I knew it! Someone yelled "Sieg Heil"! And look what happened. I told someone "I think he was outside my crib, trying to conceal a machine pistol" but they wouldn't believe me! Just because I said he looked like the archetype of the "Night of the Living Dead" characters. I mean, if you look outside the window of your crib and you see a bunch of raccoons coming towards your pad in a manner that is "inexorable" (sort of like the Red Army T-34s for their appointment with the Fuhrer) and you say "My God! Is it a 'Night of the Living Dead' of raccoons?" Then in a moment of transcendent insight you think "I'm hallucinating again. Mama must have put a few hits of acid in my night time milk I have , in order to drive me crazy, so I kill myself and she inherits Papas' fortune, which he left to me because she was such a slut , she would turn tricks for free!" Then in an integral part of the experience, the mist is forming and lit by the glow of the raccoons eyes (because they have that reflective eye membrane thing going) your heart trembles and out there you see the white haired ghost! (not the one in "The Da Vinci Code) The only white haired ghost in the world who wears sun-glasses in the middle of the night ostensibly because if the police come and see him leading a pack of criminally inclined raccoons, he can say "I'm blind. That's why I'm wearing these sunglasses. " Then when the police say "What are you doing with all these raccoons?" He could say "I'm like the 'Pied Piper, except I pipe on raccoons." Then when the police say "Well you are not headed out of town!" He can say "Well I'm blind! How was I to know?" "Know?" you might say. That's like knowing why in these old movies, why the heroin chick is always taking such a deep breath and her knockers are bulging out of her shirt , and you're waiting for them to burst free and dangle out for your viewing pleasure, but they don't.
At times like these, you have to get a grip on yourself and after you gulp down some port to bolster your will, you look out the window again, and only see one raccoon, and no white ghost wearing sunglasses, a Knights' Cross (with swords and oak leaves), a Josef Goebbels hand brace, and there's only one raccoon. So you send your world renowned black Afghan dog, Momo to chase off interlopers, but he knows the raccoon and they just talk about times gone past.
In the morning ,you go outside and everything is back to normal, till you notice a Walther P-38 lying on the ground with a sort of stylized skeleton key engraved on it, and the word "Leibstandarte." It's an unsettling thing, and you hope the gardener left it there, after all he does carry a riding crop, wear jodhpurs all the time and a monocle , or "sun-monocle" on sunny days.
MARCH 27 OR SO 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
MY FIRST POSTS ON PEOPLE OF THE EARTH BLOG
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 5:53 am
As a douchbag, and an old douchebag to boot, I vehemently protest the publication of this blasphemous article. As a douchebag, and with no redeeming qualities (such as a wheel barrow) ( a wheel barrow full of Krugerrands, that is) to mitigate my irredeemable worthlessness, there is almost no possibility of getting any hot babes, dames or lusty young harlots, or even a hot tran-sexual. As a last attempt at getting some fabulousness to offset my overwhelming douchbagness, I acquired (at great expense) a complete Commander Whitehead replica ensemble, but people thought I was a waiter, or a perishing zombie who had died, and been embalmed , but because a passing voodoo practitioner had been mumbling some incantation as he walked by my coffin, I had popped back to life, well un-life, as the voodoo cognoscenti say. So this is my last attempt to score a hot babe, dame, or lusty young harlot. I have become spy, Russian spy. Being spy has cachet which I hope transcends douchebag milieu which seems to follow me as if it were a shadow. Perhaps filthy CIA will assassinate me, ending career as Fashion consultant, spy, and personal adviser to persons of great wealth, before I am able to prong a single babe, dame, lusty harlot, or reasonable facsimile.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:09 am
yuri – Thank you for your in-depth comment. You raise an important point: although hot chicks are often seem with douchebags, not all douchebags get the hot chicks.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 9:19 am
Comrade, this is very kind of you to clarify subtle prongs of dilemma. This is like quandary so skillfuly presented in Giuseppe Verdi aria referring to “cross and ecstasy” in La Traviata, also can be experienced after alighting bicycle which desperado has stolen seat from. I have vowed with great sincerity to change grooming habits to comply with specifications desired by hot young babes, concubines etc. I have appointment at Keith Richards Grooming Spa & Re-hab Emporium for a make over. I shall acquire Louis Vuiton luggage there also. This has reached a point where I must discard my former accoutrement and achieve my goal of pronging many a swell freak to use the nomenclature of the modern masher or bon vivant, as you youngsters say. You will please excuse my awkward English and bad spelling as personal assistant is on holiday. I will keep you informed of my success in the world of debauched nightlife.
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Greybeard Says:
February 15, 2010 at 9:32 am
That is one douchebag who will die a virgin. Sorry (channels Chekov) … Die a wirgin.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 15, 2010 at 4:28 pm
Yuri – I haven’t been called Comrad since my short time as a spook back in the late 1970′s, but I welcome it as an honorific. Comrad, I must point out that, if you are even so much as aware of any opera written by Guiseppi Verdi (whom I lovingly refer to as Joe Green) then you cannot be a douchebag. Rather, you appear to be a creepy old man who, as my Comrad Greybeard points out, is likely to die a virgin.
Nevertheless, welcome. I look forward to your tales of debauched nightlife.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 6:37 pm
Comrades, I have decided I must return to peace loving former Soviet Union for pilgrimage to memorial of G. Rasputin as attempt to imbue self with “soul vibrations” of adviser to Czarina, and female members of court. I have read of technique used by Holy Monk for checking breathing for correct form by holding ladies’ breasts firmly. This information will help me cure those exposed to air pollution by restoring damaged lungs. Must go now, diplomatic swine desire punctuality. I shall put on my Soviet suit, with moth balls in pocket, so as to not be accused of falling for Capitalist siren song singing. Smiling, beguiling. (have learned new vocabulary for attracting exquisite honeys) So until my return from barricades, I bid you adieu. Yuri Nahl, spy, man about town.
