Not just another WordPress.com weblog
Dear reader
It seems I need to apologise once more for the absence of posts. Life is just too hectic. I’m also on the move once more. Where next? I’ll let you know in about two weeks… hopefully.
Any way please check back.
Posts in the pipeline include such varied topics as human trafficking, boobies on the beach part 2 – uncut and more from my housemaid and what happened when she offered to wash my car.
Please keep checking back.
F
I have a housemaid who comes in once a week to help me out with various chores. She’s very sexy but not exacly the sharpest tool in the box and with the most bizarre attitude to matters of clothing. For an example see the post ‘Girls, Girls, Girls from March 6).
Because of this and her various mis-adventures, I have decided to make a note of the most extreme examples in this blog for posterity and your general amusement.
For instance, in my garden I have four orange trees and one lemon tree all fully laden with fruit ripe for the picking. I mentioned to my housemaid that I would be picking them at the weekend and she offered to assist me. I gratefully accepted.
Pointing to the largest tree, which is some 20 feet tall, I mentioned that I would need to erect a ladder big enough to reach the oranges at the top and that she should wear suitable clothing for ease of movement. She looked at me with a puzzled expresion and asked, “Erect? but wha’ iss this means Don Freddy?”
“Erect…” I replied, “…means that you put something up or make something stand. On Saturday I will put up a ladder, or erection, so that we can reach the top.”
“Aaah Is understand Señior, gracias. You very kin’ an’ alway’ help me wit mys Inglits. Vale, hasta mañana.”
I waved her off and proceeded to prepare the ladders for the next day.
The following morning, my housemaid arrived as promised looking like something from a Texan ranch but with the shortest little denim skirt you could imagine. I was astonished to say the least.
“Why are you wearing such a short skirt?” I asked. “When I told you to wear something for ease of movement I thought you’d have come wearing jeans or something.”
“No señior” she replied, “iss too ‘ot for heans so I wore mys skir’. Iss easy to move becau’ I can lift it up… see?” To demonstrate she hitched up her skirt to her waist revealing her derrière and went over to the ladder.
“Vale Don Freddy, would you like mis tu climb up on yous big erection now?”
Well what could I say?
I said yes.
And she did.
No oranges were picked that day.
Anyway, here’s a photo of my housemaid and her skirt.
Oooooohhh mucha chica’s
Very nice… now why don’t all girls wear dresses like this
Forget 3, 6 is the new magic number.
Alrighty then. You can agree with Wen and add your vote for the Salvadorans or can you suggest better?
Come on… I need more votes and definately more pictures.
Following my post of a couple of weeks ago imaginatively entitled Girls, Girls, Girls and the comments that followed (albiet only two) I thought what a fantastic wheeze it would be to put the whole ‘which girls are the hottest’ to the vote. I thought it might be even better to include the guys.
In light of this I am proud to announce the following poll imaginatively entitled Which Girls and Guys are the hottest. (Cue applause).
Simply put I want you all (all one reader judging by my blog stats) to comment on which nationality produces the hottest babes or hunks. I’ll let it run for a month and then release the stats. But wait there’s more…
Rather than just saying which girls or guys are the best I also need the reason why. The commenter with the best suggestion will win a huge bottle of lotion and a girl or guy from the country of choice to come and rub it all over their body. Sounds fun, yeh? But there’s more…
Send in a picture of your favorite girlies or guys for an even better chance of winning. I’ll post the photo’s I receive every week.
Please note: Unfortunately porn will not be posted… just saved for my personal collection sooooo get sending to the following address;
So then, who are the hottest? English, Spanish, French, Italian, Asian, Eastern European, South American, African… the list is endless but here’s one to get you started.
Get voting
I received an interesting memo from senior management at work today and thought I’d share it with you all.
Re: New Company Policy
Due to the current financial situation caused by the slowdown
of economy, Management has decided to implement a scheme to
put workers of 40 years of age and above on early retirement.
This scheme will be known as RAPE (Retire Aged People Early).
Persons selected to be RAPED can apply to management to be
eligible for the SHAFT scheme (Special Help After Forced
Termination). Persons who have been RAPED and SHAFTED will be
reviewed under the SCREW programme (Scheme Covering Retired
Early Workers). A person may be RAPED once, SHAFTED twice and
SCREWED as many times as Management deems appropriate.
