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PEACENIKS SAD
Alex Robson emails:
Damn you for mentioning Al Gore on your website again. My house was flooded tonight by a rain/hail storm in which an entire average month’s worth of rain fell in about 30 minutes. I may have to emigrate to Tuvalu.
Despite the damage, I was immediately cheered up by this classic Bob Ellis article.
That rain may have been Bob’s tears for Saddam (he previously was upset over damage to Saddam’s yacht). Also made weepy by Saddam’s execution is Melbourne leftoid Jeff Sparrow, currently organising a vigil in support of Jew-hating Taliban member and al-Qaeda trainee Mohammed Dawood.
CORRECTION: Jill Sparrow, sister of Jeff, is organising Dawood Day. My apologies.
Is it just me or did anyone else read the bit at the end of the article “Bob Ellis is a writer” as “Bob Ellis is a wanker?”
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2006 12 31 at 09:06 PM • permalinkWith headlines about Fraser archives no mention of Canberra spy mentioned in James Fraser letter released in 1975, BP, 2/59 quoted in Horner Blamey Commander in Chief.
Posted by stackja1945 on 2006 12 31 at 09:09 PM • permalinkI wouldn’t piss on that fat turd Ellis if he was on fire.
Posted by boxofmatches on 2006 12 31 at 09:14 PM • permalinkThe digital necrophilia will, of course, only reach its shuddering climax when the US eventually gets hold of Osama.
Sorry, old chum. Osama’s dead, or at least near enough to death’s door; otherwise, we’d have heard from him lately. You’ll have to save your shuddering climax for Castro, or Kim, or Mugabe, or Ahmedinejad, or some other murdering thug you lefties love so much.
OT: She came into my office that night. It was raining, but the pussy she was stroking was dry.
“I’m Andrea,” she said, in a cross between a growl and a purr, still stroking that cat as she sat down in my office chair.
I gave her the up and down. Sure, you’d think she was a nice broad, until you noticed the detailing on that sharkskin suit. Not everyone would notice, but a trained dick like I could tell—she’d bet that shark two out of three, and she’d won, otherwise the shark’d be wearing an Andrea suit.
“What can I do for you, kitten?” I asked, sitting down myself and pouring us both a couple of shots of Granddad’s best.
“It’s that damned spear,” she murmured, and then she swallowed that slug of fire with a movement of her throat that reminded me of heaven.
(With apologies to Detective Paco)
“PEACENIKS SAD”
Saddest bunch of fucks I’ve ever seen.
Posted by Dave Surls on 2006 12 31 at 09:25 PM • permalinkGeorge Galloway is also crying for Sugar Daddy.
BTW, Happy New Year to you Aussies waking with hangovers. We’re just getting started here in Chimpy’s Amerikkka.
Continued: “Look baby,” I said, “I have a case already. I gotta make sure this 186500 guy gets back to his sweetie A-ok. So, if you got no more than a spear—”
“Oh, I got plenty,” she growled, leaning in, and letting me see that…indeed, she did. “I got lots, pal, and I’m going nowhere until you guarantee me that this..time-travellin’ I keep feeling is gonna stop!”
Time-travel? Now, this was a dizzy dame. And I had met plenty of dizzy dames before. RebeccaH…that kitten had crept into my office one night, in a satin gown, satin heels, breathing heavy and quivering…kinda quivering, and muttering something about…Birkass. I never did find out who that Birkass punk was, but I’d never forgotten the smell of L’air du Temps in RebeccaH’s auburn hair.
“How’s it hanging, Saddam?”
“Low and laz… ack… ack….”Posted by andycanuck on 2006 12 31 at 09:34 PM • permalinkAnd more, because we all want to be Detective Paco:
And then there was that Nilknarf babe. I’d been sitting on my usual barstool, and this hot boganbabe had sidled up to me. Black satin blouse, showing she didn’t believe in that Maidenform yaya, and a black silk chiffon skirt that had whispered around the tops of her silk stockings.
“Buy me a drink, handsome?” she’d cooed, as she’d slid a…cigaret between her luscious ruby lips.
Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’d bought her a drink. And she’d leaned in close and…
Wait a minute. That hot stack of pancakes had also mentioned…a spear.