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Greybeard Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:31 pm
I hate to sound suspicious, but I suspect Comrade Yuri_Nahl of taking the piss. I’m sure I’ve seen him with a Frenchman of ill repute – one Jacques Bidet.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:57 pm
Comrade Greybeard, I believe you are thinking of Jaques Le Bangue, hairdresser with premises at Keith Richard’s Styling and Re-hab Emporium. When he worked in Glasgow, he went by “Jock” . That is only Frenchman I know. His fame rose when his “coiffure by hand grenade” concept was adorning the hair of Nick Nolte (famous Hollywood person) and of course Keith. Fame fell when bringing hand grenades through customs became hard due to orange alert on TV screens. As we know, this has recently caused security forces at airport to deploy body scanners after informant notified filthy CIA of exploding “butt plugs” detonating during trial run, using bus as substitute for aircraft. Do not mention this information to anyone as my credibility as peace loving Russian spy may be compromised, and will have to come in from cold.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 8:45 am
Comrade Greybeard, Please forgive me for asking such highly esteemed person such as yourself, but in peace loving former Soviet Union we do not have this “Taking Piss”. So that I do not put foot in mouth, I would be in your debt if you would kindly clarify this point of idiomatic patois. If this “Taking Piss” is like “Golden Shower” , I must show you poem written by humble self for sending to female pen pal. …(in poem, I am taking part of Dr. Morel) This is just one of a few “Fuhrer poems” I have written so that the babes will dig me.
. Comrades, From Doctor Morel we acquired another poem about the Fuhrer’s condition. ……
Dr. Morel’s Fuhrer Poem
With the Fuhrer’s weakening bladder sphincter,
He really couldn’t take a chance,
Of wearing a light colored summer uniform,
And getting a wet spot on the front of his pants.
The End
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 11:24 am
Yuri, me old china, I do not doubt your background in espionage, if not intelligence. How else could you have known the high esteem in which I am held? I should clarify that “china” is ancient Australian rhyming slang for friend – china plate = mate – not to be confused with porcelain, as in “pointing Percy at the porcelain” which refers to the use of a urinal.
Alas, “taking the piss” refers not to the rather gross perversion to which your mind has, rather interestingly, leaped, but to making fun of another. As to your poem, I have made inquiries as to whether a poetic license can be suspended or canceled. Also alas the only thing that babes of my acquaintance would dig you is a shallow grave.
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paulboylan Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:16 pm
Greybeard – I haven’t yet decided who or what our new China – I do love Australian slang’s Cockney street criminal roots (china -> china plate -> mate, yes?) is, but I like him or her.
I can’t explain why, but I suspect Yuri is the “fundi” who calls him/herself “Ted” and has left comments to other posts.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:30 pm
My Dear Comrade and Old Chap, as you can see, I am quickly learning Capitalist argot. Are you in Australia? But then,you are using idiomatic rhyming slang peculiar to neighborhood in London. This I like , even as Communist spy. (adviser to those of great wealth business has declined with economy). Yes I was confused because while working as spy from Soviet Consulate on Green St. in San Francisco, was short trip to Castro neighborhood where I learned of this “Golden Shower” pastime. Silly me, I thought in “Golden State” they had “Golden Showers”! Many fine fashions were available on Market St. Also a swinging fellow I met there invited me to his pad, and this was something I had not seen before even in peace loving former Soviet Union. He had a urinal installed in living room wall! At first, I thought it was example of decadent Capitalist Dada art, but no, my new acquaintance invited me to have a urination in it. It was convenient to not interrupt flow of conversation to go to bathroom. Then in that time period, he showed me neighborhood “South of Market” This was within walking distance of where comrades of truck driving industry had battle with police during “Wobbly” attempt to cast off chains of ruling class oppression. But, in this “SOMA” as cognoscenti call it, during day, it was old small industry , warehouse, loft neighborhood, ordinary. At night , was cowboy clubs , Probably for popular western music, since many fellows wore leather uniforms of American cowboy types so I assume this. Although, once inside these “Joints” (to use ‘Hep-cat’ lingo) cowboys underwent metamorphosis beyond understanding of myself to explain. But in any case, these ‘joints’ were fun and I met many friendly fellows and sluts. These young ladies allowed me to practice my therapeutic massage techniques on their chests. I must admit to telling a little fib. That poem, I did not write it. My old beloved father was archivist traveling with army General Vasily Chuikov liberating Berlin from grip of fascists. Within Fuhrer Bunker were poems by Adolph Hitler written to wile away hours between destroying various countries. I will show one of these so you won’t think I am only crude Communist chap
“Lost Fuhrer Poem” which probably got stolen from the archives by a NKVD commissar. This is called “Un-numbered Fuhrer Poem (dated 1936 and in Fuhrer’s own handwriting)” This has surfaced and is to be auctioned at Christies sometime in November pending authentication. ….
Fuhrer Poem
If I hadn’t become the Fuhrer,
But had remained a suave young man,
I’d have thrown these unfashionable jodhpurs,
Into the nearest garbage can.
The End
(Don’t pay attention to first part, probably ploy to increase value)
Since that is short one, I will include another, if I can find, in messy drawers.
Please excuse my crude attempts at writing English. My personal assistant has day off. So I will show Fuhrer Poem Number Five for your enjoyment. ….(from time Fuhrer was attending art school)….
Fuhrer Poem Number Five
I became an artist’s model,
I was hoping chicks would dig me,
But I had to resign my commission,
They had an aversion to my wearing a fig leaf.
Comrades, Fuhrer was so short of money he reconsidered his decision….Fuhrer Poem Number Six….
Fuhrer Poem Number Six
They offered me a very small fig leaf,
I said “Well let me look at it!”
“Something that small might conceal a sardine,
But it certainly wouldn’t cover my haddock.
The End
So Comrade , you can see if fascist dog had kept up his art career , world would have been different now.
This is last one I could find as I must organize my files.
Lost Fuhrer Poem 1939
After I became the Fuhrer,
To Lead the German masses,
I realized my jodhpurs,
Would retain my flatulent gasses….
Upon my gaining this knowledge,
I had to give up smoking,
Because by dropping a burning ember,
I might possibly cause an explosion.
The End
I must go Comrade , there is much strain in being Capitalist man of letters.
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:33 pm
He is an amusing chap and to produce poetry that bad takes real talent but I can never forgive “Yurinahl”. I have perpetrated the odd dodgy pun myself but surely there must be a place in hell for this evil creature.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:00 pm
Dear Comrade Old Man, you will please excuse my unforgivable curiosity, such an unimportant fellow as myself , for having bad manners enough to impudently ask what continent you reside in, as time stamp on much honored post by you seems to indicate somewhere in Atlantic ocean. I am spying in GULag of Midwest United States at moment. This should explain the suicidal tendency you probably infer from my poor attempts at the letter writing art. Many nuclear labs are near here and I spend many an hour trying to chivy secrets from same. Also have to hang out with juvenile delinquents to learn subtle art of computer hackers, so as to be able to learn more fun facts. This means having to listen to hideous thrasher music giving almost irresistible urge to hammer chopsticks into ears. (don’t mention this to anyone, as filthy CIA may send me back to beloved Motherland in disgrace.) Please notify me of your desire to learn secrets of Fuhrer mesmerizing German populace with poems of Fatherland, if such there be.