Persons who have been RAPED can only get AIDS (Additional
Income for Dependants & Spouse) or HERPES (Half Earnings for
Retired Personnel Early Severance). Obviously persons who
have AIDS or HERPES will not be SHAFTED or SCREWED any further
by Management.
Persons who are not RAPED and are staying on will receive as
much SHIT (Special High Intensity Training) as possible.
Management has always prided itself on the amount of SHIT
it gives employees. Should you feel that you do not receive
enough SHIT, please bring to the attention of your Supervisor.
They have been trained to give you all the SHIT you can handle.
The Management.
Damn… I’ll be 40 in 15 years time.
Prior to leaving Malta I had an interesting discussion with my 3 gorgeous assistants regarding who were the prettiest girlies. LaDelirante made the comment that she thought Spanish girls were not very pretty and that I would be a little disappointed with what I found. Having been here for some 8 months now (heck – has it been that long?) I am able to provide a response on the basis of comparison.
I will start with the Maltese girls.
From my own experience I found Maltese girls lovely. N & D, two of the aforementioned gorgeous assistants a case in point. The thing I remember about Maltese girls is that they have great hips and know how to swing them, especially at Paceville on a Friday night wearing ridiculously short skirts (bloody marvelous). The only downside was that I always got the impression that if you dared to try and get into said skirts and the little things underneath, all you’d get for your trouble would be a slap around the face and a visit from their mother and a priest the next day. This is perhaps why I never attained the joy of a liaison intimate with a Maltese girl.
As for Spanish girls, to give you an idea of my thoughts I would like to make a comparison between them and English girls.
As you may or may not know I live in Spain but work in Gibraltar. To get to work each day I have to cross both a border checkpoint and the runway of an international airport. Walking across the runway one is often hampered by strong wind (not the type that comes from the anus I hasten to add). It is therefore quite easy to tell the English girls from the Spanish. The English are the ones that wear tiny little skirts but then hold them tight to avoid the slightest chance of the wind lifting the hem even a little bit. By contrast the Spanish girls don’t give a damn. The wind blows, the skirts fly up and more often than not one is given a pantyless glimpse of heaven. I think the point I’m making is that although I love Maltese girls and English girls for their undoubted beauty, it’s the free spirit that appeals too. But then I’m a guy who likes the occasional little glimpse of heaven.
Oh and Spanish girls are hot too. Just take a look at this sneaky shot I took of my housemaid.
Dear loyal reader
I would like to apologise for the lack of items posted on this site over the past few weeks (or is it months). There are a number of reasons for this but I wont bore you with too many details, rather I will concentrate on two and let you decide which is the more believable.
Reason number one. I am and always have been illusive (hence the name) and due to my connections with large underworld organisations and the British secret service I must disappear from time to time. Now I’m back from assignment and have had to wait for several gun shot wounds to heal properly before attempting to write.
Reason number two. My career has gone headfirst into the great toilet bowl of life and despite various attempts to retreave it or replace it on Malta, inevitably as with everything else in my life I cannot avoid the great rush of poop water swirling down upon my head.
I know what you’re thinking…
Although the first one seems by far the most logical and reasonable explanation for my recent absence I have to confess that it is actually reason number two. I’m pretty much screwed and being Jonny foreigner on Malta I get neither assistance (despite paying high rates of tax and social security) nor sympathy. Therefore unfortunately I have to depart these shores for other another far distant land.
They (who?) do say though that every silver lining has a cloud and of course this is true in my case. I have secured employment in Spain and will continue to blog from there. Hopefully you, my loyal reader, will continue to find my insights in to life, love and toilet humour worth reading.
This of course is the real reason for not writing. I have gone through various emotions from shock to anger, anger to depression then a brief moment of elation when realising I had a savior from unemployment then to absolute stress realising that I had only four weeks to pack up, move, get settled then start work in a new country, company and job. Then I slipped back into depression realising I would miss Malta, then elation again because at least the Spanish know how to drive and have a highway code and a logical set of traffic laws and enforcement, then depression again and finally stress. I have had to sell house, home, furniture and car (the last one still pending).
