Of Course I Can Speak Arabic

I still have CIA clearance if anyone wants to use it for the staff discount.

Old Knudsen pretends this blog is satire in order to slag off fuckers poke gentle fun at people and to leak classified secrets in the hopes that you sheeple will wake up and see that airplane fuel doesn't melt steel beams and that Trump is werking for the Hillary campaign. Oh and that the Jews run everything except Christmas and the EU which is run by the Illuminati obviously. 

A few years back Old Knudsen was in Callyfornia working in hangar 42 at Edward's air force base. Hangar 42 doesn't exist, that's a clever rouse because it was really Hangar 37 which is very top secret, tremendously top secret almost definitely a total secret. It doesn't even have a number painted onto it.

Aye the taxi drivers that took me to werk kept getting lost, well what could you expect they were mostly immigrants from some Middle eastern cuntry or something. You'd think they'd never seen airplanes the way they kept taking pictures of everything.

Anyways I was never there teaching Arabic to Navy SEAL's and other people that had an interest in learning to speak sand savage.
I really couldn't speak Arabic but I had put it on my resume and wasn't going to let those fuckers make me back down so I had to see it through. Who hasn't been there?

It's amazing how clueless westerners are with Arabic I was rattling off all sorts of shite and they were rushing to write it all down. Alect ha ba shake n vac .....  means I am not a western spy.

I went on a bender that lasted hours. 

It was there I got news of my father's passing and this time it wasn't the family boasting about him passing large Elvis like bowel movements. I got an e-mail from my evil older brother Lars.

Cause of death was aeronautic asphyxiation. He was test piloting a new jet fighter for the ministry of defense with a belt around while having a danger wank, he must have jerked off his joystick as he smashed into the ground in a ball of fire near Bromley.

That was the cause of death. My job was too important to leave for the funeral which was held in a pub since he had already been cremated in the wreck and his ashes blown out to sea by tropical storm Tommy. No fuss and barely any effort, he would have wanted that.

I just did an e-mail to me family and put CC on it so everyone would get it. I said 'Sorry for yer loss, move on. Best Wishes Soren.'   

Yeah I poured my heart out and since only two of my family can even use a computer it didn't reach a wide audience.

The replies I got was 'who are you?' and 'what? .... why are you e-mailing me you cunt? Best Wishes Lars.'

I accepted the e-mail of course though wondered why they'd let a 304 year-old that drove doon the middle of the road in his car into a 22 million pound jet and who the fuck gave him a belt? He wasn't allowed shoe laces and nearly hanged himself with his neck tie at one of my weddings. Clumsy, not suicidal. Me Ma had to get vertical window blinds cos he kept getting trapped in the venetian blinds.

I just got werd from an old asset that the whole test pilot thing was a massive and very clever cover up and now I suspect that SG-19 had Da Knudsen killed because he knew too much. Lars didn't even bother to e-mail me when Da died hence his confusion, I thought it was the crack.

It's true, Da Knudsen did know a lot, he could have won Jeopardy or Mastermind. Now Old Knudsen has to hunt down and kill those responsible .... ah fuck it, I'll just have a few jelly doughnuts.   

None of those I taught Arabic to seemed to have paid any attention as they are all dead now, what a bunch of losers.  


As the Ragheads say "Allo acklebar" which means loosely translated means 'fuck you paleface.'
   

Brussels Sprouts Are The Devil's Testicles

When I was young I didn't like certain foods like cauliflower and cabbage but since I wasn't doing the cooking they were forced upon me. As time went on I realised I kinda liked them more and have cooked them often.

For some reason at Christmas me Ma would always insist on cooking Brussels sprouts with the turkey, stuffing, roast and mashed potatoes, boiled carrots and gravy that was our traditional Christmas dinner ... I also preferred chicken to turkey and why the fuck would I want to eat turkey which I didn't like for a week afterwards? 

Thanks for the food issues Ma. I did like her stuffing though and have never been able to replicate it. I always had to remind her that it was just Lars and not me that didn't like the stuffing ... every year. Thanks for the siblings issues Ma for always remembering his likes, dislikes and his name. If I had a penny for every time me parents went to call me but started with my brother's name so I'd be called Laren, ach I'd be rich.   

NEVER have my tastes changed for me to like Brussels sprouts, I ate a couple to stop her nagging as if the world would end and that I'd spoil everyone's Christmas if I didn't eat them. 

So on the basis that I can never like Brussels sprouts, the taste or even the smell I have concluded that they are evil. More evil that Satan himself, he hates the things too. 

Coffee too ... I'd rather smell sewers and drink bilge water. 

When we didn't have pumpkins back in the day me Da would carve turnips for Halloween which was traditional in our village if you wanted to keep the boogies away but that meant me Ma cooked up the innards ... Turnips also go onto the list of things you shouldn't class as consumables. 