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:27 pm
Dear Yuri, I could never consider you unimportant! As a devout and dedicated Filthy Capitalist Pig, all such fetid relics of the despised USSR as yourself are absolute anathema to me. I will never rest until you have all been captured and “redacted” to a suitable middle-eastern resort where you can peacefully while* away your declining years with water sports and electro-therapy.
*(“Nor do I beg this slender inch, to while The time away, or falsely to beguile My thoughts with joy”.)
As you have cleverly discerned, I am indeed sailing upon the Atlantic at present. Some trifling tax irregularities have rendered it prudent for me to remain “offshore” – like so many of my assets – for the time being.
I am utterly beguiled by your charming correspondence. If you would be so kind as to supply an address, I would consider it an honour to forward you a set of my personal ivory chopsticks (hand-carved from the budding tusks of a pre-pubescent elephant by Royal Maidens). I will even include one of the small silver mallets which I use for crushing ice, toffee and dissent.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:55 pm
I say, Old Capitalist chum, that line of poetry was so exquisite, I must
know the name of the author. Since I am a newcomer to the English language I
feel as if what I say is a mere compilation of what others with a thorough
grasp of the language have said before, although probably everything has
been said before! I often thought how lovely being in the Atlantic would be
,in Jamaica for example. It would be precious fun to go native and adopt
the singular hairdos of the Rastas, and their heathen based life religion.
As heathen myself, I still can perceive their life, permeated with this
groundedness with the Mother Earth is something different. A fellow comrade
of mine went there and spoke in gushing love for the place. I am still
looking for more of the Fuhrer’s poetry. As time passes, I will post more
onto this blog.I only hope that an ex-Nazi female comrade sees them and gets
caught up in the spirit of the Ex-Nazi-Communist thrall and sends me a photo
of her chest to practice diagnosing any symptoms. Them I would be able to
prescribe a suitable treatment plan, which I could then administer. Yours
truly, must go , kettle boiling.
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paulboylan Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:03 am
I swear to God, if I didn’t know better, I would swear this guy is me.
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:16 am
I did have a momentary suspicion.
Hey Bathroom_Fitting. I can’t type Cyrillic here but what I’m thinking sounds like “seen sukie”. If you are a genuine old-time Tovarich, I’m sure you’ll know what that means? Dasvidanya Gospodine Nahl.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:26 am
My Dear Capitalist Comrade, I have come to like you and your fine associate, even if you are Capitalist oppressors of the proletariat. I have faith (as much as it is possible for a heathen to have faith) that when the Capitalist gods, the Huge Banks, and the Military Industrial Complex (which General Eisenhower warned about, but nobody listened!) I will be able to help you fellows adjust into the new, resurgent, Soviet Union, and we will all live happily ever after in splendor of “Workers Paradise” until then, however, I still have ambition to become Doctor of Chestology. After perusing teachings of His Holiness G. Rasputin, I could say, there is slight possibility I could find religion. This probably would be in direct proportion to number of chests I had administered therapeutic massage to. I must away, have appointment with destiny at library! Yours Yuri
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 5:32 pm
Most Esteemed Capitalist Comrades, I am unfamiliar with this dialect which you have asked me to translate. In my humble opinion, two possibilities (1) is verbal repost , implying mother of person is related to Rin-Tin-Tin, and by logical inference , so is person, (very funny, I laugh!), (2) Is last words uttered by self proclaimed “Soul Brother Number One” before passing over into great abyss of afterlife, causing new star to appear in Hubble telescope field of vision. Please correct me if I am wrong, as I seek knowledge required to break free of any limitations imposed on me by myself or God. (you will notice please, I used “G” word again. I am fast becoming filthy Capitalist!
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 9:21 pm
Whale oil beef hooked! You win Yuri, I dips me lid to you. You can stuff me with burgers and call me an Imperialist Lackey.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:29 pm
This is the best discussion I have ever read. It can’t be over yet. It can’t be.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:57 pm
Comrade Greybeard, I am sure you know that it’s always a pleasure.
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:58 pm
Well I did consider firing back one of our freedom-loving Aussie poems to counter those of the Fuhrer(?)
There was a young man from Australia
Who painted his arse like a dahlia
The shape was fine,
and the colours divine
But the smell, on the whole, was a fahlia
Sadly, I doubt that one such as Yuri, intellectually stunted and abandoned by the mendacious and monolithic monster that was Soviet education, could possibly descry the multiple levels of meaning and subtext in this subtle and poignant piece of poesy.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 11:14 pm
Comrades, I must away and walk my Afghan dog Momo. I acquired him when peace loving former Soviet Union was trying to bring democracy to forlorn divided Afghan political disaster. This was thwarted by plan of Zbigniev Bresinski, for acquisition of undeserved natural resources. This clever plan led to present situation in Afghanistan. I shall return and post a special “Fuhrer poem” to delight your ears.
Your Reliable Communist,
Yuri Nahl
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 20, 2010 at 9:36 pm
mr homorable greybeard have stiff neck from typing with pencil in mouth. when im better from burned hands will rebuke felatious statement by you re- soviet education. will counter your poem with one about fuhrer for which i recieved standing ovulation at beatnic gathering. many miles davis records wer in great abundancs, bongo drums, beret. even filthy cia didguised as adict . only when super glue bottle was noticed was fellow discerned. as he was glueing mosquitos to arms to simulate mosquitos landing on arm, and getting off so tey couldn’t fly away. obvious ploy often seen in ghetto to convince customers of quality product. yours yuri
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Greybeard Says:
February 21, 2010 at 3:57 am
Dear Yuri,
Having read the above, and your earlier effusions, I can only conclude that your burned hands are the product of furious and prolonged self-abuse. I shudder to imagine the state of your living quarters. They must be even more squalid than my worst imaginings.
As I have no vices whatsoever, I cannot advise you from personal experience. My knowledge of physics and biology (both subjects which I have had the pleasure of teaching) leads me to suggest that:
(a) You change hands more frequently.
(b) that you keep a bowl of cold water nearby, in which you may rest the hand that is not currently occupied by your filthy, sinful perversion.