Now I knew I was in trouble. The last time a dame had mentioned a spear was in the Wronwright case.
He’d sicc’ed a couple of his psycho sidekicks on me, some donkey and a real nutcase in pinstripes, MarkL. They’d slipped me a mickey and when I’d woken up, I was in a Long Beach Jello Hotel, run by a quack named Dr. Alice.
I’d never forget her. Could anyone forget a woman dressed in black rubber from head to toe?
The broad named Andrea brought me back to the present by throwing her glass at my head. There’s another bruise from a dame.
“Look, you numbskull. Don’t make me go nucular on you. And don’t think the Sinatra playing in the background will help. I want you to stop Wronwright from getting that spear!” she snapped.
I snapped, too—to attention. I like a forceful woman.
“Give me the facts, babe, and I’ll go to work on this punk.” I poured us both another shot.
She slugged it back, smiled the kind of smile you’d think a barracuda would shudder at, and said, “He’s not the only one. There’s…Jim Treacher.”
(tbc)
from cock sparrows stew:
‘Bruce Dawe’s lines for Ryan [the last man hanged in Australia] still seem fitting:
Be assured, you will sink into the generous pool of public feeling
as gently as a leaf — accept your role, feel chosen.
You are this evening’s headlines. Come, my love.’
WTF????
Posted by eeniemeenie on 2006 12 31 at 10:01 PM • permalinkI knew a contact, a feloow named Grimmy. Kinda treated people like chewtoys, but he was in the know.
“Listen, babe, I’ll tackle this problem. Why don’t you tell me where you’re staying and…I’ll come by.”
She looked up at me and my goose was cooked. “I’m staying at the Ritz. Suite 69.”
Ouch.
“I’ll get with you the first chance I have, Miss…?”
“Admin will do. Don’t take any wooden nickes, buddy,” she said, hoisting the cat like a fur wrap around her neck and sashaying out of my office.
#17
I am sure the defenders of Multiculturalism will be happy to support this compromise.
You think? The Telegraph reported today that Malcolm Fraser, ignored advice to stem the number of Lebanese-Muslim immigrants, despite warning of the major problem this could turn into
ASIO has also declassified a report detailing a Palestinian plot to kill the Australian Prime Minister 30 years ago.
Maybe it was something to do with Iraq? You know. With that Muslim time-travel stuff.
“It’s fair to say, I think, that the freedom we fought for was evident in our view of the last moments of Saddam Hussein.”
I don’t suppose someone could enlighten me as to what, exactly, Bob Ellis has done in the way of ‘fighting for freedom’?
Posted by Harry Buttle on 2006 12 31 at 10:04 PM • permalink*sigh* I’m waiting for the idiot left to actually demonstrate the “illegality” of the Iraq war. It’s my understanding that more than one international treaty expressly allows foreign invasion and “regime change” of a nation if the leadership of the nation in question commits/attempts to commit genocide against its citizens. I desperately wish to find a lefty who’ll come out and claim that Saddam didn’t wage a war with (at the bare minimum) genocidal intent against the Kurds. Or the Marsh Arabs. How’s your “illegal war” shaping up now, you hysterical, cliche-spouting dolts?
We should probably feel sorry for the leftist anti-war brigade. The knots they force themselves into. Still, they’ve never demonstrated much of a concern for consistency, so it’s probably not an issue for them.
Posted by James Waterton on 2006 12 31 at 10:10 PM • permalinkSo, this had something to do with the asylum case! I hated to go back there. Some clown Mr Lefty, a buncha self-styled “soljers” who’d never been outta basic, let alone the country, and—worst of all—J school grads had been there, looming up and down the lysol-stinking halls in their straitjackets, moaning and wailing, “Bush bad! Saddam good!”
Even the ice baths hadn’t been as bad as listening to those nutbuddies.
Only a liberal could get so mopy over the death of a horrible tyrant.
It’s been measured that conservatives are on average happier than liberals, and given the propensity for the average liberal to shed whiny tears over any goddammed thing, that is completely unsuprising. And of course, the mental image of Bob Ellis walking around, face downcast, hands in pockets, with a big mopy frown on his face cheers me up no end. So here’s to a happy new year!
Damn you for mentioning Al Gore on your website again. My house was flooded tonight by a rain/hail storm in which an entire average month’s worth of rain fell in about 30 minutes.
