I just read the latest offering the Fat Sparrow shat out of her large, feathered behind, and Old Knudsen just had to reply.
Being a man of the world, Old Knudsen knows a bit about everything and he will be happy to tell it to you.
Mongos prefer to be called "Tards," they have feelings, too, you know. They should also be washed with a mild detergent once a week and have plenty of room to run about and dig. Always have a spray bottle handy to squirt them if they try to go on the rug.
When Old Knudsen was a Young Knudsen, and worked as a fry cook at Tillyman's Fish and Chip Shop (the best battered cod on the mainland), he met his very first Tard. His name was Allen; he had a withered hand, and in order to walk he would fling his leg out in front of him. Of course he wasn't too bright, but Old Knudsen found him to be a great source of amusement. His walking must have taken a lot of effort, as Allen used to sweat like a turkey at Christmas. He'd also rip off sequences of farts as he went. Now, if you don't think a sweaty, farting Tard is funny then you've had a humour bypass operation. Now go get me a pint, ya boring fucker.
By the way, Tillyman, you owe me 8 pound from the time Old Knudsen covered Albert Sorelson's shift; you had better still be alive, ya welching shite.
On one of Old Knudsen's days off I met Allen, who was on his way to work at Tillyman's. Allen picked up rubbish and cleaned the tables there, for just a few hours every week. Of course the sweat was dripping off him. "How's it going, Allen old pal," says I. "If your shift starts at eleven then you're running late; it's ten after," I tell him. With that, Allen flung his leg out and loped down the road at breakneck speed. Well, it was fast for him. Old Knudsen went about his business and promptly forgot all about Allen.
About a week later, Shawn, who also worked at Tillyman's, was telling me how one day last week Allen came rushing in. Allen went upstairs at Tillyman's to put his stuff away, and he was so panicked about being late for his shift he fell down the small flight of stairs. He wasn't hurt; he just landed on his back and flopped about like an upturned turtle.
Shawn nearly pissed himself laughing. Old Knudsen had missed it, so we had to put Allen on his back for a re-enactment, and yes, it was funny. The really funny part was that Old Knudsen had just been kidding about Allen being late; that silly bugger still had 20 minutes until his shift started.
C'mon, people; Tards love it when you treat them like shit like you would anyone else. At least we don't string them up like the bloody Yanks do.