As to the “standing ovulation” which you received – Beware! This is NOT a safe position. A couple of my acquaintance once proudly displayed a new daughter who had apparently been conceived in the shower, thanks to a standing ovulation. I feel it my duty to warn you, less for your own sake than from the fear that you might actually breed.
I remain Sir, Yours sincerely, Lord Greybeard (Hereditary Jarl of Lower Orkney, in direct line from Harald Blåtand Gormsen, the inventor of short-range RF communication.)
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 21, 2010 at 4:38 am
my dear capitalist lord greybeard. as apolite communist you must inform me how you should be adressed. such as ‘your highness’ or apropriate title. ‘so sorry, opiates are diminishing ability’ am awaiting voice activated typing software.
in diminished memory somehow using hand cleaner with pumice on beloved pinis rings bell.
now i must hope you recall burned hans and penis responsible of crummy tape recorder courtesy of freelancing spy job because of disolution of former soviet union. less spying budget you see. cheap machine self destruct in 3 seconds not 5.
be a sport and see if any good used spy contraptions are in boxes of rf com gear, as i do not wish to be imolated while accepting job of spying.
i notice you have caught on to my squalid accomodations. this is famous spy ploy only known to practitioners of spy craft purpose of keeping away guests. even better is renowned technique of being stuck to decrepit couch with seminal fluid, and announcing authorship of pornographic novels. some extra income can be had ising this ploy of stealth. am telling you these facts in case you are desiring employment as agent in my network.
am getting stiff neck. must sign off. will write again. have to get asbestos gloves for cheap tape recorder.
yours yuri
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 21, 2010 at 9:18 am
comrade greybeard. important memory breakthrough has occured. finaly i have someone to ask for answer to question which has been beyond my uneducated ability to answer. ok here is problem. using property called ‘conservation of angular momentum’ when ice on polar caps melts, water goes to equator. does earth rotation slow down? that has been beyond my ability to answer since question formed in my mind due to some peculiar elixir. most spy friends have not the answer. now you must answer, as i depend on your educated brain. also in theme similar to ‘it is small world isn’t it’, my friend mr.boondoggle had ancestor ‘ mad eric blue hair mcboondoggle who fled scotland after ‘killing dog of an englishman’ then changed name to Verrückt Eric der Blaue Haare Freiherr von Boondoggle. i knew i had it somewhere. so this blue-tooth contraption may have ancestory in a friend i have as well as your grandpa.
now i must defer to renowned english revolutionary and devotee of use of sin as path to holy enlightenment. mr. oscar wilde who spake these concept ‘ in order to overcome temptation, one must yield to same.’ very wise. i have practiced these teaching before even reading of same.
though mr. wilde had impressive wardrobe, as spy, it does not behoov one to dress ostentatiously. also in order to conserve water, one must conclude the inflated importance given to bathing, in corrupt capitalist propoganda. together with excessive electricity used for vacuuming house. just open window on windy day, dust gets blown out other side. these are just tips so you may have happy home with beloved family after oil goes away.
must soon stop writing . neck is sore. cannot return to hospital, because in ‘land of free’ it is not free ‘exclamation point’ found this out with smouldering trousers after cheap tape recorder incident, hands blazing. will give poem after which you will say’touchet’
Comrades, my beloved auntie, Doctor Ivana Nahlinskia, was brought to Doctor Theodor Morell’s, the Fuhrer’s private physician’s residence to view the doctor’s private diaries before they were taken to GRU (military intelligence ) archive. In the diary was found “Lost Fuhrer Poem (regarding medical issues)”. I will publish it here for the first time for your reading pleasure. ….
“Fuhrer Poem Regarding Medical Issues”.
When I became the Fuhrer ,
To lead the Fascist nation, I had to give up these barbiturates,
Because they gave me constipation.
The End.
since that one was short ‘like japenese ‘haiku’, will include another…
Comrades, my auntie also found a poem by Doctor Morell who tried to emulate the Fuhrer in certain ways because he was like the obsequious Uria Heap but kept this poem secret because it showed the Fuhrer in a rather dim light…So for your edification this is “Doctor Morell Secret Poem Regarding the Fuhrer”…
As the Fuhrer got older,
And his bladder sphincter became weak,
He tucked his jodphurs into his riding boots,
But got urine on his feet.
The End.
comrades, my neck is too stiff . must stop giving away secrets of soviet poet lauriate.
your communist friend, yuri
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Greybeard Says:
February 21, 2010 at 10:34 am
Dear Yuri,
Yes.
Yrs etc., Lord Greybeard Grattskoggson
yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 5:53 am
As a douchbag, and an old douchebag to boot, I vehemently protest the publication of this blasphemous article. As a douchebag, and with no redeeming qualities (such as a wheel barrow) ( a wheel barrow full of Krugerrands, that is) to mitigate my irredeemable worthlessness, there is almost no possibility of getting any hot babes, dames or lusty young harlots, or even a hot tran-sexual. As a last attempt at getting some fabulousness to offset my overwhelming douchbagness, I acquired (at great expense) a complete Commander Whitehead replica ensemble, but people thought I was a waiter, or a perishing zombie who had died, and been embalmed , but because a passing voodoo practitioner had been mumbling some incantation as he walked by my coffin, I had popped back to life, well un-life, as the voodoo cognoscenti say. So this is my last attempt to score a hot babe, dame, or lusty young harlot. I have become spy, Russian spy. Being spy has cachet which I hope transcends douchebag milieu which seems to follow me as if it were a shadow. Perhaps filthy CIA will assassinate me, ending career as Fashion consultant, spy, and personal adviser to persons of great wealth, before I am able to prong a single babe, dame, lusty harlot, or reasonable facsimile.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:09 am
yuri – Thank you for your in-depth comment. You raise an important point: although hot chicks are often seem with douchebags, not all douchebags get the hot chicks.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 9:19 am
Comrade, this is very kind of you to clarify subtle prongs of dilemma. This is like quandary so skillfuly presented in Giuseppe Verdi aria referring to “cross and ecstasy” in La Traviata, also can be experienced after alighting bicycle which desperado has stolen seat from. I have vowed with great sincerity to change grooming habits to comply with specifications desired by hot young babes, concubines etc. I have appointment at Keith Richards Grooming Spa & Re-hab Emporium for a make over. I shall acquire Louis Vuiton luggage there also. This has reached a point where I must discard my former accoutrement and achieve my goal of pronging many a swell freak to use the nomenclature of the modern masher or bon vivant, as you youngsters say. You will please excuse my awkward English and bad spelling as personal assistant is on holiday. I will keep you informed of my success in the world of debauched nightlife.