I would like to take the opportunity to say thank you to the Maltese bloggers who have read and commented and please, please, please don’t be strangers. I’m still here… IllusiveFreddy lives on.
I’m only sorry I didn’t get chance for that torrid fling with Claire, although I’ve not left yet…
I hate football (soccer if you’re from over there).
I know this is not a particularly popular point of view, especially as millions, nay billions treat it as a virtual religion but I hate it.
Perhaps it’s the fanaticism that goes along with it. Or the hooliganism. Or maybe it’s just the pointlessness of the whole game. Oh and NO, I’m not some kind of puff or gay boy nancy. I like sports in general but just have an aversion to football. Two sides get together and kick a ball around and try to score goals. Fair enough, but then the play consistently goes something like this…
(commentators voice) – Rooney’s got the ball and so England’s in with a chance again. Rooney charges up the field… oooohhh he’ challenged but, ooh, ooooh, there’s an opening (pitch of voice gets higher), there’s an opening, oooh Owen’s there… Rooney kicks the ball up field and Owens there to receive… ohh, ohhhh, ooooohhhhh, he’s charging up the field, he’s close to the penalty area, ooooohhh can he get it through, no it’s blocked but wait (now shouting), there’s Beckham and oooohhhhI think I’m going to cum, Owen passes it to Beckham, ooooohhhhhhh Beckham’s in the penalty area, HE SHOOTS and aaaarararrrrrhhhh… the ball goes into orbit to land somewhere in the Gobi dessert. What a disappointment… yarda, yarda, yarda.
After 90 or so minutes of this along with 30 minutes of extra time then injury time the score remains at nil-nil. I ask you… what is the f*@~#ng point.
It’s especially annoying now that the local council has decided to erect a giant screen in Spinola bay where hundreds of people can gather to watch the game. What’s wrong with that, you may ask? Well only that it would have been better had they given some thought as to where these hundreds of people are going to park their cars.
Last night they showed the final between Man U and Chelsea with hundreds there to watch. The streets around about were chaotic. Cars were double parked, blocking off roads, on double yellow lines across peoples garage entrances… everywhere. So bad was the situation that after popping out to collect some relatives from the airport, I returned home to find there was nowhere to park. I then spent the night driving around looking for a space in the end to find one only after the match had finished and the revellers returned to their cars for their respective journeys home. Even then it was a ten minute walk home.
I suppose though, the question remains… with all the illegal parking, where were the wardens? After all they could have made a killing in fines. But then I can probably guess…
They were drinking beer and watching the game with the rest of the crowd. Useless b@~#@*ds.
I am passionate about a great many things.
Sex, Star Wars… actually films in general, sex, music, motorbikes, books, sex, poker, alcohol, sex and last but not least FOOD. (Oh and in case I didn’t mention it… sex).
I recently dedicated a post to the great art of making sandwiches sooooo big they become a challenge to actually fit in ones mouth. To continue this theme I would like to champion the much maligned (unfairly I think) art of cooking British style.
British chefs do have knockers (but there are plenty of male chefs too… eh… nudge, nudge) particularly those from the USA which is surprising really considering that America is the home of everything fast, cheap and tacky (McDonalds, chilli dogs on sticks, Britney Spears etc…). The French, who claim to be the best at cuisine (and everything else for that matter) have long derided our Yorkshire puddings and fish & chips, this coming from a nation of frog eaters. Some countries eat worms, bugs and spiders…. eeewww. Germany fought two world wars in an attempt to turn Britain into a nation of sausage sucking sauerkraut eaters but we prevailed.
And so, to celebrate good old British fayre I bring you three national institutions.
Number 1… The great British breakfast fry up.
Fat gut inducing, yes… artery clogging, certainly… the best way to start the day, hell yes especially when accompanied by a cup of tea and a round of fried bread.
Number 2… Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
with roast potatoes and gravy… bring it on.
And finally…
Number 3… Shepherds pie (not made with real shepherds)
A real treat of minced beef, onions and vegetable topped off with creamy mashed potatoes.
Now if you are looking at the above with disgust all I can say is don’t knock it until you try it and just be thankful I didn’t mention the spotted dick.