Leftists are essentially control freaks, obsessed with the belief that society can collectively control everything that happens to it - even acts of nature.
Robson would probably be shocked to learn that freak storms, hail and floods have happened for millenia.
I dialed the phone. “Pogria,” I said.
“Quit yelling!” my faithful accountant screamed back.
“Look, sugar, can you link Wronwright with a Jim Treacher and that..that..spear,” I asked. I swallowed another shot of Old Grandad—whiskey, you perverts.
Why did the thought of a spear cause me to think of…of…those weeks in the asylum?
“Can do, boss,” she chirruped.
I hung up and looked up at the pinup calendar. RebeccaH, draped over a Austro-Daimler, 1931.
If only there was another dame in the room to throw a glass at me.
Hey guys,
I’ve only just twigged, that this blog is on septic time!!!
Can’t help it. I’m a BLONDE!
Have a Terrific New Year. Have a couple or three drinks for me. It’s after One O’clock, New Year’s Day, here. Into my second bottle of Shampoo since late breakfast.
Polishing off the leftover sausages and prawns from last night.
Just about to kick out the last of the bludgers and freeloaders.
Please, Please, don’t mention Bob Ellis again. The image of that FAT TURD is making last night’s “celebrating” surface again.
I HATE wasting “good food and drink”.
All The Best To Everyone In 2007.
XXXXXX Pogria.
O/T - British madness reported in The Telegraph today. New rules banning advertising of ‘junk food’ during childrens television prohibit advertising Marmite (and hence Vegemite - junk foods because of their salt content). Under these whacky rules cheese is a junk food.
(A spokesman) said: “How preposterous that Ofcom restrictions should be based on a model so flawed as to take cheese off the air, while diet cola, which has no nutritional value whatever, is left firmly on children’s menus. It has to be perverse that while milk may be advertised, a wholesome product made from milk — cheese — cannot.”...
Tomato ketchup, for instance, contains a high proportion of sugar and salt and is counted as a high fat, salt and sugar food — even though most people only eat a small amount with a meal. Marmite, which contains 11 per cent salt, is also counted as junk food — even though most people eat only a few grams on bread.
Even more weird McDonald’s restaurants can be advertised - just not the product. The more I read about modern Britain the firmer is my conviction the country is stuffed.
The article says under these rules breast milk would be classified as a junk food.
Posted by walterplinge on 2006 12 31 at 10:30 PM • permalinkThe spear. The spear.
Yeah, wait. I had the photo of it, along with the pics of a bunch of vacant-eyed dopey Doras.
Yeah. There it was, in the Gideon’s Bible I’d taken from that motel on Route 66 in Arizona. No one who came to my office would look in a Bible, so the photo was safe. And so was the photo of Jim Treacher. That opium-dealing blackmailer. Still, his present hobbies were a change from his machine-gunning, bankrobbing ways. Yeah, here he was on his 1929 Chrysler Imperial’s running board, psychotic smirk and all.
I got out Dame Edna and began to polish her up.
Ellis is a sad old git. Remember his silly piece about how he took a vox pop poll of his family, and his son said something like “You’re just too good for this world, Dad! Now, about that will…”?
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2006 12 31 at 10:35 PM • permalinkI cleaned my webley, Dame Edna, my British Bulldog, so like my nanny, really good. oiled her up, slapped that I remembered thinking, “here I am with an actual arm of a real live girl.”
No! Have another drink! Hoover’s the president. All I had to do was get into my 1934 Pierce Arrow Model and drive out to Topanga, where that religious fraud Jim Treacher lived.
And maybe I could get some bacon and eggs at the Topanga Inn. And maybe, just maybe Wronwright’s cohort at the Los Angeles Athletic Club would see I was on the case.
She’s watching. Just watching.
Posted by Andrea Harris, Administrator on 2006 12 31 at 11:02 PM • permalinkI realized something pretty quickly.
This Andrea..this gleaming goddess in sharkskin…she wasn’t being entirely truthful with me.
Not a surprise. The last time anyone was truthful with me, a sock filled with pigeonshot had been their only reward.
These dames didn’t want Wronwright’s spear. It was only some kind of metaphorical search for… Jim Treacher’s spear.