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Greybeard Says:
February 15, 2010 at 9:32 am
That is one douchebag who will die a virgin. Sorry (channels Chekov) … Die a wirgin.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 15, 2010 at 4:28 pm
Yuri – I haven’t been called Comrad since my short time as a spook back in the late 1970′s, but I welcome it as an honorific. Comrad, I must point out that, if you are even so much as aware of any opera written by Guiseppi Verdi (whom I lovingly refer to as Joe Green) then you cannot be a douchebag. Rather, you appear to be a creepy old man who, as my Comrad Greybeard points out, is likely to die a virgin.
Nevertheless, welcome. I look forward to your tales of debauched nightlife.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 6:37 pm
Comrades, I have decided I must return to peace loving former Soviet Union for pilgrimage to memorial of G. Rasputin as attempt to imbue self with “soul vibrations” of adviser to Czarina, and female members of court. I have read of technique used by Holy Monk for checking breathing for correct form by holding ladies’ breasts firmly. This information will help me cure those exposed to air pollution by restoring damaged lungs. Must go now, diplomatic swine desire punctuality. I shall put on my Soviet suit, with moth balls in pocket, so as to not be accused of falling for Capitalist siren song singing. Smiling, beguiling. (have learned new vocabulary for attracting exquisite honeys) So until my return from barricades, I bid you adieu. Yuri Nahl, spy, man about town.
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Greybeard Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:31 pm
I hate to sound suspicious, but I suspect Comrade Yuri_Nahl of taking the piss. I’m sure I’ve seen him with a Frenchman of ill repute – one Jacques Bidet.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:57 pm
Comrade Greybeard, I believe you are thinking of Jaques Le Bangue, hairdresser with premises at Keith Richard’s Styling and Re-hab Emporium. When he worked in Glasgow, he went by “Jock” . That is only Frenchman I know. His fame rose when his “coiffure by hand grenade” concept was adorning the hair of Nick Nolte (famous Hollywood person) and of course Keith. Fame fell when bringing hand grenades through customs became hard due to orange alert on TV screens. As we know, this has recently caused security forces at airport to deploy body scanners after informant notified filthy CIA of exploding “butt plugs” detonating during trial run, using bus as substitute for aircraft. Do not mention this information to anyone as my credibility as peace loving Russian spy may be compromised, and will have to come in from cold.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 8:45 am
Comrade Greybeard, Please forgive me for asking such highly esteemed person such as yourself, but in peace loving former Soviet Union we do not have this “Taking Piss”. So that I do not put foot in mouth, I would be in your debt if you would kindly clarify this point of idiomatic patois. If this “Taking Piss” is like “Golden Shower” , I must show you poem written by humble self for sending to female pen pal. …(in poem, I am taking part of Dr. Morel) This is just one of a few “Fuhrer poems” I have written so that the babes will dig me.
. Comrades, From Doctor Morel we acquired another poem about the Fuhrer’s condition. ……
Dr. Morel’s Fuhrer Poem
With the Fuhrer’s weakening bladder sphincter,
He really couldn’t take a chance,
Of wearing a light colored summer uniform,
And getting a wet spot on the front of his pants.
The End
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 11:24 am
Yuri, me old china, I do not doubt your background in espionage, if not intelligence. How else could you have known the high esteem in which I am held? I should clarify that “china” is ancient Australian rhyming slang for friend – china plate = mate – not to be confused with porcelain, as in “pointing Percy at the porcelain” which refers to the use of a urinal.
Alas, “taking the piss” refers not to the rather gross perversion to which your mind has, rather interestingly, leaped, but to making fun of another. As to your poem, I have made inquiries as to whether a poetic license can be suspended or canceled. Also alas the only thing that babes of my acquaintance would dig you is a shallow grave.
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paulboylan Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:16 pm
Greybeard – I haven’t yet decided who or what our new China – I do love Australian slang’s Cockney street criminal roots (china -> china plate -> mate, yes?) is, but I like him or her.
I can’t explain why, but I suspect Yuri is the “fundi” who calls him/herself “Ted” and has left comments to other posts.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:30 pm
My Dear Comrade and Old Chap, as you can see, I am quickly learning Capitalist argot. Are you in Australia? But then,you are using idiomatic rhyming slang peculiar to neighborhood in London. This I like , even as Communist spy. (adviser to those of great wealth business has declined with economy). Yes I was confused because while working as spy from Soviet Consulate on Green St. in San Francisco, was short trip to Castro neighborhood where I learned of this “Golden Shower” pastime. Silly me, I thought in “Golden State” they had “Golden Showers”! Many fine fashions were available on Market St. Also a swinging fellow I met there invited me to his pad, and this was something I had not seen before even in peace loving former Soviet Union. He had a urinal installed in living room wall! At first, I thought it was example of decadent Capitalist Dada art, but no, my new acquaintance invited me to have a urination in it. It was convenient to not interrupt flow of conversation to go to bathroom. Then in that time period, he showed me neighborhood “South of Market” This was within walking distance of where comrades of truck driving industry had battle with police during “Wobbly” attempt to cast off chains of ruling class oppression. But, in this “SOMA” as cognoscenti call it, during day, it was old small industry , warehouse, loft neighborhood, ordinary. At night , was cowboy clubs , Probably for popular western music, since many fellows wore leather uniforms of American cowboy types so I assume this. Although, once inside these “Joints” (to use ‘Hep-cat’ lingo) cowboys underwent metamorphosis beyond understanding of myself to explain. But in any case, these ‘joints’ were fun and I met many friendly fellows and sluts. These young ladies allowed me to practice my therapeutic massage techniques on their chests. I must admit to telling a little fib. That poem, I did not write it. My old beloved father was archivist traveling with army General Vasily Chuikov liberating Berlin from grip of fascists. Within Fuhrer Bunker were poems by Adolph Hitler written to wile away hours between destroying various countries. I will show one of these so you won’t think I am only crude Communist chap
“Lost Fuhrer Poem” which probably got stolen from the archives by a NKVD commissar. This is called “Un-numbered Fuhrer Poem (dated 1936 and in Fuhrer’s own handwriting)” This has surfaced and is to be auctioned at Christies sometime in November pending authentication. ….
Fuhrer Poem
If I hadn’t become the Fuhrer,
But had remained a suave young man,
I’d have thrown these unfashionable jodhpurs,
Into the nearest garbage can.
