This is an open blog, if you wish to express your belief that “Tony Blair is a slimy maggot”, that “the people that tried to bomb the tube today really were a fucking shower, they give terrorists everywhere a bad name”, that “this blog is utter shit”, feel free. You can even post things that I wouldn’t necessarily agree with if you want.
What I’m not going to accept is people who abusively attack other commenters - disagree by all means, there’s nothing better than a good disagreement (okay, that’s not strictly true - there are lots of things I enjoy more, but I don’t want this post going in the “girls, cars, sport, the usual…” category), but please refrain from random, vicious personal attacks on other commenters, or I’ll just delete your words.
Call me Mr. Grumpy if you want, but I’ve just watched the cricket highlights and am not happy.
Can the words ‘cricket’ and ‘highlights’ ever be collocated, other than when describing some of the players’ hair styles? And how bad would today’s bombings have had to have been for them to stop play, I wonder?
Oops - I misunderstood! I thought you meant that this post was open!!!!
David: Ha! Ha! You’re not the only reader who has no interest in cricket.
But feel free to comment anywhere you want, it’s an open post on an open blog.
The point of this post was to say to everyone: feel free to bicker, argue, disagree, insult Shane Warne’s hairstyle, but if the best someone can manage as a witty one-line rebuke is to call another commenter a “fucking hypocrital cunt”, then they’re at the wrong place. It’s not the colourful language (I’ve deliberately made this entry a little more sweary than usual), it’s the stupidity.
All this being an aside from the fact that resorting to that kind of language is weakly adolescent in the first place. Can I call myself a fucking hypocritical cunt? I thrive on my own stupidity.
Stairs: It goes without saying that one may call oneself a fucking hypocritical cunt.
And now, an end to commenting and off to a neighbouring country for the weekend.
Poland?
I’m convinced that our esteemed host, while claiming a scientific career, is, in fact, an international playboy. All of this jaunting off to other countries can’t be cheap–what better way to fund it than a string of multi-national sugar mommas (or daddys)? I think JCS may be on to something . . .
Good last couple of overs today though. The thought that one may think that a fellow comentator might look good in a Shane Warne wig, what if the insukt lacks direction?
Hmm, all this crossing of borders is beginning to look fairly suspicious.
I think perhaps the picnic in Paris may be to blame.
[Runs out of the library towards the chants of “Fight! Fight!” only to find the bell’s gone before I’ve got there and now I’ll never find out what went on].
Ok, that’s mildly fictional, as that accursed chant would usually send me scurry to bang on the staff room door (which in one school was a mortal sin along with not wearing thin white socks [uniforms which were out of fashion by the time they were designed sometime in the 60s are great, aren’t they? Not staying on topic is also great, isn’t it?]).
Cricket: But it started so well. Why only yesterday morning my brother heard the miserable score of few runs for many wickets and asked “So we’re batting?”
So does our host’s sudden francophilia means he’s currently otherwise engaged? And so wouldn’t be able to do anything until Monday if we should happen to be a little mischievous in the comments.
[Rubbing hands with glee, because it’s less greasy than ghee].
Of course, I would never be so cruel (largely because I can’t actually think of anything).
Hi
I’m writing an article about expat bloggers in Germany. I’d love to get in touch with you - if you’re interested please can you drop me an email to annahoward(at symbol)hotmail.com
Thanks!
Blogfly, Anna: I couldn’t possibly comment.
Elaib: I think that although the mere idea that any commenter, even non-specified, might look good in a Shane Warne wig is undoubtedly offensive - far, far worse than “f*cking hypocritical c*nt”, it’s just too ridiculous to take seriously.
Anyhoo: Running to the teachers? That’s, that’s, well the kind of thing I did actually.
And yet when I did they always seemed a little dismayed, as if it wasn’t really their job to deal with bloody children (or at least not until lunch finishes).
As for my cunning [if a bit lacklustre] plan; who knew that they have internet access in France?
Can the cricket also be blamed on Tony Blair? Gahhhhh! If I have to sit next to my crowing Aussie husband through another test defeat I shall lose my tiny mind.