The title of this blog comes from a Gaelic expression -"putting on the poor mouth"-which means to exaggerate the direness of one's situation in order to gain time or favour from creditors.
24 October 2009
The final distillation of a lame loke
A person strolling through the Olympic Village nocited saw another person carrying a very long bag. He asked: Are you a Pole Vaulter?
Hi. I am Walter. Mr. Walter. First name Fritz. I don't know this Jan, nor am I a pole faulter. I was goalgetter in Stuttgart, and there's been just one awesome trio: Jürgen Klinsmann and I. The person above is a damn plagiarist.
Once I took a pole, vaulted myself 69 metres above sea-level, wrote a short message in which I promised the lady of my heart to free her at 02:00 a.m., speared the note atop my javelin which after 13,03 kilometres landed on the skewer basket in the bower my lovely lioness had been locked into by her jealous father. By the way, what are currently the world records thought to be, in those disciplines?
Dear Jams O'Donnel Esq., just received a short message from my uncle, the great minnesinger Walther von der Vogelweide, written - as he lets me know - shortly after a nice chat with the young bards Dante, Boccaccio and Chaucer. Uncle Walther asks me to advise you of a tiny typo the gentlemen noticed within your latest "extraordinary witty" (Uncle Walther) postings. It's pole vaulther, not pole vaulter. Furthermore he asks me to forward his and his friends' kindest regards to you, the not-wife and the four furry musketeers, adding the mysterious advice not only to mind humans who are more than 50% bicycle, but also those who have mutated into flycycles and - last not least - those who would spell both Walther and vaulther utterly incorrect, may they be Poles or Germans. Yours respectfully, Sgt. P.
It was a great series. There is another way to destroy a joke, even a poor one: to ask questions. Like: why was that first person strolling where he/she was? Where is that Olympic Village? What was the weather during the incident? Etc...
And, of course, could one use the bag for a pole to carry his favorite python?
19 comments:
Wishing you full recovery!
This is definitely a terminal case Claudia!
Typical Walter, always poking fun at persons strolling through the Olympic Village and asking him stupid questions about his very long bag.
He's a bit of a so and so isn't he?
Indeed, Jams. Walter always says: We are a great trio, Jan and I.
Well...he got 4 comments from me! On a Saturday afternoon! He's a clever so-and-so...
Grooooooooooooaaaaaaan!!!!!!
Hi. I am Walter. Mr. Walter. First name Fritz. I don't know this Jan, nor am I a pole faulter. I was goalgetter in Stuttgart, and there's been just one awesome trio: Jürgen Klinsmann and I.
The person above is a damn plagiarist.
Oh! now I understand! Three-people-in-one.
Actually, it was funny! Finally ready to go and do my shopping.
Help! Jams...Another Walter! I'm giving up. Have a great week-end!
No, I'm a field mouse who lives where German foresters store their felled trees ready for transport out of the woods.
I guess that makes me a Polter Vole ;-)
Glad to make you groan Kay!
So many Walters. Some of these are impostors. I think at least one is a Kurt!
Once I took a pole, vaulted myself 69 metres above sea-level, wrote a short message in which I promised the lady of my heart to free her at 02:00 a.m., speared the note atop my javelin which after 13,03 kilometres landed on the skewer basket in the bower my lovely lioness had been locked into by her jealous father.
By the way, what are currently the world records thought to be, in those disciplines?
Dear Jams O'Donnel Esq.,
just received a short message from my uncle, the great minnesinger Walther von der Vogelweide, written - as he lets me know - shortly after a nice chat with the young bards Dante, Boccaccio and Chaucer.
Uncle Walther asks me to advise you of a tiny typo the gentlemen noticed within your latest "extraordinary witty" (Uncle Walther) postings. It's pole vaulther, not pole vaulter.
Furthermore he asks me to forward his and his friends' kindest regards to you, the not-wife and the four furry musketeers, adding the mysterious advice not only to mind humans who are more than 50% bicycle, but also those who have mutated into flycycles and - last not least - those who would spell both Walther and vaulther utterly incorrect, may they be Poles or Germans.
Yours respectfully,
Sgt. P.
Baron your feats have been criminally ignored. I shall start a campaign forthwith to have them incluuded in the Guiness Book of Records
Sergeant, I am always mindful that there are far too many people out there where bicycles are in the majority ot their being. I am always vigilant!
It was a great series. There is another way to destroy a joke, even a poor one: to ask questions. Like: why was that first person strolling where he/she was? Where is that Olympic Village? What was the weather during the incident? Etc...
And, of course, could one use the bag for a pole to carry his favorite python?
Very true Snoopy!
Did I mention I'm a nurse? I'm passing out haloperidol for everyone here. I can totally see that I am needed!
Double helpings all round Stephanie!
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