“The Memsahib was born in Rotterdam”.
Anyone believe this (below), because I certainly don’t.
The ability to speak a second , rather obscure, second language can come in handy. The Memsahib and I have been an item for over thirty years, but have never married, and she travels on a Dutch passport. The last time we flew through Dubai, some knuckledragger at the airport is questioning our passports. “You are traveling together, as man and wife, but you are not married? This is not right.”
He got told that his religion was one that was practiced only by the backward, and the truly ignorant, but, fortunately, he didn’t speak Afrikaans..
Countless spouses have different names on their passports, with say the wife continuing to carry their maiden name. No one is ever stopped and asked if they’re married. This moron never ceases to disappoint with stupid ridiculous lies.
Ronery's Aboriginal, Dylan Voller and Military History Tourettes, Big Noting & Ancestor Worship Blog 
Here’s another to add to the annals of encounters that obviously never happened. It’s really freaking strange that a grown man dreams up shit like this (you can imagine him mentally conjuring up and embellishing the tale over several days) and presents it to others. He’s totally oblivious to the fact that no one believes him because what he describes is such a clunky, clumsy and cliched script – so far removed from organic human interaction that it’s completely unbelievable.
The. Following. Never. Happened.
Zulu Kilo Two Alpha
#3032097, posted on June 1, 2019 at 7:54 pm
O/T, but I’m “replenishing stores” in a certain bottleshop. (Second time something like this has happened, BTW.)
“Smashing, I’ll have another bottle of the Speyside, cheers, you’ve got my other favourite Speyside on special. See us two bottles, please.”
” The memsahib’s favourite sav blanc’s also on special, I’ll take a dozen.” It’s been a tradition for most of the time we’ve been together that we share a bottle of champagne over Saturday night dinner, so I pick a good bottle.
The lass behind the counter reads off the price, so, while I’m sorting out the card, the fat slapper behind me starts whining….
“It’s not fair, one person can spend so much on alcohol. That’s the cost of my social wage, for me to bring my kids up for a week. It’s just not fair, some people have all that money.”
Great fat, tattooed, swampy, with purple hair, piercings and great gunt (H/T K.D. and Calli)…..
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“It’s not fair, one person can spend so much on alcohol. That’s the cost of my social wage, for me to bring my kids up for a week. It’s just not fair, some people have all that money.”
The guy spent $500 (max) on booze. I put myself through uni working at a bottlo and that’s an unremarkable sale. He’s acting as though he just bought Roman Abromavich’s yacht.
And…
“It’s not fair, one person can spend so much on alcohol. That’s the cost of my social wage, for me to bring my kids up for a week. It’s just not fair, some people have all that money.”
Said nobody, ever. Obviously. Gotta say, this is really awkward.
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OCO
I’m away at the moment and don’t have access to the blog. He’s such a fucking bignoting liar. I can see why the first wife fucked him off.
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Have you noticed the almost daily comment about aboriginals not having learned how to boil water?
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