Biffen

That's fairly offensive considering you are actually deceased. Though I admit Uncle Bitters is fundamentally uncouth and lacking in refinement .Not to mention malodorous .

Reminds me of an old joke. Punchline is something like " it's only a question of how much".

Respect from Ralph Mouth? When it comes it is so grovelling and excessive ,snivelling and late. He is usually wrong so I'm not that grateful for his smarmy compliments.

The penthouse at the Gat will be renovated tastefully as my important status here would dictate. You are all welcome to attend the clean out downstairs . i will be moving back in as soon as the job is complete as ministers special advisor to social housing housing. I have signed the deal with nine and the govt. Some incriminating photos I had helped sweeten the pot . Thank you all for your concern as to my lodgings but I assure you all I will not need to ask Special Robert for bridge space just yet. Though I must admit,the life of a troll is has its own rewards.

Some of the players do swears at training too.

I don't buy their wine.Or their whine.

It's a shame the media have no high horse to complain from. We are all dirtbags nows. Calling someone else a racist just doesn't work anymore . Maybe they will need to form a proper argument based on some sort of logic. Hack scum.

One of my three.

We may have to meet up for a Somalian Chicken and a fair trade latte in Flemington. They sold beer in the area back when Phar Lap was racing.

Is there anyone here from New Zealand who thinks anyone cares about their thoughts? Like Derryn does? We don't.

Andy Maher gets selective outrage about stuff. I'd like to pinch his breasts on the golf course whilst singing The National Anthem in Black face, dressed as Ian Stewart on weekends, with my Brownlow tucked downstairs. I reckon he would cry but then come to the conclusion that it's good for sport.

Uncle Bitters is sorted, upstairs with decent catering and saints fans. i will be busking in the bottleneck.

Burgo is electric Robbo is a live wire . What more fun filled footy facts for fans ,features and filler could you want. Tough Crowd. Dave Misson is also a real card.

Hodgey is a legend so he's allowed to drink drive and that.

Special Robert, If you gave more attention to your trade and less to the Moomba parade we would all be wealthier .Well I would most likely.Get back to work.Stop gallivanting and start cleaning windscreens .Know your limits!

I'd sack him and give the job to a woman.Preferably of colour. Men shouldn't be in supermarkets anyway.They should be killing buffalo or hunting whales,like real men.

FBJetta Tom Mc Hibberd HBSalemFrost Lewis C:Jones Vince Hunt HF:Kent Watts Petracca For:Garlett Hogan Stretch Foll:Gawn Oliver Tyson Inter:Weed,ANB,Brayshaw,Bugg. Emerg:Smith,Trengove ,spencil. I've gone with youth and pace,along with safe skills.So Garland,Spencer,Omac miss out . Frost is a CHB.Membrey To Mac on Bruce That leaves Hibberd on Reiwoldt. Vince on Jack Stevens I/c Bugg Those 4 are the roles I would like to see played defensively,as in given no space,as in negated ,untrendy as it is. The back line is better with Hibberd in it but if he is getting killed by Reiwoldt I would drop Watts back ,bring on Weed and rest Hibberd if Nicks looking dangerous.We are paying Hibberd as if he is an a grader so let's see it. Their talls are good. Max ,Watts,TomMac Frost and Hogan need to compete well. Will be a close game

Special, Unless Squirrel and Dingo are acclaimed business consultants then I should think you will learn lots more working for me. Nobody can give you a firm grounding in capitalism and the vagaries of market forces than I SR. My 3 week trial gives you a chance to really earn your stripes and will give you self respect and a sense of purpose.Squirrel and Dingo only want to steal your money so that's why Id like you to use the sealed box I'm willing to provide for free. I'm happy to give squirrel and dingo a sealed box and a different squeegee each to join the "team". You can be team leader Robert. This is a Special offer!!

Maybe Jack loves Perth for its rich culture Ethan.Or perhaps he can get puzzles done on the plane.

Robert Im not willing or interested in educating you to become a socially acceptable member of society. I might be able to set you up with a bucket and a squeegee so you can help clean motorists windows at the traffic lights. I will give you a 3 week trial without pay and a sealed box to put my money in.I suggest you jump at this wonderful employment opportunity.

Special Robert, There is more to joining the bohemian fraternity than wearing stained and dirty clothes . One must be aiming at a certain libertine spirit to accompany the slightly worn and weathered attire And coiffure of the decadant and edgy set. I'm concerned you may never attain this radical mindset Special,not because you are not Avante Garde enough,you clearly have that in spades,as your recent situational traffic light art attests. The reason you may be shunned from bohemian society is related more to your prefèrence for bourbon and bongs over free wine and canapés ,usually purchased by wealthy benefactors known as art dealers. Nobody in their right mind is going to allow you to enter their art gallery SR. Your best hope might be to run as a Greens candidate at the next election and just be happy living under the bridge or even the very nice doorways at St Paul's.

