Or rather misquote:

Singing, One, Two, Three, Four,
What are we fighting for?
Don't know and we don't give a damn,
We're all off to kill Saddam,
No time to wonder why,
Whoopee, we're all gonna die!

Mr Houghton from the butchers, 'ee reckons there's goin' t' be a war. Oh, I do 'ope so. I like a good war. The last one against the krauts was a right good laugh. There was a sense of community back then, y' know? Not like today w'at with all the pakis an' thespians an' w'at 'ave y' bringin' the neighbour 'ood down. Another war 'ud do 'em good! Give 'em all some discipline in the army! They don't like queers there. It'd knock the homosapians out of 'em, (pardon my leprechaun) an' no mistake.

I do 'ope those nice Yanks come back over 'ere like they did the last time. Such lovely boys an' such nice teeth. Cocks were a bit small mind ('scuse my Lebanese) an' they didn't last long w'en they was shaggin' but what else could y' do w'en your own 'usband was off bayoneting 'Arry 'Un? We got up to all sorts o' bayoneting' ourselves back at 'ome, that's w'at.

"Ignorant Yanky shits," My 'Enry used t' call 'em. "Over paid, over sexed an' over 'ere," 'ee'd say, God rest his pyjamas. "Took 'em four years longer than everyone else to stand up t' the 'un an' w'en they finally see some action they all run off screamin' like bloomin' girls!" Don't know about screamin'. They did plenty o' gruntin' out in my privy though. An' then us women would 'ave to practice with the bayonets ourselves, those bein' knitting needles an' a bottle o' gin. The local cut must be full o' abhorations due to the illegitimate fumblin' w'at went on durin' the blitz.

I remember Mrs Pickford, down at the grocers, got caught short one night with 'er drawers round 'er ankles an' a lieutenant parked up 'er arse ('scuse my Napoleon) when a bomb 'it 'er chimney pot. We did laugh! They carted 'em off in the meat wagon, two charcoaled crisps with big oggly eyes. Looked like nig nogs they did, with wisps o' smoke comin' off their 'eads. Times were 'ard back then, but we were 'appy. A tin o' bully beef, a sausage up the front bottom an' Gracie Fields on the radio, that's all we wanted.

Bugger it. I'm so excited 'bout this Iraqi war kickin' off I've wet me knickers. I'm an 'undred and ninety six, y' know? I 'aven't 'ad relations for 'alf a century an' me artifice 'as almost 'ealed up.

Thora Hird says...

"It's time you bought a Stannah Chairlift you old cunts!"

Strike me frigging dead, some bugger's walked over me grave.

That new Brian bloke what you lot have press ganged onto this Blog has history. If you had paid me the common courtesy of consulting your olders and frigging betters (O.K. you can be forgiven for ignoring that geriatric pile of suppurating ringworms, the striptease artist formerly known as Great Grandma Hughes) I could have told you a thing or two about this right little viper you're now nestling in your bosom.

Weaver?, Weaver? ... that name rings a bell I says to myself. Ring a frigging bell?! Pack of tone deaf campanologists flogging their dongers more's like!

Back in 1935 I used to step out with a young blade called Hugo Weaver, who lived in Kalgoorlie's finest mansion, "Tara". Hugo's parents thought their evacuations didn't stink and that young Peggy Farcus lived light years away from the right side of the tracks.

Hugo paid them no mind and we made a dashing couple at the shearing shed dances.

It was at one of these dances that fate was to deal me a terrible blow. I had had just one too many "Sheep Dip Wallbangers". I led Hugo around the back of the crutching pens where, to put it delicately, I shagged him within an inch of his life.

Back in those days we knew nowt about "protection". There was none of those AIDS that you could catch from toilet seats. The worst you could expect was a touch of pizzle rot or a little dose of flesh eating gonhorrea, which cleared up in a few days if you gave the infected area a good rubbing with a camphor block.

Anyway to cut a long appendage short, I got Hugo pregnant. Holy shit! Didn't all Hell broke loose?! You'd have thought I'd left open the main paddock gate open and let that Chamberlain kiddie in to kill the baby dingoes!

My parents were angry and unforgiving. I was cast out into the driving snow with only what I stood up in. (Actually, come to think of it I think it was a frigging 120 mile an hour dust storm and bushfire. I still have the scar on the back of my neck where I got clobbered by a bit of rusty corrugated iron from the Wilson's cow shed.)

Of course the toffee bloody nosed Weavers weren't going to have their name dragged down into the dust, so they spirited my Hugo away to America where he could secretly have the baby.

I heard later that it was a boy. A boy called Brian. (Johnny Cash hadn't yet written that transgendery preverted song thank God.)

So there it is, I believe my long lost, wrong side of the crutching pen, son has been found. Do I want him back? Do I want to go on Oprah for a tearful reunion and a $10,000 appearance fee? Would you welcome a full blown American back into your bosom after all these years? (Even if there's enough room in there to fit the entire Mormon Tabernackered Choir.)

I don't frigging think so, and I would appreciate it if this Banquo's ghost of a son would afford me the courtesy of keeping his posts at an appropriate distance from mine or I'll have him up for frigging cybuggery stalking.

Let me tell you one more thing young Weaver, Hugo wasn't much of a root!

I want to first of express my intense embarrassing gratitude for being asked to join ROTW. I am sure all of you know by now that I am an American. I bestride the world like a colossus. I am invincible. My ego knows no bounds and for the most part I am totally unaware of my impact on others, especially if they live in small little island countries that used to be great empires. I want you to know that we look upon you as we always have, with the same kind of repect that we have for small helpless Aunts and children. That said I also want you to know what a thrill it for me to be allowed to expose myself as the psychophantic approval seeking boot licking smarmy toady that I really am, to an audience that is no doubt too good for me. Thanks again! Really, I love you all!

