Blue - Ray Is For The Weak

I don't like to talk about my past exploits much because not only is Old Knudsen a humble and modest person but a lot of his past is still classified and very much in play. I want to take this moment to apologise to all the families of those field agents killed and tortured due to posts I have written on this blog. On the bright side they did turn out to be highly popular posts.

I had just cum out of the Golf war, I was a caddy in the very special air service. I suffered from post traumatic stress disorder and would wake up at night screaming as the faces of those I had killed or holed in one would haunt me. Strange cos I usually shoot fuckers in the back and never see their faces , a lot safer that way.

I was approached by Alex Cunklin who was the coordinator for a black on black, wet works and landscape gardening organisation named Treadmill They spent 30 million dollars training me to be a top assassin to be skilled in every weapon and anything that can be used as a weapon. I undertook extensive training in boxing, packaging and Eskrima which is a Filipino weapons-based martial art and paper folding discipline.

My first mission was to kill Russian politician Vladimir Neski. You may have heard about it. The papers reported that he committed suicide in his Berlin hotel room by shooting himself in the back 3 times and then hung himself in his closet with his belt. Well Old Knudsen is going out on a limb here and saying it was no suicide, it was Old Knudsen himself.

Ach it haunts me but the good pay and benefits helped me get through it. Don't go feeling sorry for Old Knudsen I'm sure there are plenty of things about yer own jobs that aren't very nice like printer ink on yer fingers and hey it was a living right?

My next job was the assassination of deposed African dictator Nykwana Wambosa. I spent five days hiding aboard his luxury yacht and then one night I crept out to shoot him making it look like it was one of his own men.
As I drew a bead on Wambosa I saw he had one of his young children with him. Old Knudsen is a man of conscience and could not pull the trigger, besides Wambosa offered me 2 million dollars not to kill him.


Fuck did I get in trouble with Cunklin. They sent out several of my fellow killers to get me. Old Knudsen killed one with a Dutch oven another got it from behind with an iron set for steam press, does anyone ever iron anymore? Old Knudsen likes his trousers with creases not tram lines, a starched crease you could shave on or use as a slashing weapon. Of course I usually can't be arsed these days and yer lucky if I dress from the waste doon ........ depression you know.

Yes I improvised , killing one with a bic pen (blue) a rolled up wank mag, a used condom and a toothbrush, not my toothbrush I must add as I have rep of poor British dental hygiene to up hold though Americans and their lack of health care have probably over taken us by now.

I used my training to allow myself to be captured by local police as I cunningly lay in a drunken stupor in bed covered in the blood of a prostitute, hey I don't mind dirty sex while they are on their periods ask yer ma.

Yer a fucking crack hoor, I don't do washing so stop being picky and suck me lad.

To find out if I was a security risk Cunklin waterboarded me, then put bambo splinters up my fingers nails, then pulled off my finger nails, then made me read every blog in my links, then commented "LOL" under my name. I must say by then I was ready to tell him anything. I put my plan into action and sobbed like a baby until they let doon their guard.

I loosened one of me rotten teeth and spat it out like a bullet hitting Cunklin between the eyes killing him instantly. The chair I was tied to became a weapon and I killed my guards in a matter of seconds.

This post has gone on long enough so................... foot chase, car chase, a line of coke on a mirrored table, shoot-outs, explosions, lentils and walking away to the sound of sirens somehow having taped Cunklin calling the Queen a limey bitch and thus justifying all of my actions.

They closed Treadmill and started an new project codenamed "Blackmuff" which is the same thing just different people, you know the government. One of the many reasons I hate working for the Yanks, same smell of shite just under a different brand name.

Role end credits:

Extreme gheys are back again
Extreme places I didn't know
I broke everything new again
Everything that I'd boned
I threw it out the windows, came along
Extreme gheys I know want my bum
The colors of my pee
Perfect color me

Extreme gheys that help me
That help me out at night
Extreme places I had gone
But never seen any shite
Dirty basements, dirty boyz
Dirty places coming through
Extreme worlds alone
Did you ever like it rimmed.

I would stand in line for this
There's always room in life for piss.

Oh baby, oh baby
Then I felt a fart, felt a fart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then I felt a fart, I felt a fart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then I felt a fart, I felt a fart
Oh baby, oh baby
Like it always does, it always stains.

Extreme dealers that sold to me
They helped me down every night
I didn't have much to say
I didn't get above the light
I closed my eyes and closed myself
And closed my world and never opened
Up to anything
That could get me a bong.

I had to close down everything
I had to close down my shop
Too many things to cover me
Too much wanking can make me blind
I've seen so much in so many places
So many heartaches, so many feces
So many dirty things
You couldn't even believe

I would stand in line for this
It's always good in life for this

Oh baby, oh baby
Then I felt a fart, felt a fart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then I felt a fart, I felt a fart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then I felt a fart, I felt a fart
Oh baby, oh baby
Like it always does, it always stains.

Any resemblance to anything similar is purely coincidental, its not my fault someone ripped off my life.