The End
(Don’t pay attention to first part, probably ploy to increase value)
Since that is short one, I will include another, if I can find, in messy drawers.
Please excuse my crude attempts at writing English. My personal assistant has day off. So I will show Fuhrer Poem Number Five for your enjoyment. ….(from time Fuhrer was attending art school)….
Fuhrer Poem Number Five
I became an artist’s model,
I was hoping chicks would dig me,
But I had to resign my commission,
They had an aversion to my wearing a fig leaf.
Comrades, Fuhrer was so short of money he reconsidered his decision….Fuhrer Poem Number Six….
Fuhrer Poem Number Six
They offered me a very small fig leaf,
I said “Well let me look at it!”
“Something that small might conceal a sardine,
But it certainly wouldn’t cover my haddock.
The End
So Comrade , you can see if fascist dog had kept up his art career , world would have been different now.
This is last one I could find as I must organize my files.
Lost Fuhrer Poem 1939
After I became the Fuhrer,
To Lead the German masses,
I realized my jodhpurs,
Would retain my flatulent gasses….
Upon my gaining this knowledge,
I had to give up smoking,
Because by dropping a burning ember,
I might possibly cause an explosion.
The End
I must go Comrade , there is much strain in being Capitalist man of letters.
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:33 pm
He is an amusing chap and to produce poetry that bad takes real talent but I can never forgive “Yurinahl”. I have perpetrated the odd dodgy pun myself but surely there must be a place in hell for this evil creature.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:00 pm
Dear Comrade Old Man, you will please excuse my unforgivable curiosity, such an unimportant fellow as myself , for having bad manners enough to impudently ask what continent you reside in, as time stamp on much honored post by you seems to indicate somewhere in Atlantic ocean. I am spying in GULag of Midwest United States at moment. This should explain the suicidal tendency you probably infer from my poor attempts at the letter writing art. Many nuclear labs are near here and I spend many an hour trying to chivy secrets from same. Also have to hang out with juvenile delinquents to learn subtle art of computer hackers, so as to be able to learn more fun facts. This means having to listen to hideous thrasher music giving almost irresistible urge to hammer chopsticks into ears. (don’t mention this to anyone, as filthy CIA may send me back to beloved Motherland in disgrace.) Please notify me of your desire to learn secrets of Fuhrer mesmerizing German populace with poems of Fatherland, if such there be.
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:27 pm
Dear Yuri, I could never consider you unimportant! As a devout and dedicated Filthy Capitalist Pig, all such fetid relics of the despised USSR as yourself are absolute anathema to me. I will never rest until you have all been captured and “redacted” to a suitable middle-eastern resort where you can peacefully while* away your declining years with water sports and electro-therapy.
*(“Nor do I beg this slender inch, to while The time away, or falsely to beguile My thoughts with joy”.)
As you have cleverly discerned, I am indeed sailing upon the Atlantic at present. Some trifling tax irregularities have rendered it prudent for me to remain “offshore” – like so many of my assets – for the time being.
I am utterly beguiled by your charming correspondence. If you would be so kind as to supply an address, I would consider it an honour to forward you a set of my personal ivory chopsticks (hand-carved from the budding tusks of a pre-pubescent elephant by Royal Maidens). I will even include one of the small silver mallets which I use for crushing ice, toffee and dissent.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:55 pm
I say, Old Capitalist chum, that line of poetry was so exquisite, I must
know the name of the author. Since I am a newcomer to the English language I
feel as if what I say is a mere compilation of what others with a thorough
grasp of the language have said before, although probably everything has
been said before! I often thought how lovely being in the Atlantic would be
,in Jamaica for example. It would be precious fun to go native and adopt
the singular hairdos of the Rastas, and their heathen based life religion.
As heathen myself, I still can perceive their life, permeated with this
groundedness with the Mother Earth is something different. A fellow comrade
of mine went there and spoke in gushing love for the place. I am still
looking for more of the Fuhrer’s poetry. As time passes, I will post more
onto this blog.I only hope that an ex-Nazi female comrade sees them and gets
caught up in the spirit of the Ex-Nazi-Communist thrall and sends me a photo
of her chest to practice diagnosing any symptoms. Them I would be able to
prescribe a suitable treatment plan, which I could then administer. Yours
truly, must go , kettle boiling.
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paulboylan Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:03 am
I swear to God, if I didn’t know better, I would swear this guy is me.
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:16 am
I did have a momentary suspicion.
Hey Bathroom_Fitting. I can’t type Cyrillic here but what I’m thinking sounds like “seen sukie”. If you are a genuine old-time Tovarich, I’m sure you’ll know what that means? Dasvidanya Gospodine Nahl.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:26 am
My Dear Capitalist Comrade, I have come to like you and your fine associate, even if you are Capitalist oppressors of the proletariat. I have faith (as much as it is possible for a heathen to have faith) that when the Capitalist gods, the Huge Banks, and the Military Industrial Complex (which General Eisenhower warned about, but nobody listened!) I will be able to help you fellows adjust into the new, resurgent, Soviet Union, and we will all live happily ever after in splendor of “Workers Paradise” until then, however, I still have ambition to become Doctor of Chestology. After perusing teachings of His Holiness G. Rasputin, I could say, there is slight possibility I could find religion. This probably would be in direct proportion to number of chests I had administered therapeutic massage to. I must away, have appointment with destiny at library! Yours Yuri
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 5:32 pm
Most Esteemed Capitalist Comrades, I am unfamiliar with this dialect which you have asked me to translate. In my humble opinion, two possibilities (1) is verbal repost , implying mother of person is related to Rin-Tin-Tin, and by logical inference , so is person, (very funny, I laugh!), (2) Is last words uttered by self proclaimed “Soul Brother Number One” before passing over into great abyss of afterlife, causing new star to appear in Hubble telescope field of vision. Please correct me if I am wrong, as I seek knowledge required to break free of any limitations imposed on me by myself or God. (you will notice please, I used “G” word again. I am fast becoming filthy Capitalist!
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 9:21 pm
Whale oil beef hooked! You win Yuri, I dips me lid to you. You can stuff me with burgers and call me an Imperialist Lackey.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:29 pm
This is the best discussion I have ever read. It can’t be over yet. It can’t be.
#
yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:57 pm
Comrade Greybeard, I am sure you know that it’s always a pleasure.
