Bobby47
Nov 15, 2018
A Terrible Dream
You think your dreams are interesting Paul? You should be behind my eyelids during my hours of slumber.
My dreams are vivid, intense and invariably involve me being a man who women can’t keep their hands off because I, Bobby47, am the most desirable man in the world. Nightly, every single time I drift off, thirty six, sometimes forty depending upon my imagination, crazed and wanton strumpets visit my bed chamber demanding, ‘.give us your love tonight’ and every night, as exhausting as the task is, i fulfill their demands delivering each of these sexually charged women their own special night of love with me.
And it’s not just about women unable to control themselves who nightly scurry up my drainpipe demanding to kiss my fat face. Many nights our lovemaking is interrupted by throngs of bewildered Wirral men and women who’ve had a guts full of Wirral Councillors and Council Officers and have decided, and God only knows why, to journey down the A49, drag me out of my bed, throw me in the back of their van and drive me up to the Wirral where I am required to cleanse Wallasey Town Hall of those that are destroying local democracy.
And, what’s more, when these decent hardworking politically active Wirral men and women do tip up uninvited at my home, a dwelling they’ve no business knowing of it’s whereabouts, like a pissed up, drug addled half dressed fool, I climb into the back of the van howling,’take me directly to do God’s work. I’ll cleanse the Town Hall of all those who’ve been causing you all such distress.’
And I do Paul. Every single night my dreams are diverted away from the sins of the flesh, I end up hurtling into Wallasey Town Hall gibbering in biblical tongues howling, ‘here’s Bobby’.
Then, after considerable blood letting, beatings and rolling the bastards round in nettles, I slump into a weary heap, demand some Ale be poured down my throat, suck upon a hand rolled cigarette and then, all of a sudden, I’m suddenly propelled back down the 49, into my bed where I continue delighting these women who’ve abandoned their homes and their loved ones just to engage in manly love with me the man who Wirral summoned to beat the ever loving shit out of an entire generation of Wirral public servants.
Bobby47
Nov 5, 2018
Leasowe Abbey’s in Ruins. And we’re in the gutter, or is it the sewer?
Goodness! Ronnie does have a leaning toward all things below the surface. What with, ‘climb down’, ‘filth of the gutter’ and two mentions of the ‘sewer’, I’d have thought he’d have been better off either staying with the theme of ‘down there’ and calling for you to ‘go to hell’ of something else downwards but less closely associated with human excrement.
Course, Ronnie has every right to concentrate his thoughts on our sewage system. But, if he is intent on tweeting his thoughts about how bad it is down there beneath the surface, and I reckon it’s pretty bad, he should at least use his tweeting characters and produce an insult that reads grammatically correct.
Personally, I’d have preferred Ronnie to have concentrated his thoughts on things of the surface. There’s plenty of stuff visible to the discerning eye. There’s dog shit. There’s litter. Potholes and other unpleasant stuff that might have had me thinking that maybe my friend Paul should go to hell!
As it is, I’m left thinking that it’s a good thing that this particular abbey has fallen. I wanted to say, ‘fallen down’, but given my good advice to Ronnie regarding his weak writing style, I decided not to mention it.
Bobby47
Oct 9, 2018
With #WirralGiants in the news, let’s have a look at one of Wirral Council’s BIGGEST fibbers!
Happily my dear old friend, there is positive outcome that accompanies the critical comments from you, Wirral Leaks, Nigel and James. Nobody, but nobody will ever get sued for slander, defamation of character or anything else on the Statutes that can shut you down.
Why? How can they pursue anyone for telling the truth. Happily for you, and sadly for them, the price they must pay for their sins is they must sit back and simply put up with it all and, perhaps secretly, from time to time, sneakily have a peep at what you or Julian Justice shovel out to stop the scab healing over their reddened tortured flesh.
Take care la. My warmest regards to you and yours.
Return to Bomb Alley 1982 – The Falklands Deception, by Paul Cardin
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