The Lie Game

Being an operative for 'The Company' say no more say no more I have my snitches, bitches and slags all over the world.
Let me introduce you to 'Deep Toot' which is not his or her real name of course. Deep Toot keeps me up to date on the movements of top U.N. officials as he or she likes to hang around the restrooms, also on other stuff as he or she gets bored easily, ADHD I suspect.

He or she wrote to me this:


I entered Old Bitter Balls on http://www.oneplusyou.com/q/v/blog_cuss and it said 41.7% of the pages had cussing. That is 317% MORE than other websites that took the test.
I'm not sure whether to congratulate you or give you some shite for slacking.

For that last remark expect to receive some deadly Tampax in the mail.

As for my score, fuck shit piss wank cunt and what are you looking at bastard face? that score really cracks my tits and leaves a brown stain on my permanent record.

I once rode a fucking horse to catch a moving fucking cunty train, then I leapt from the horse (I rode bare back equestrian style) and beat a Nazi spy who was carrying microfilm in his left ball to death with my bare fists and ate his body raw to conceal the evidence, I didn't eat his face instead I wore that as a disguise until our train reached neutral Swaziland and then I attended a convention in Geneva passing on my microfilm in a passionate kiss to a beautiful French agent called Fifi and the cunts at The Company neglected to mention that I forgot to clock back in after me break, that made me madder than a priest on a desert island full of young gurls.

No one ever looks after the spies or covert operatives as we prefer to be called. When I worked for British MFI we had to supply our own lunches, one time I got into trouble for not following a chappy because I had just ordered me burger and no fucking way was I going to be out money for those bastards . I was asked by the head of MFI whose codename was '@' if I had an attitude problem so I said " whats it to you, you baldy cunt?" thats when I got assigned to Turkey fuck I hate Turkey, I used to like it but now I only eat chicken, the bird flu doesn't scare me if me drumstick sneezes then I don't eat it, I knew a lass who liked to be fucked with a frozen drum stick which was a pity as I was the lead singer and not the drummer.

Turkey is known as a moderate Muslim cuntry, is that like a moderate drinker? I see moderate drinkers as people who can't commit to going all the way and getting totally off their faces and so are not to be trusted, when I drink I become a totally different person, I become the 'Fart Knocker' I fight crime and people who I think are giving me a dirty look and have the power of spew which blinds or revolts my opponent. I am also a great dancer, a better driver and brilliant in bed, more so than normal even though I cannot drive, well sober anyway.

I have a confession to make, snails like to come out into my garden at night and what I like to do is walk around in the dark crunching their shells underfoot, am I the only one who enjoys this past time?



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Gunfight At The So So Corral

We're old and ready to die so don't fuck with us.

A man of action and sometimes of violence, mothers would tremble and clutch their children protectively to their bosoms as I would pass by (maybe it was the 'Pedos on tour' t-shirt, its a rock band honest) Civilised men nervously and with great respect would beg me for assistance when the job was too tough for them, the only time they would come near me.

I moseyed to the small but booming town of gravemarker in Arizona. A tough gang of cowboys known as the Backstreet Boys shot doon old Marshal Dillon in luke warm blood. I owed a lot to Marshal Robert Dillon, he made me the man I am today or at least made me walk the way I do today, months of hard riding over Bareback mountain shooting our pistols until they were empty and living off the land, Dillon could make a feast out of anything, he had the tastiest snake I have ever known and he always made sure you were full.

I got into town with my posse of Bret, Bart, Bat, Burt and Tarquin. We met our old friend Doc Hollywood, he looked bad, he stood in the street sucking the life out of everything near him like a Black hole, he was walking death, death in his six gun and death in his body. He was dying of genital warts and had Manorexia.
He told us in between coughing fits that sprayed us with phlegm that the Backstreet Boys were waiting for us at the 'So so corral' the hottest dance club in town, fuck I wished they would get their air conditioning fixed in that place.

I had just gotten into town, I hadn't even had time for a shit never mind a rehearsal, this mad me angry. Those bands of boys think they can push old age pensioners like me and my posse around we'll show them. We killed the New kids on the block, Boyzone and West Life, and as we gunned them doon we laughed and said, "Take that!....................and party."

We got to the So so corral, The Backstreet boys were standing in dance formation looking moody and oiled, their unbuttoned white frilly shirts blew in the wind caused by a conveniently placed wind machine showing their muscular young torsos, their fists clenched and all had pained expressions on their faces as if they were having a difficult bowel movement, they really meant business and I don't mean # 2's.

They're hip, cute and have a message from God.

I just knew they had a ballad about never giving up on you gurl that would contain the word 'forever' which they would rhyme with 'never' or 'onions and liver,' they were just waiting for an excuse to start harmonising.

We stood facing each other, it was as if the world was holding its breath then they made their move, a synchronised spin and a crotch thrust, they were expecting a dance off? well tough guys don't dance so we shot them.

Typical Boy band, brings a crotch thrust to a gun fight.