time, I smiled and listened as a Jehovah Witness and his lurker Witness told me about their religion and only gave positive polite replies, my mind was becoming disciplined, my body had become rock hard from all the coughing I was doing from Mikhail's smoking, I was a trained Keeler.
Not everyone passed, we lost some good men on the explosives part of the course, and some good fingers (fingers, a good weapon for throwing if nails are long) thankfully bullets are expensive and we only got three each, but one bullet was all Sweaty Bert needed, I told him to wipe off his hands before he loaded his weapon, no one listens to Old Knudsen and those that do usually regret it.
I got a certificate and a t-shirt, and I was a disciplined buff Keeling machine, who would employ me?, let me think the Argies needed some help after getting their arses kicked during the Falkland Conflict, that's what happens when you let ex Nazis train your army, Iran as usual were the bad guys but those crazy fuckers have no Keeling pride, 'he that Keels and runs away lives to Keel another day' you don't blow yourself up (on purpose) how stupid would you have to be? that's a rhetorical question so don't bother, the Yanks are always stirring shit and shooting people, nah I'm not working for those bastards after they embarrassed me with the whole Kennedy thing, LBJ you wanker, they could of let me in on it.
I found myself working for a large company, Tescos, stacking shelves, well it was a start.



*For those that don't speak English, Chips = French Fries, Freedom Fries to you Bitter Balls*

No Need To Get Cross.

A heathrow Airport employee is going to sue British Airways for religious discrimination because while at work her cross necklace showed and she was asked to cover it up as per the uniform policy.

Miss Eweida refused to do this as it was a symbol of her faith.

See whats happening here? Britain is getting more like America everyday, fat pushy people that go around looking for lawsuits, no offense to my to my brash, obese Yank readers but its true, I don't want to get into a fight over someone spilling my pint only to have their lawyer serve me with papers afterwards, where is the dignity in that? the rules have always been whoever loses the least body parts (teeth, earlobes, tuffs of hair etc) and the least blood wins, no special weapons allowed just whats around, its not an uncivilized brawl its an art form with ingenuity and guile that's the honourable way, and both parties retain their respect, my old Ma was a local bare knuckle champion for 8 years straight, me Da was into all that Brazilian dance fighting shit, Capoeira, usually when he was *pissed* so he didn't come off too good, when he got home me Ma would kick the shit out of him for losing, " fight like a man" she'd say as she gives him a right hook to the chin, "this is how to kick" as she boots him in the ribs, ah my parents were indeed soulmates, the cups of hot tea thrown in faces, the slaps on the back of the head, nowadays some wishy washy liberals would call that abuse but back then it was affection.
Back to Miss Eweida, my only consolation is that she is from an Egyptian background and goes to both Arab and Pentecostal churches, put all this together and you have a trouble maker, so Miss Eweida, your faith is stronger when your 'e showing it off to other people? putting it under your clothes as you've done for the past 7 years is no longer good enough, Heathrow is a fucking busy place, you work at the check-in seeing thousands of people a day of different faiths, what is this like gang colours or something? let me paraphrase the very first Protestant Jesus H Christ.

" Go forth my children and be strong in your faith, remember its not whats around your neck that counts, its whats in your heart so be humble and don't be a dick, especially you crazy Pentecostal cunts, here listen as I talk in tongues out of my arse" .

That my friend is in the Bible, (somewhere at the back)

There are double standards, as Turbans that cannot be concealed are allowed to be worn, heres what Old Knudsen advises, zero tolerance for religious nuts, if you accept a job with uniform dress codes then abide by it, if you can't then leave, as I have said before, leave religion out of the workplace unless you're the Pope or something.
Did you hear about all those prisoners years back that invented their own religions to get perks, "its my religion to have green jello everynight, oh I worship at the altar of the porno mag " and they got away with a lot of it because you can't go around refusing rights, it smacks of Communism or Fascism.
I know your game Miss Eweida look at your plump worried face that plays the victim so well, I hope your case gets thrown out of court, for if you win then you'll have people serving you at McDonald's wearing Swastikas and claiming to be Odinists,"sorry I can't serve black people, browns, jews or any other colour but white, its against my religion, have a nice day, please call again".




*For those who don't speak English, Pissed = drunk*

Beer And Boak.

Here is a story I remembered when I read a beer and boak post at Kav's Blog.

Years back when I was working for a company that made Snuff videos, well we prefer to call them promotional videos for Snuff products, it's an old habit but its still out there. We had had a good year with sales and our Boss who was usually a tight fisted git took his employees out to dinner at a, well I don't know, Chinese or Thai or something, I don't know, I went for the free food and drink not the fucking culture.
We sat down at a large table the food kept coming and so did the wine, wine? no Sammy I'm not gay, it was free and gets you drunk so I drank it, a lot of it.
Red is far worse than white but as that was all on offer so I bravely soldiered on.
I burned my hand on some sizzling hot plate they had, bloody dangerous, no one spoke enough drunken English to understand I wanted Ice.
We all piled out the door, and I felt someone yank my coat back, so I turned round and hit em,(like you do) thus ensued a drunken fight on the ground outside the place, it turned out that my coat got caught on the door handle but it was all fun.