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:58 pm
Well I did consider firing back one of our freedom-loving Aussie poems to counter those of the Fuhrer(?)
There was a young man from Australia
Who painted his arse like a dahlia
The shape was fine,
and the colours divine
But the smell, on the whole, was a fahlia
Sadly, I doubt that one such as Yuri, intellectually stunted and abandoned by the mendacious and monolithic monster that was Soviet education, could possibly descry the multiple levels of meaning and subtext in this subtle and poignant piece of poesy.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 11:14 pm
Comrades, I must away and walk my Afghan dog Momo. I acquired him when peace loving former Soviet Union was trying to bring democracy to forlorn divided Afghan political disaster. This was thwarted by plan of Zbigniev Bresinski, for acquisition of undeserved natural resources. This clever plan led to present situation in Afghanistan. I shall return and post a special “Fuhrer poem” to delight your ears.
Your Reliable Communist,
Yuri Nahl
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 20, 2010 at 9:36 pm
mr homorable greybeard have stiff neck from typing with pencil in mouth. when im better from burned hands will rebuke felatious statement by you re- soviet education. will counter your poem with one about fuhrer for which i recieved standing ovulation at beatnic gathering. many miles davis records wer in great abundancs, bongo drums, beret. even filthy cia didguised as adict . only when super glue bottle was noticed was fellow discerned. as he was glueing mosquitos to arms to simulate mosquitos landing on arm, and getting off so tey couldn’t fly away. obvious ploy often seen in ghetto to convince customers of quality product. yours yuri
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Greybeard Says:
February 21, 2010 at 3:57 am
Dear Yuri,
Having read the above, and your earlier effusions, I can only conclude that your burned hands are the product of furious and prolonged self-abuse. I shudder to imagine the state of your living quarters. They must be even more squalid than my worst imaginings.
As I have no vices whatsoever, I cannot advise you from personal experience. My knowledge of physics and biology (both subjects which I have had the pleasure of teaching) leads me to suggest that:
(a) You change hands more frequently.
(b) that you keep a bowl of cold water nearby, in which you may rest the hand that is not currently occupied by your filthy, sinful perversion.
As to the “standing ovulation” which you received – Beware! This is NOT a safe position. A couple of my acquaintance once proudly displayed a new daughter who had apparently been conceived in the shower, thanks to a standing ovulation. I feel it my duty to warn you, less for your own sake than from the fear that you might actually breed.
I remain Sir, Yours sincerely, Lord Greybeard (Hereditary Jarl of Lower Orkney, in direct line from Harald Blåtand Gormsen, the inventor of short-range RF communication.)
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 21, 2010 at 4:38 am
my dear capitalist lord greybeard. as apolite communist you must inform me how you should be adressed. such as ‘your highness’ or apropriate title. ‘so sorry, opiates are diminishing ability’ am awaiting voice activated typing software.
in diminished memory somehow using hand cleaner with pumice on beloved pinis rings bell.
now i must hope you recall burned hans and penis responsible of crummy tape recorder courtesy of freelancing spy job because of disolution of former soviet union. less spying budget you see. cheap machine self destruct in 3 seconds not 5.
be a sport and see if any good used spy contraptions are in boxes of rf com gear, as i do not wish to be imolated while accepting job of spying.
i notice you have caught on to my squalid accomodations. this is famous spy ploy only known to practitioners of spy craft purpose of keeping away guests. even better is renowned technique of being stuck to decrepit couch with seminal fluid, and announcing authorship of pornographic novels. some extra income can be had ising this ploy of stealth. am telling you these facts in case you are desiring employment as agent in my network.
am getting stiff neck. must sign off. will write again. have to get asbestos gloves for cheap tape recorder.
yours yuri
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 21, 2010 at 9:18 am
comrade greybeard. important memory breakthrough has occured. finaly i have someone to ask for answer to question which has been beyond my uneducated ability to answer. ok here is problem. using property called ‘conservation of angular momentum’ when ice on polar caps melts, water goes to equator. does earth rotation slow down? that has been beyond my ability to answer since question formed in my mind due to some peculiar elixir. most spy friends have not the answer. now you must answer, as i depend on your educated brain. also in theme similar to ‘it is small world isn’t it’, my friend mr.boondoggle had ancestor ‘ mad eric blue hair mcboondoggle who fled scotland after ‘killing dog of an englishman’ then changed name to Verrückt Eric der Blaue Haare Freiherr von Boondoggle. i knew i had it somewhere. so this blue-tooth contraption may have ancestory in a friend i have as well as your grandpa.
now i must defer to renowned english revolutionary and devotee of use of sin as path to holy enlightenment. mr. oscar wilde who spake these concept ‘ in order to overcome temptation, one must yield to same.’ very wise. i have practiced these teaching before even reading of same.
though mr. wilde had impressive wardrobe, as spy, it does not behoov one to dress ostentatiously. also in order to conserve water, one must conclude the inflated importance given to bathing, in corrupt capitalist propoganda. together with excessive electricity used for vacuuming house. just open window on windy day, dust gets blown out other side. these are just tips so you may have happy home with beloved family after oil goes away.
must soon stop writing . neck is sore. cannot return to hospital, because in ‘land of free’ it is not free ‘exclamation point’ found this out with smouldering trousers after cheap tape recorder incident, hands blazing. will give poem after which you will say’touchet’
Comrades, my beloved auntie, Doctor Ivana Nahlinskia, was brought to Doctor Theodor Morell’s, the Fuhrer’s private physician’s residence to view the doctor’s private diaries before they were taken to GRU (military intelligence ) archive. In the diary was found “Lost Fuhrer Poem (regarding medical issues)”. I will publish it here for the first time for your reading pleasure. ….
“Fuhrer Poem Regarding Medical Issues”.
When I became the Fuhrer ,
To lead the Fascist nation, I had to give up these barbiturates,
Because they gave me constipation.
The End.
since that one was short ‘like japenese ‘haiku’, will include another…
Comrades, my auntie also found a poem by Doctor Morell who tried to emulate the Fuhrer in certain ways because he was like the obsequious Uria Heap but kept this poem secret because it showed the Fuhrer in a rather dim light…So for your edification this is “Doctor Morell Secret Poem Regarding the Fuhrer”…
As the Fuhrer got older,
And his bladder sphincter became weak,
He tucked his jodphurs into his riding boots,
But got urine on his feet.
The End.
comrades, my neck is too stiff . must stop giving away secrets of soviet poet lauriate.
your communist friend, yuri
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Greybeard Says:
February 21, 2010 at 10:34 am
Dear Yuri,
Yes.
