I of the Beholder

You know what really get’s my bloody boiling? Bloody upitty young women who think the worst of a Man just because for what ever reason they don’t like the look of him.

Perfect exapmle this other day, I was walking alone minding my own Business on my way home from another interview, I noticed a young lass walking toward’s me on the foot path. She was probably a good, oh 30 yard’s away, i hadn’t even had a chance to give my usual chipper greeting when she lowered her face and briskly crossed to the other side of the rod!

Look, now I’m no oil panting, I’ll be blunt and you can even see that for yourself, but it beg’s belief that a young lass could think a dead-set stranger, in Broad daylight and doing nothing but swinging a breifcase on his way home, could intent to dothem harm – just because of his apearence? What of it anyway,  she couldn’t have even have got a good look and my mug from that faraway .

Well I’ve had an absolute Gutful of this kind off sick predjuice- believe it or note this has happened to me before. So bugger her, here ‘s what I figure she was thinking; reality on the left and her twisted perspenctive on the Right (excuse my woe full drawing!)

walkinghome

Anyway, like I said, this is’nt the first time this has hapenned to me and I’ve had it up to Here so, I thought well to Hell with you, you Leftitst bitch, so once she was “safely” (HA!) on the other side   of the strret I yell out:

“Don’t flatter yourslef Toot’s, I would’nt touch yuo with Jeff Clark’s!”

So what does she do? She starts running! Right after I make it prefectly clear I bloody well WAS’NT going to rape her!

Fair dinkum, this World is rooted some time’s.

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5 Comments

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5 responses to “I of the Beholder

  1. Good to have you back, you grumpy old fucker.

  2. clubwah

    You’re spot on Raymond. I always seem to bomb out with woman. I think it may be my bag. What sort of sick bitch links an innocent bag with a raping kit?

  3. Jeff Clarke’s the whiteest Aboriginal in ATSIC.

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  5. G’day Ray.

    Great post, mate. I’ve got a slogan for you that you might like to print on a T-shirt: Feminism = Pessimism.

    You could wear the shirt (and pants) under a trenchcoat, creep up to paranoid wimmin and flash em your feelings.

    Keep up the good work.

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