Andrea,
the spear!, the spear is aimed at my cat!!!
ushie found out that I had been faking the accounts.
I couldn’t help it. I had to buy food for my cats.
BTW, the Alice in black rubber from head to toe, is the lady that cleans my cat box.
If ushie finds out, you must let wronwright know, he is the only one that can save me now.
When you tell wronwright, remind him about the bacon and eggs. I’m starving.
Oh, for God’s sake, can we get off this Mike Hammer fetishist tangent, and get back to the senile drivel of Bob Ellis??
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2006 12 31 at 11:12 PM • permalinkI needed a shot of gin. Fortunately, I always have gin in my desk drawer.
You know, when you think of a toy filled wth catnip, you’re thinking of the way a dame toys with a guy. Even my accountant, Pogria—last time I’d seen her she was draped in red hot satin and kitten heels.
No wonder this Treacher character preferred hypnotizing the tomatoes to eating them with a nice bleu cheese dressing.
there is a section for comments on the David Hick vigil site. Shall we?????
I see you’ve already made a comment there, Rick. Good point - if they want to honour him, they should honour him all the way and use the name he chose for himself.
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2006 12 31 at 11:21 PM • permalinkAnd the phone rang. It was Albury Shifton. “Can’t you get back to reality? I don’t like this nonsense!”
I took the receiver from my ear and stared at it; then I shouted, “No, you dolt! It is worth MY SOUL to allow any thread to refer to Bob Ellis!”
And then I woke up on my leatherette couch, clawing at the air and screaming.
Where was Kevin Rudd? And why was there a ticket to Florida on the Boca Raton Special in my vest pocket?
#23 - “It’s fair to say, I think, that the freedom we fought for was evident in our view of the last moments of Saddam Hussein.”
Well, Bob Ellis has had a long battle against self loathing. The War on Loathing is a terrible thing. It started long before 9/11, long before the USS Cole was bombed. It started in 1975 with the Dismissal. It’s been a tough war for Bob and his mates, but they soldier on. They’re prepared for a Long War, and they’ll never surrender.
He has been a long standing member of the crack 1st Balmain Basketweaving Brigade, which parades every Tuesday night over a bottle of Chardonnay. Bob is the toastmaster, rising from his seat at the start of every parade, raising his glass and booming out, “Comrades, let us salute Lenin”.
Bob has stood post many times at his typewriter, ready to fire off a missive at anyone that promotes progress.
Bob has also been a member of the elite Screenwriting Arsehole Service (SAS), whose sole purpose is to strike fear into governments everywhere, resulting in lavish subsidisation of a useless local film industry.
He has been vigilant in fighting for column inches in the Fairfax press, airtime on the ABC and microphone time at any rally where more than 5 people and a wombat turn up.
Yes, Bob is a fine specimen of a fighting man. I salute you Bob (with a raised middle finger).
Posted by mr creosote on 2006 12 31 at 11:41 PM • permalinkI stumbled over to the phone, but it was laready too late.
As I sank to the floor, the door opened. There he was, with his henchman.
I hoped he wouldn’t find the ticket to Miami in my vest pocket. And then I fell into a happy horse nightmare—the kind guaranteed by Jim Treacher, owner of the Powder Rainbow Bridge.
#2, no I read it as “Bob Ellis is a moron”.
Moron here stands for:
lugubrious, moralising, of gelatinous and selective sympathies.Hmm, not a bad epitaph…
Posted by carpefraise on 2006 12 31 at 11:47 PM • permalinkI woke up.
Naked.
Not a good thing.
Then she, the demon in rubber, came in. I couldn’t see if she was smiling or not, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was holding a hose in one hand and a .45 in the other.
“So,” I said, trying to act as this was something that happened every day (instead of every other day—I live in Hollywood, remember?),” what’s your point, sister?”
“I have no point! Don’t impose your phallocracy upon me!”
Uh-oh. This was bad. Before, Dr. Alice, in spite of her…love for carniverous plants, had been a bit rational. Now it seemed she’d been done wrong by…
...Wronwright? Or Treacher? In all of California, those were the choices. And then there was the spear. I didn’t want to ask her about that—but I had to. I’m a detective. I ask about stuff.
“How about that spear, Dr. Helen?”
