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Facebook And Friends Reunited

Took Sasha the cute Lhasa Apso out into town for a meal on Saturday night, in a dog about town sort of a way. Attempted to leave a review of the restaurant on Trip Advisor yesterday, but was dismayed to find that I need to be registered on Facebook to do so. I don't go in for all that rubbish. I mean don't get me wrong I'm pretty computer savvy as border terriers go, I have after all got my own blog and a cult following in Romania. But as me Dad says, in a Groucho Marx sort of a way, he wouldn't want to belong to a club containing both his ex bitches and his ex bitch-in-law would he? And rightly so. Whilst we're on the subject hands up who's on that Friends Reunited codswallop. First off if they were that much of a friend then you'd still be in touch with them wouldn't you? I got an email from them once, I'll interpret for you (in brackets), it went something like this: Hi (I've just split up with my husband), how are you doing (I bumped into Fiona from 5C the other day, she told me that your wife had done a bunk with the captain of the rugby club), I've been thinking about you a lot lately (I've got no friends and I've been wracking my brains trying to think of someone from school who was vaguely fanciable and I came up with you), how do you fancy meeting up for a coffee and a chat about old times (I can then tell you what a bastard my ex husband has been whilst sussing out if you've still got any money left), do get in touch I've been trying to track you down for ages (have you ever heard of rent a stalker). Pippa xx (I know that you can't be so stupid that you don't know what xx stands for). I went obviously xxx (her daughter was home). Pooh count: just the one, the consistency of a Mr Whippy ice cream it was, and not dissimilar in shape now that I come to think of it. Although warmer obviously. Well, when I say it was warmer I didn't actually touch it to check. I just assume that it would have been several degrees above the natural ambient temperature of a freshly curled Mr Whippy ice cream. And without the raspberry sauce or a flake.

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Fucking Passwords

Create a password..... cabbage Sorry, the password must be more than 8 characters.... boiled cabbage Sorry, the password must contain 1 numerical character. 1 boiled cabbage Sorry, the password cannot have blank spaces. 50fuckingboiledcabbages Sorry, the password must contain at least one upper case character. 50FUCKINGboiledcabbages Sorry, the password cannot use more than one upper case character consecutively. 50FuckingBoiledCabbagesShovedUpYourArse,IfYouDon'tGiveMeAccessImmediatelyYouTwats Sorry, the password cannot contain punctuation. NowIAmGettingReallyPissedOff50FuckingBoiledCabbagesShovedUpYourArseIfYou DontGiveMeAccessImmediatelyYouTwats Sorry, that password is already in use! See  Fucking phone calls too

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Is a sheepdog and his two-legged is a farmer. Frank was out with him in the tractor drilling wheat last autumn and they unearthed a rusty old lamp. So the farmer hopped out of the cab to have a closer look at it and gave it a little rub on his jacket, as you do, and was amazed to see a genie appear and offer to grant him any wish he wanted. Well the farmer thought for a moment and then said "I'd like the price of wheat to go to £200/tonne!" So the genie sighed but said "OK, I'll sort that out for you then, you greedy bastard" and popped back into his bottle. And the farmer casually tossed the lamp into the back of his cab and got on with his drilling. Well they were out again this morning putting a bit of nitrogen on, Frank and the farmer, and the farmer spotted the lamp and gave it a little rub again, just on the off chance, and you'll never guess what happened, the genie popped out again, and said that he'd grant the farmer one more wish. So the fa...

Snow

Bloody snow, I hate the stuff. It snowed here on Saturday, which meant that my Sunday morning constitutional consisted of me running around Horseshoe Field at Conyngham bollock deep in the wretched white stuff tying to put on a display of pleasure for the two-leggeds. "Ah look at him, he loves snow," they'd say. "Look at him running and jumping around in it." Well you'd run and jump around if your bollocks were dangling in snow wouldn't you? Me poor little paws were frozen solid by the time we got back to the car. Pooh count: two, both of them "steamers" - in fact one of them was giving off so much vapour it reminded me of Drax power station, except a bit smaller and browner obviously. And it probably couldn't have powered 20,000 homes in Pontefract. A small pensioners bungalow maybe. As long as they didn't have all the lights on, and the bath running. They don't have many baths pensioners do they? One a month maybe, so the chances ...