Yrs etc., Lord Greybeard Grattskoggson
PNB WAS SELECTING A NEW AVATAR ON PEOPLE OF THE EARTH BLOG
yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 9:34 am
Comrade, there is only one answer. The inescapable conclusion is His Holiness Father Grigori Rasputin, blessed adviser to Tsaritsa Alexandra, and healer of the Royal Chest by means of Holy Therapeutic Laying on of Hands. One on each protrusion, that is. His Holiness preached his special method of achieving a state of grace, through sin. Because, without sin, there can be no confession, no absolution. Even so, that story about Father Grigory raping that nun is not true. The trumped up “evidence” that caused the swine Prince Felix Yusupov to brutally and callously murder the Holy Father was a child's outline of Rasputins hands, made into wood “silhouettes” then dipped into dust, then applied to the chest and buttock area of the clothing of any Royal female court person. A laundry girl was bribed to do the dirty work. So after putting the ’spurious hand prints’ onto the chest protrusions of the princesses, and their little behinds, the jealous Prince Felix incited a murderous gang of minor court malingerers, drunkards and louts of a murderous inclination who cruelly poisoned, shot, then drowned the pitiful Holy Father Rasputin, and cut off his penis (which was extra long, and this God-given giganticness has been posited, by a consensus of experts in the forensic psychiatry academia, to be the real and dastardly motive for this wanton crime.) The Holy Father, even in death was resurrected temporarily to admonish the rascals who had stolen his penis. But the sight of the missing organ was too much for even a man of such Holy and Divine stature. The curs who killed him burned his body. Now some say that the Holy Father Rasputin became one of the un-dead, and because of black and white magic, potions and incantations the Holy Man had passed on himself fearing the end was nigh, he was able to rise from the dead, and even though he was burned and missing his penis, started on a therapeutic pilgrimage to recover his stolen penis, since he would never be at rest till he had it re-attached to his body. This is why he has been seen walking all over the earth trying to recover his own extra long penis from various penis collectors. Due to the advent of air travel, this has made it worse for the Holy Father since it is difficult to walk thousands of miles when you are un-dead, and can’t urinate without getting urine all over yourself, because without a penis, you can’t aim the stream down wind for example, and as a result, it has a tendency to douse you all over. This is why, in the barren wilds of the peasant lands, if they smelled urine they would utter “Rasputin is upon us!” and run away. This was so well known, crafty desperadoes would get a bucket of smelly urine and slosh it all over the upwind side of banks, then when the superstitious villagers got a whiff of the urine, they would say “Rasputin is upon us!” and run away. Then the crafty thieves could stroll into the bank, and help themselves to plenty of swag and make good their getaway, before the villagers came back with torches expecting to confront the un-dead Holy Man. This happened so many times, that the peasants stopped saying “Rasputin is upon us!” every time they got a whiff of urine, then when the real un-dead Rasputin staggered past, the villagers did not have time to get their torches to intercept him. He still walks to this day. So for the love of God, chose His Holiness Grigori Rasputin, for your avatar, since this may help solicit more contributions to the “Recover Rasputin’s Penis Charity” In this way, His Holiness will be re-united with his extra gigantic penis and be able to rest in peace, or bone un-dead women, or if he’s a gay un-dead man of the cloth, have a gay un-dead experience
February 17, 2010 at 9:34 am
Comrade, there is only one answer. The inescapable conclusion is His Holiness Father Grigori Rasputin, blessed adviser to Tsaritsa Alexandra, and healer of the Royal Chest by means of Holy Therapeutic Laying on of Hands. One on each protrusion, that is. His Holiness preached his special method of achieving a state of grace, through sin. Because, without sin, there can be no confession, no absolution. Even so, that story about Father Grigory raping that nun is not true. The trumped up “evidence” that caused the swine Prince Felix Yusupov to brutally and callously murder the Holy Father was a child's outline of Rasputins hands, made into wood “silhouettes” then dipped into dust, then applied to the chest and buttock area of the clothing of any Royal female court person. A laundry girl was bribed to do the dirty work. So after putting the ’spurious hand prints’ onto the chest protrusions of the princesses, and their little behinds, the jealous Prince Felix incited a murderous gang of minor court malingerers, drunkards and louts of a murderous inclination who cruelly poisoned, shot, then drowned the pitiful Holy Father Rasputin, and cut off his penis (which was extra long, and this God-given giganticness has been posited, by a consensus of experts in the forensic psychiatry academia, to be the real and dastardly motive for this wanton crime.) The Holy Father, even in death was resurrected temporarily to admonish the rascals who had stolen his penis. But the sight of the missing organ was too much for even a man of such Holy and Divine stature. The curs who killed him burned his body. Now some say that the Holy Father Rasputin became one of the un-dead, and because of black and white magic, potions and incantations the Holy Man had passed on himself fearing the end was nigh, he was able to rise from the dead, and even though he was burned and missing his penis, started on a therapeutic pilgrimage to recover his stolen penis, since he would never be at rest till he had it re-attached to his body. This is why he has been seen walking all over the earth trying to recover his own extra long penis from various penis collectors. Due to the advent of air travel, this has made it worse for the Holy Father since it is difficult to walk thousands of miles when you are un-dead, and can’t urinate without getting urine all over yourself, because without a penis, you can’t aim the stream down wind for example, and as a result, it has a tendency to douse you all over. This is why, in the barren wilds of the peasant lands, if they smelled urine they would utter “Rasputin is upon us!” and run away. This was so well known, crafty desperadoes would get a bucket of smelly urine and slosh it all over the upwind side of banks, then when the superstitious villagers got a whiff of the urine, they would say “Rasputin is upon us!” and run away. Then the crafty thieves could stroll into the bank, and help themselves to plenty of swag and make good their getaway, before the villagers came back with torches expecting to confront the un-dead Holy Man. This happened so many times, that the peasants stopped saying “Rasputin is upon us!” every time they got a whiff of urine, then when the real un-dead Rasputin staggered past, the villagers did not have time to get their torches to intercept him. He still walks to this day. So for the love of God, chose His Holiness Grigori Rasputin, for your avatar, since this may help solicit more contributions to the “Recover Rasputin’s Penis Charity” In this way, His Holiness will be re-united with his extra gigantic penis and be able to rest in peace, or bone un-dead women, or if he’s a gay un-dead man of the cloth, have a gay un-dead experience
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