Thursday, 16 January 2014

World War Knudsen

2014 means it's been 100 years since WWI, ach it doesn't seem that long ago that Old Knudsen was sticking his bayonet into German, Turkish and French soldiers in brutal hand to hand trench warfare. The great war for civilization as it was called was more spectacular than great. Getting to kill loads of foreigners and not get done for it, whats there not to like? it's just so civilized.

Old Knudsen had war wounds from previous engagements that he was still recovering from, the eye he lost during the Crimean war had grown back but was only seeing in black and white, luckily everything was in black and white in those days. The arm he had lost during the Boer war had been found but not sewn on very well, it would suddenly jerk forward when big tittied weemen were around causing my hand to rest on their boobies .....  when you get older it takes longer to heal.
Major Knudsen with Mrs Knudsen ..... probably. 

I had been finishing off my foreign service in Ireland, training new plebs and helping the police collect rents from the bog trotters when I decided that I needed a break and so I left to open a florist shop in Surrey...... England.
The wife had just given birth to our 5th child . Nature is a funny thing, my pale skinned blonde wife must of had some wog blood in her heritage as little Tarquinius was as brown as the Indian servants in the officer's mess, oh how we laughed at that one, well the wife didn't but everyone else did. I think it's called recessive genes, it's lucky that Old Knudsen knows about these things.

When 1914 rolled round all the young men were either running to Wales or signing up to fight the Hun. Old Knudsen had, had enough of war but Ares the gog of war wanted his mighty warrior of death on the field of glory slaying in his name.
Get stuck in there ye boy ye!
It was a matter of pride at the time, weemen whose husbands were already over there were picking on every able bodied man who they thought should be off dying for their king and cuntry just like their fella. Getting attacked by a crowd of screaming witches calling you a coward was something most blokes tried to avoid.

The wife put on a brave face when I told her I had re-enlisted and was going off to die for King and cuntry, luckily Sanjay, a waiter from the Officer's mess at Navan barracks in Dublin was in town and promised to look out for her.

Good ol Sanjay, he raised her spirits at this difficult time for as I was leaving the hoose I could hear her laughter halfway doon the street.

I had the good fortune to have joined with the 69th Irish cannon fodder regiment but only as a sergeant. I soon moved up in the ranks though as the officers kept mysteriously getting shot from behind during our advances across nomad's land ..... those fucking sneaky Arabs no doubt, thats my story and I'm sticking to it.

Well that is the story of how I joined to kill whatever was going during the Great war of 1914 - 1921.... (I didn't quit like those other losers in 1918) I'm not proud of some of the things I did during that time but it was a different era and anything went back then. I was as justified as a molesting British TV personality.

If I can bear the flashbacks and the awful memories I'll try to write about the time when I was scratched by a werewolf and won the battle of Ypres during the time of the full moon and how I reversed the polarity on the German Doomsday device sending 10,000 krauts into the null void.

It was a time of kill first and ask questions later.

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