#61
ha!
the Mohammed Dawood vigil site is no longer accepting commments…...
they didnt like some opposing questions getting in there
That didn’t last long. Amazing how any blog with “left” in its title bangs on about “democracy” and “the voice of the people”, right until the demos (the people) start having a say.
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 01 at 12:03 AM • permalink#59
And the phone rang. It was Albury Shifton. “Can’t you get back to reality? I don’t like this nonsense!”
I took the receiver from my ear and stared at it; then I shouted, “No, you dolt! It is worth MY SOUL to allow any thread to refer to Bob Ellis!”
And then I woke up on my leatherette couch, clawing at the air and screaming.
Where was Kevin Rudd? And why was there a ticket to Florida on the Boca Raton Special in my vest pocket?
Perhaps I spoke too soon. I’m starting to like this story. (Face it - we’re all publicity whores, deep down)
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 01 at 12:06 AM • permalinkThere’s nothing worse than screaming when no one can hear you.
That’d make a good movie poster, I think, as the jolt of insulin combined with heroin the gleaming rubber-suited Dr. Helen gave me rockets through my veins. I shudder and shriek on the cold tiled floor.
Wait! Am I hallucinating…or is that the face of my nemesis, Jim Treacher, leering at the peephole?
I have to regain control—I stand, I sweat. I put my back to the wall. I run into the door, screaming like a viking. The door splinters, I draw back and run at it again. The door splits open, victim of my fury. I throttle the guard and take his clothes.
No one else is here.
I must find Grimmy.
Waaaay OT but absolutely irresistible.
Animals seek revenge against Knife Welding Muslim Madmen
Posted December 31st, 2006 by RoninIt might be my pre New Year drinks but I thought this was great. Even animals are tired of the crazed Muslim mobs. I hope Doctor Dolittle sees this report.
Hundreds injured in Turkey while sacrificing animals on Muslim holiday
Canadian Press
Sunday, December 31, 2006
ANKARA, Turkey (AP) - One man lost his toes. Others cut their hands and legs.And, while I’m here, best wishes to all Blairites for a happy, healthy and safe 2007.
#72
(I must go to sleep now. Anyone want to take over this story?)
Here I was, the most unimaginitive man I know, stuck in the kind of office that would make a dime-store novel detective feel right at home. Since my sense of style doesn’t stretch to hats, fedora or otherwise, and no bewitching dames of any variety graced my door with interesting problems, I thought I’d better go back over my notes (I’d started keeping them since they started showing Columbo reruns on TV1).
Note 1: Where was Bob Ellis?
Note 2: What was Bob Ellis?
Note 3: Why was Bob Ellis?Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 01 at 12:20 AM • permalinkOh, and there was no “flirty but untouchable” secretary in the outer office. That would require too much imagination in this uncreative mind.
Note 4: What are the alternatives to Bob Ellis?
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 01 at 12:29 AM • permalinkUshie: Thanks for giving me one of the best laughs I’ve had in ages, the day before I leave. :)
You are definitely in competition with Detective Paco in my books!Oh, and Bob Ellis is a twit, always will be.
Brought to you from 185600, who as of last night, is “Bringing teh sexy back”
Whatever the hell that means. Happy new year to all of our furrin friends. :)
In cyberspace no one can hear you scream, ushie. BTW, was “pigeonshot” a typo?
Posted by andycanuck on 2007 01 01 at 12:48 AM • permalink#77
A.S., what are you complaining about? I have a satin gown and satin heels to live down. Not to mention draping myself over an antique car. I hate it when I drink.
But you’ve got toasty warm buttocks - didn’t you read my comment on the other thread?
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 01 at 01:07 AM • permalinkDamn. Whatever you guys are drinking, it wasn’t on sale at Publix.
Posted by Andrea Harris, Administrator on 2007 01 01 at 01:29 AM • permalinkThe single overhead fan would have been beating out its monotonous refrain in the stuffy office, but I’m not that imaginative. I would have looked out between the slats of the venetian blind and seen a girl with “trouble” written all over her crossing the street and heading for my office, but I don’t think of things like that.
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 01 at 01:43 AM • permalinkNote 5: What effect does proximity to Bob Ellis have on property values?