I'd like to take this time to discuss those small tags that you find on pillows and mattresses. Oh wait, you probably want me to make fun of something or attack a well known person who is in the public eye, you want me to say bad things about people I know nothing about. You want me to use high irony and wit, something as an American is extremely difficult for me, probably due to a deficient education. I try to keep secret the fact that I passed 8th grade by what used to be called a "Social Promotion".

I find this kind of anger and negativity on the part of ROTW to be very small minded indeed, not like my own desire for the kind of high minded purpose that would make ROTW a real money making opportunity for lonely housewives, and skill less unemployed mechanics, to make money by offering to make ROTW a great marketing spot for lamps and hand made knitted puppies.

If there is more to be said in the future regarding this golden money making opportunity I can assure you I will not rest until you all have sent me a contribution to effect this wonderful new direction. Please remember to convert your really funny looking money to US currency.

Until then I remain faithfully in deep gratitude. Let's all try to keep the foul mouthed trash talk to a minimum OK? Isn't there enough negativity in the world?


Deputy Editor's note. Brian, as you will have noticed we (along with the entire staff of the Department of Homeland Security can intervene and put whatever words and HTML we choose into your mouth. Be assured we exercise this power with the utmost and absolute capriciousness and malice aforethought. So far we have been responsible for the execution in Texas of no less than 87 (and counting) innocent people.

Editor's note: Welcome aboard Brian#2 (or, as I shall refer to you from now on to save any future confusion and to also give an air of authority: Weaver). Don't worry about having to find anything witty or intelligent to say on this Blogger board. As you've no doubt already noticed nobody else bloody does. Just a couple of points to straighten out (as the actress said to Kevin Coffee), those being that this is not exclusively a 'British' board. It just seems that way due to the inordinate amount of bum, knob and fart jokes on it. Mr Sedgwick, for example, is Antipodean (which is a posh sounding name for a wombat fucker). Mr Coffee is one of your fellow Americans (we're an equal opportunities site and feel we ought to do the 'right thing' for our disabled cousins). Paul Morgan is an American of Welsh extraction (and possibly sheep extraction) and Joe...well, Joe seems to be from a different planet altogether. Everyone else is probably British but it's difficult to tell with any certainty, some of Twisted Sister's postings having a hint of Bohemia about them and Great Grandma Hughes just being an homogenus bitch fatale. Whatever the case, I hope you enjoy your time with us and don't just post one item like most of the ignorant bastards we invite onboard before buggering off into the night worried that the Homeland Security boys will be scouring their countries for them.

Dear Editor,

You are being far too kind and accommodating.
Let's cut to the chase, sacrifice the bugger right now.
(You did say he was an organically grown,
sacrifice quality virgin?)

Yours Sincerely,
"A Concerned Deputy Editor."
AUSTRALIA.

http://xwid.com/upload/sigs/sevitz.jpg


Just testing out this apparently quick, easy and free remote linking site. Try it here ... http://www.xwid.com/upload/

If it works, I won't be holding my breath about how long it might be around, but make hay while the flowers bloom in the spring of a greek bearing gifts, as my grey haired Granny used to say before we had her humanely put down.

A propos Tony's pathological desire to bloody Saddam's conk ... does this have a familiar ring to it?

Spot the Difference

Saddam: A power-crazed, smug-faced, bigoted, religious zealot and tin-pot dictator who took control of his country regardless of whether the electorate wanted him there or not and then surrounded himself by military comrades.
Dubbya: A power-crazed, smug-faced, bigoted, religious zealot and tin-pot dictator who took control of his country regardless of whether the electorate wanted him there or not and then surrounded himself by military comrades.

Saddam: Shoots his own people through the head if they break the law.
Dubbya: Kills his own people by lethal injection or the electric chair if they break the law.

Saddam: Set fire to the oil wells in Kuwait causing untold amounts of environmental damage.
Dubbya: Refused to sign up to the summit in which all of the other western leaders agreed to take action against global warming and rainforest destruction, thus allowing America to continue causing untold amounts of environmental damage.

Saddam: Keeps his own people ignorant of the truth by manipulation of the country's media.
Dubbya: Keeps his own people ignorant of the truth by manipulation of the country's media.

Saddam: Is known to have developed biological and chemical weapons in spite of the Geneva Convention.
Dubbya: Is known to have developed biological and chemical weapons in spite of the Geneva Convention.

Saddam: Believed to have enough weapons of mass destruction, including those of a nuclear variety, to take out a sizeable chunk of the Middle East.
Dubbya: Believed to have enough weapons of mass destruction, including those of a nuclear variety, to destroy the entire World fifteen times over.

Saddam: Supports terrorism through weapons supply and funding, including the Al Queada network.
Dubbya: Helped set up the Al Queada training camps in Afghanistan with his father to fight the Russians. Also known to have supported the IRA both in weapons and funds for many decades.

Saddam: Wants to destroy the West and become the most powerful man in the World.
Dubbya: Wants to destroy the East and become the most powerful man in the World.

Saddam: Has lots of oil wells.
Dubbya: Hasn't got Saddam's oil wells yet.

Once you've found the answer send it on a postcard to:
The "History will record you as the arse-licking toadie who ignored his people and plunged us all into war" Contest,
c/o Tony bin Blair,
10 Downing Street,
London

And from the desk of the Deputy Editor.

JUDY HORACEK.



I know it's hard to tell but this exquisitely crafted,
side-splitting cartoon is not by Judy Horacek.

You may see it appear in Scrag Ends livery one day
... soon as he's finished ransacking Larson's archives.