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Just Who Am I ?

Me in my Vanilla sky mask, just because I cum in yer mouth doesn't mean I love you, in fact I might not even like you.

Years back I lost something very important, I lost my identity. It was a Sunday night and I had gone to bed after taking my usual almost lethal doze of alcohol and pain killers and I was dead to the world.

My then wife Rose was out on a date so I had the hoose to myself which is sometimes necessary to maintain a good marriage as we all need our space .

I had a terrible dream that I was being ripped apart by vultures then there were two disabled midgets having sex nearby , It was all very odd.
I woke up with my usual huge morning erection, I was going to see if Rose was a wake but she was busy in the bed beside me with her boyfriend so I watched.

Remember the mini series "V" ? I don't care if Diana was an alien she could swallow my hamster any day.

He was humping away and she was about to cum as she was making those monkey lips she does then all of a sudden the boyfriend turns his head to look at me and it was me.

I screamed, Rose screamed and me, er the other me told me to get out or he'd call the police.

I tried to convince Rose that I was her husband but she was fixated on the impostors giant manhood that put my huge wab to shame.

I glanced in the mirror and to my horror my face had been peeled off in the night, I grabbed some clothes, the impostor was phoning the police while wearing me cap so I legged it.

My eyes were weeping non-stop due to lack of eyelids young children screamed as they saw me and burst into tears now I knew how it felt to be a priest.

I stopped into the local nerd shop and bought a Micheal Meyers mask, I believe that's the cunt that does the Austin Powers films, if hes going to do an Ogre with a Scottish accent he had better throw in the odd F-word to make it a bit more realistic, "Go fuck ya self donkeey or I'll kick yer shite in."

Walking around with my mask on I felt like Tom Cruise in Vanilla sky but a bit taller.

I walked into the police station and told the desk officer that I was Old Knudsen and my identity had been stolen.

Those dopey fuckers didn't believe me as not only did I not look like him I wasn't wearing a cap, yep they had me there alright.

I went into the branch of my local bank which was the Trustee Savings Bank or the TSB, they had a catchphrase that went "The bank that likes to say yes!" so I'd phone them up and ask them for sexual favours but they never did say yes ever. Its funny, when I go into shops or banks the staff disappear and I always get served by the manager as I must be an important client but this time I got Rita with the tight fuzzy jumper on.

I told her my story and to look for any strange activity on my account, the fucker had ran up a £500 sex toy bill and a £100 in porno mags so that didn't look very suspicious to Rita at all then she saw it.

The creep had bought a pair of £120 Ugg boots, identity thieves can't resist the Ugg boots, no taste what so ever, she called the manager over who then questioned me about what threats I had made to him over the past 8 years and how many times had I tried to rob the place.

He then called the police who took me a bit more seriously and they matched my DNA and finger prints against the sex offenders data base, a complete misunderstanding as to why to this day I'm still in the data base as I swear she said she was 16.

We raced round to my hoose and kicked in the door, it wasn't locked but its police procedure.

The impostor was sitting in my chair drinking my beer and watching the match as Rose served him scones while she wore just a pair of crotch less edible panties (you really don't want to eat them after Rose has worn them) two officers grabbed the impostor and stood him before me, I said "now lets see who you really are" I grabbed my face and pulled it off to reveal none other than Billy one ear, no wait a minute I grabbed his face again and pulled, it was Hannibal Hector from the bookies, no wait I grabbed it again and Hannibal screamed like he was in labour (he actually voted Tory) "sorry Hanny" I said, they clapped the handcuffs on him and he said, "I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for you pesky old men."

I wasn't sure if Rose was in on it as she went missing soon after, there have been reports of her getting sold in Morocco but I don't want any publicity about it as I just want to get on with my life, the life I had to fight to reclaim.

Don't Fear The Raper.

Not again these trousers were clean on today.

The failing eyesight, liver spots and lack of bladder control are all tell tale signs of getting aging I think it all adds to my charm, here are some other things I've noticed as I get on a bit.


1)When an attractive gurl looks me up and doon with that look of lust (happens a lot) I no longer think "yep you like what you see baby" I think, " what the fuck is she looking at?"

2)You buy trousers to cover yer arse and don't care what they look like.

3)Instead of wearing cool black I have started wearing sky blue, trousers jacket and polo shirt, yep I look kewl.

4)The fact that I actually know that Anusol is better than Preparation H on the whole means I'm old.

5)It takes you only 20 seconds of talking to someone under 25 to decide that they must be retarded due to the gibberish they speak, what the fuck is a Wii and is there no cure ?

6)Having a crap is the highlight of yer day.

7)Making it to the toilet on time is a close second.

8)When it snows you don't think "Winter wonderland" and reach for yer gloves, you think about breaking yer hip on the ice and reach for a bucket of salt water for the path.

9)You think about death more and wonder about when you die will you be remembered for the man you were or for the bottle of piss found beside yer chair.

10)Farts are no longer funny, mostly because you don't notice doing them anymore until you feel the wet patch.