Never mind the bollocks Bitters,nor the Block. Some of my former "receptionists" have some rather arty photos and video of Scott Cam on a bender, looking less than stunning in his birthday suit.Mrs Cam might be interested to know how he spends his evenings after a big day of filming paint dry and cement hardening. There is (low) life in the old Gat yet. Still no vacancy for Special Robert. We may be desperate and deranged but we have standards.

Please indulge my verbosity .The fear of flat battery and the loss of my "train" of thought is ever present so I will keep my second instalment brief.Many of you would liken the train to a red rattler I'm sure. Besides speaking awful French with De,signalling to beer wench,signing and gesticulating with moocher and rotten tooth,I shall miss all the kids in the village.(Not in a Gary Glitter way either before you think the worst). The children are learning English these days and venture up to parlez with the ghost from oz,always smiling as if there futures were as bright and promising as the morning.There seems to be little evidence of disaffection,angst,dread and irritability that we've come to know and love in our brilliant society.They can find amusement in such games as kick the can,get the bread or fetch the anything.No grumbling,no whining, no self-pity.A leaf or two could be taken. The smell of urine incense tells me my coffee is waiting,the tinkling of bells,the nattering of women.The worst natterer of all is a Lady I've dubbed Hanoi Helen.HH gets us all up at 5am ,ready or not.She travels over the loud speaker from the govt office known as The Voice of Vietnam. She starts off with a bit of "news" possibly fake ,before digressing into a bit of exercise instruction and counting for the benefit of our health .Mercifully,she only rants on for 30 minutes but that is enough to start the chooks ,who get the dogs going,who start up the ladies,who start the scooters and before 6 the village is abuzz with the pursuit of industry. I've obtained some wire cutters and my parting gesture to the town will be to snip the two loud speaker wires in the street so HH gives it a little rest tomorrow.No doubt some good citizens will patch it up when the alarm is raised, or isn't . Sometimes we all need a little break. Even Hanoi Helen.

What a truly depressing day. Time to leave you see,and say ta ta to all my unhired help. Saying goodbye to virtually free cigarettes,notably these Kent "switch" things that contain a small capsule of menthol in the filter,the cracking of which is as addictive and pleasurable as the nicotine.Saves on toothpaste. Au revoir to my Little restaurant on the river where my every culinary fantasy is eagerly indulged with the point of a finger at a photo,then ruined with a little twist of their own.Last night For example,a plate of French fries presented with a [censored] of butter and some sugar on a side dish,no sauce and evidently,no salt. Goodbye to my blinking pal De, who runs the restaurant when he isn't drinking with the clients or off down the road for a relaxing massage in his Audi,which I must have financed over the years ,mostly the early times when I was charged double or triple rates. De and his 9 or 12 brothers manage a dream life flitting between Paris and the Delta,exporting various tacky bits of furniture ,knick knacks,and probably some other medicinal materials if the recent renovations to the house are any guide.The junkies of Paris can consider themselves fortunate they have their own Franco Cozzo business model in Europe.Not having to deal with the Afghan supply chain must save them from commiting several burglaries per month. Goodbye to the obnoxious ,mooching bastard next door,whom I only tolerate in the hope of bedding one of his daughters one day.His ability to sniff the scent of a freshly opened beer bottle is truly a gift and makes up for his hacking cough,obtained through gratis smokes donated by village idiots like myself ,though there is ample competition for the title here.. His counterpart, the other bastard next door manages his own tobacco needs and beer somehow but he has made the dreadful mistake of demolishing his own house before having somewhere comfortable to stay in the interim.Roof tiles have been cleverly used as a type of terra cotta pebble mix to avoid cartage,though I did persuade him to save some ancient teak beams from the firewood stock-hand carved centuries ago at a guess.Iwont miss looking at his rotten front tooth or hearing his terrible broken English,the glorious tales of his cousin in Sydney or the virtues of Communism. The beer wench opposite will no doubt miss me,her face lighting up at the prospect of my custom ,which is often twice daily.The Saigon stuff is quite tolerable and the crates hold 16 bottles .You would think 16 enough for my immediate needs but moocher and friends always assist.Beer wench is a stout woman of about 50,very tanned,and charmingly informally dressed in floral pyjamas. Won't miss the erratic power supply and low voltage output playing havoc with the rotten iPad and it's impertinent predictive text function,nor the foul odour of the Thay Ninh rubber company boiling latex daily in the 35 degree heat,the various village karaoke machines set to deafening volumes and the various stars and starlets who produce less harmonious tones than the stray dogs and Roosters manage every morning.

You've got plenty of Kant about you Deiter, and there is no need for you to stop the other. Such a successful formula is worth persevering with.