To our surprise our Boss took us to another bar, I was only in there less than 10 minutes before the bouncers threw me out, I had a little trouble with my vertical balance it seems, I thought I was fine, falling over people seemed the right thing to do at the time, my boss phoned for a taxi, now I never take those things walking is better, I have a homing device in my head and no matter how blocked I am I always get home, 98% of the time.

I don't remember too much about the taxi ride, I believe I threw up in the cab and jumped out and walked the rest of the way home, I know this as there was an angry taxi driver at my work place the next day, no sense of humour those guys.

Well I did get home, I was greeted at my door by my two doggies I had then I petted them and fed them, well I petted them and threw up yet again all over my hall and the good wee animals lapped it up, my then wife appeared like a vision of doom at the top of the stairs and said I had better clean it up, I gestured to the dogs that were doing a fine job, she didn't look too impressed, never marry a woman just because she has big knockers, ah you live and learn.

I slept on the sofa that night, my lovely wife took a photograph of me passed out to embarrass me, but it only made me ask why was there bright orange stuff all over my face and clothes, that would be the colour of chinky food and red wine, that stuff glowed in the dark, you could paint traffic cones with it.
I learnt my lesson, never eat funny foreign food as it makes you boak, nope had nothing to do with the gallons of wine of that I'm sure.

A Moment In Bitter History.

The good lord shone down on his true representative here on Earth during the week.
Ian Paisley and his lovely wife (Baroness) Eileen celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, the Northern Ireland political party that Big Ian heads, the DUP (Democratic Unionist Party) gave them a bowl carved out of a Walnut tree that grew on the sacred site where the Battle of the Boyne was fought in 1690.
When asked if he wanted sugar for his tea Big Ian defiantly shouted, "NO! I will not have sugar in my tea as long as the milk is present" , he then sat in silence staring at the milk while his tea went cold, he was not offered a biscuit, even though they were his favourite orange treat , Jaffa cakes.

The Sparrow Has Landed.

Thankyou Hadon for pointing out what my Blog needs, recently I have checked out new blogs to see what they were like only to find pictures of oiled up muscle men all over them, no matter what some may want to believe Old Knudsen doesn't want to see that, but I respect their right to put whatever they want up on their own blog, see how enlightened I am? here is a picture of a tired Fat Sparrow, she had just landed and felt a little weighed down for some reason, if you're all saying, "but shes not fat" that is because she was trying to be cool but misspelled 'Phat' as Fat, she is just so white sometimes, anyway, no one reads at the weekend so enjoy this instead.

Only good poems rhyme # 1

Why is it that you visit my blog
reading it is a slow painful slog
I put up things that I think might be funny
A fat fucker kid or an eye of a bunny
laced with bad grammar and obscenities
what rhymes with obscenities? oh yeah tities

I see whos been here on my site meter gear
someone read for a minute lets let out a cheer
One day I'll burn out of this we must speak
to be honest with you it happened last week
go find another blog, I just want you to be happy
no tears now be brave theres no time for sappy
ah fuck you all just read what I write
or I'll kick you up the hole, yep right in the shite.

Charity Begins With Fuck Off!

True tales from the street.

Theres a little park near the High street in town, me and some of the lads like to sit on the low wall chat away and swig from a bottle of 'Beat the Wife' , its like a social club, mates stop over on their way to the shops and talk for a while and in a few hours everyone knows everyone's business.

Once I saw two clean cut young men, black trousers white shirt, black tie and backpacks, straight out of the American Donny Osmond Mormon Clone factory, here no doubt to convert us heathens, fuck I hate those stupid twats, anyway they were standing on the street looking lost, trying to catch someone's eye so they can tell them about their crazy as fuck religion, no offense my Moron readers but you are dopey shites.

They perked up as soon as they saw an old Hunchback man carrying shopping bags approaching, one of the Osmonds reached down to grab a bag saying, "let me carry that for you" now I don't know what was in the bags, probably his beloved collection of cat heads but with the speed of a prize fighter he whisked the bag out of the reach of the grabbing Mormon and loudly said, " fuck off" and scurried off leaving the two lads looking even more lost.

Now we get homeless people trying to join us but Billy usually deals with them, one time I saw Jack the Stain, an unpleasant fella who pretends to be homeless so he can scrounge money of passerby's, standing with his hand out looking pitiful saying, "can you spare 20p mate?" he got a couple of mugs, usually young men and weemen, a well dressed businessman caught Jack's eye, "can you spare 20p mister?", the man started patting his pockets and put his hand into one, Jack stared transfixed waiting to get his gift, chances are he'd get more than 20p, the man pulled out his hand with his thumb in the air as if he was thumbing for a lift shouted,"Fuck Off" and walked on, now that was sheer class.