Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted

Sunday, 23 October 2016

A Fire Side Chat

We had a big dump of snow earlier in October and then some balmy weather yesterday where it all melted. I was okay with it, yesterday I cleaned out the hangar a bit and flew in the early part of the day and then took the team out on a long range Dawg Patrol. When we got back to the castle I put on my crocs, poured out a splash of whisky, and tried to think of something constructive to do on a late, warm fall afternoon.

And failed.

So I started a fire in the back yard, pulled a chair up and petted the dawgs as I loafed pondered philosophical issues.

Why do people hate crocs?

The other day I slipped at work and informed my idiot coworkers that I wear crocs and love them. So all day, those retards sent harassment texts full of rude jokes about crocs and the people that wear them.

Well har-dee har har...

Back in the good ol' days before the invention of nose jewelry and call display, me and the other juvenile retards would do crank calls on old cranks when we wanted to harass people. Sunday afternoons were best. Picture it: A young Gorges Grouse or PP has been working hard all day with his chores and his lower level emergencies. It's Sunday afternoon, the animals have been fed, the big problems dealt with, the smaller ones well in hand...and a well deserved Sunday afternoon nap is in order! The poor fella falls gently asleep and snores in bliss unti the phone rudely rings. Blearily he stumble to the phone.


"Good afternoon sir! Pardon my call, but could you tell me: is your refrigerator still running?"

"Eah?? Why, yes, yes it is...."

"Then ya better go catch it! HAR HAR HAR!!!"

"Filthie? Why you little bastard, I know your father, and when I..."

Sadly, this is what passed for humour in my misspent childhood. I can just imagine their rage when they realized they were talking to a dial tone and slammed the phone down. But middle aged men are resilient, and I'm sure they just went back to sleep and forgot all about it because their own ignorant kids preyed on my dad just as I did on theirs.

Today you send texts to people you want to harass and torment.

Nyuk. Nyuk. Nyuk.
Cyber-bullying: it's real, folks.
I need a tissue for my tears, a cookie and a safe place...

A fall night starts to close in...

Even my Dad thinks crocs are gay! And he's what? 75 now? Youda thunk he would have developed the maturity and intellect to appreciate the fit and utility of fine footwear - but no. Screw him too! After a day in steel toe boots - my dear old crocs are a welcome relief. Mine have real fake fur liners in them for added comfort.

I think cats are gay.
Enough with the cats already!!!
A final splash of whisky for the night.

Well - that is how grizzled old philosopher kings blow their Saturdays - deep in thought about matters of great import! Today I'm hung over as hell and it serves me right. I gotta go into work now to see if I can help a customer out, but seeing as I won't be on site - I think I'll wear my crocs.
And if I get one mealy mouthed rude joke about it - he'll be paying an after hours call out charge!


  1. I'm almost ashamed to write this. Almost.

    Victim: Hello?
    Retard: Hello, is Jim there?
    Victim: No, you have the wrong number.
    Retard: Okay, sorry. 'Bye!

    Time passes.

    Victim: Hello?
    Retard Two: Hello, is Jim there?
    Victim: No, you've got the wrong number.
    Retard Two: Okay, sorry. 'Bye!

    Time passes.

    Victim: Hello?
    Retard Three: Hello, is Jim there?
    Victim: No, there's no Jim here. You've got the wrong number.
    Retard Three: Okay, sorry. 'Bye!

    Time passes, along with more calls from our future leaders and good citizens of the United States.

    Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ri-
    Victim: What?!
    Retard Sixteen: Hello, this is Jim. Did anybody call?
    Victim: ?!@%$!!

  2. And then there's store calls for Prince Albert in a can.