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 01 at 01:49 AM • permalinkAlex is in Canberra, then…. I am back on ‘net after 24 hours off due to flooding in the house, all my fruit trees are wrecked (so much for THAT bumper crop) and the roses looik like they just clawed a threshing leftoid to deeath with their thorns.
Amazing how much mud even a few inches of water can carry!
Ah well, at least we had a white New Years Eve!
Bugger that global warmenatorisingcoolificationclimatechangerisation!
MarkL (the mud-bespattered)
Canberra#39 The founding group is a veritable who’s who of moonbats.
I see no captains of industry, nobody with any sort of conservative credentials - jsu tthe usual assortment of idiots and agitators.
And what the hell is a stolen generations surivor? Makes it sounds like we’ve had some sort of modern massacres going on.
I wish I’d known about them. Could have been fun to watch on ppv.
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 01 01 at 04:06 AM • permalinkVery late to the thread, and just saying the same things I always say in a Jeff Sparrow-related thread: I’ve met jeff, I know Jeff - he’s a classic rich-kid socialist and so completely, unbelievably incompetent in the day-to-day matters of life that I suspect he’s barely aware his thumbs are opposable.
You just couldn’t parody the Sparrow and Ellis outputs - its crazy, undergraduate politic, shit-emo-poetry laden tripe, at its worst.
Posted by boxofmatches on 2007 01 01 at 06:10 AM • permalink#86
Foxtel Main Event and The World Wanking Federation proudly presentCLASH OF THE TILTANS !!!!
Dont miss a second of the gut wrenching
tag-tilting action as the legendary Gough
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Book your front row seat NOW
(available only on Foxtel Digital ppv)
Posted by eeniemeenie on 2007 01 01 at 08:45 AM • permalink(wronwright sips his morning java, made from a chosen bag of Bob Evans coffee).
Hmmm. Good coffee. Piffle on your Jamaica Blue Mountain $29.99 a pound fancy smancy coffee. Give me a cup of Bob’s any day.
(wronwright begins to wish he had a waitress bring him a coffee, wearing a white dress and gingham apron. He resolves to buy one for his wife. He decides to start the new year with a good glazed doughnut and a look see at the Neocon News.)
Aieeeeyyyyyye. Detective paco! Oh no. This is never good.
(wronwright quickly turns to page 3, first noticing a barely clothed RebeccaH draped over Karl’s luxury car.)
Hey, that’s obscene. I waxed that car, just last week. She’s getting body sweat all over it.
(wronwright scans the text, ignoring the perky breasts and slim set of gams)
I knew it. Andrea! She senses my planning has not ceased, such planning entering into the “bold and cunning” stage. But hold on just a minute. Detective paco? He’s working for me! He still hasn’t returned to me my Zulu spear. The one I filched from that very tall warrior king.
(wronwright begins to shake, reliving the unfortunate memory of being chased across a South African plateau by a group of 7 foot warriors, waiting for that nincompoop Stoop Davy Dave to finally show up in the Tardis. He’s relieved knowing that no one witnessed his girlish screams for help).
Detective paco, you work for me! I’m paying you a king’s ransom every freaking day so you can bring me back my spear. Yes, it’s true I’m actually billing your fees to the John Edwards 2008 Campaign Fund, purportedly as “research on Hillary’s intimate college friendships”. But you still work for me!
You cannot take Andrea’s case. That would be unfair. That would be a breach of ethics. That would be a conflict of interest. That ... well, actually that’s pretty much your advertisment in the Yellow Pages.
Posted by wronwright on 2007 01 01 at 10:29 AM • permalinkPhatty Phil joins the congaline of sad soft lefties mourning for Saddam.
Posted by boxofmatches on 2007 01 01 at 10:44 AM • permalinkNote 6: In what languages is Bob Ellis a swear word?
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 01 at 02:57 PM • permalink“The execution of Saddam was not a victory.”—Phat Phil
Yup, yet another defeat for the Baathists, and for the western scum who support them.
Choke on it, phatboy.
Posted by Dave Surls on 2007 01 01 at 06:16 PM • permalinkI have no imagination, remember. Bob Ellis and a lack of imagination go together rather well.
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 01 02 at 04:34 PM • permalink
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A sturdy rope and a nice drop will free mohammed dawood.