I know that some of you may like Brussels sprouts, coffee and maybe even turnips but all that means is that A) you are wrong, and  B) you are a very bad person. 

Enjoy!   

    

Bleeding Radiators

Let me tell you a little about my oldest brother Lars, me being the youngest would always find myself having to fend him and my other brother Gustave off. Gustave just went along with Lars for fear of getting picked on himself .

Everyday Lars would make some remark about how stupid I was or that you could do a connect the dots with my acne and I had a big nose. He was 12 years older than me and should have known better. The sarcastic comments and the pummeling I'd get everyday just made me fight back and soon not only could I fight but I could cut people doon with cruel sarcastic wit, poor Gustave was easy to get to but Lars it just rolled off his back.

Gustave being 5 years older than me moved out when he could leaving me and Lars with our parents. Lars was comfortable where he was and our mother would wait on him hand and foot.

The comments to put me doon still went on. I'd walk into the living room and wait, within 5 minutes Lars would say something at my expense. I always gave him the chance to stop by never starting it . One time he went too far and before I new it my fist had connected with his jaw sending him flying backwards onto a curio cabinet, our mother was soon in between us but he was a bully a coward and like most of that kind didn't want to fight back and just acted big.

Lars was 37 before he moved out, he bought a hoose 10 miles away and only then did we start to get on somewhat. He was in the Navy reserve and would come home now and again to get Ma to iron his uniform and make his tea while he had a bath using up all the hot water.

Several things happened for us to name Lars "Unfortunate Lars" he came home one night in his car and was probably drunk and rear ended a lamp post putting its light out, my Ma heard about it the next day when a neighbour just happened to mention that the light was broken, the neighbour didn't say how it was broken but she knew what happened, Lars never acknowledged it.
Another time was when Lars totaled a rental car when he fell asleep at the wheel and was then found to be over the drink limit. This time shook Lars up a bit and he stopped drinking.

Lars was useless with the weemen, he did live with a gurl once and even got engaged to her. Her hoose was getting renovated so she moved in with Lars, it must have been a whirlwind romance I guess, when the gurl's hoose was finished she moved back out thus ending the engagement, that was the only gurlfriend I ever saw him with.

Lars' kitchen went on fire went he left the chip pan on, gutting the whole room and while at work he slipped off a scaffold and broke his arm, the thing never healed right and he was in and out of hospital for two years, its still not right today. Ah poor unfortunate Lars. Its funny but throughout my life it seems that anyone who pisses me off gets strange bouts of bad luck. Losing jobs, losing loved ones and even getting cancer up the bung hole and losing themselves, its like my guardian angel used to be in the Mafia or something.

Lars did mellow out a bit, the last time I saw him was one Christmas at the family home when he was about 48. I walked into the room without saying a word, I could see by the look on his face he was trying to come up with something witty and scolding that would put me doon and at the same time amuse the others in the room and sure enough he did. I took the high road and rather than I get into it and rip him apart in front of the family I walked out of the room, his laughter still filled my ears but I felt good because I could control myself and not react the ways others wanted me too. I was better than him.

The last words Lars said to me were sarcastic. That same Christmas I was talking about bleeding the air out of radiators to get them to heat up better. Lars being older and obviously wiser said you didn't do that and I was stupid, he always made sure he had an audience, my parents and other siblings made a good one as they never joined in with the topic and only added laughter (maybe that's why I hate neutrality and appeasers) . I explained to Lars how to do it and how I've done it but no he had decided it was all untrue and that I knew nothing (I get that a lot) yet again I left the room. I didn't want to argue with a moron over something I knew and he didn't, where is the fun in that ? the last words Lars said to me was, "go bleed yer radiator" as I walked out.

I have not seen Lars since and I don't actually miss him. I never hated him I was quite indifferent towards him I just wondered why he hated me so much and kept coming after me . I worked it out to be that he was the first born and was jealous of me, he was never threatened by Gustave but was by me as our parents went easier on me because after 5 kids you tend to be more slack on the last ones and he took this as loving me more.

Lars wanted his mummy all to himself and to be the centre of attention, sad but true, so putting me doon and making me look bad was his way of making himself feel better. I still don't hate Lars and I really won't mind if I never see him again, he can have his mummy I just know she talks about me all the time anyway.

Lars taught me that I hated bullies and though I was turning into him as a matter of survival in the hoosehold I knew I didn't want to turn out twisted and rotten inside as he was so I knew what not to do. To this day the Lars in me comes out when I'm stressed or depressed but as long as I remember empathy and who I really am Lars will never win because as I said before "I am better than him."

A couple of years ago I found a passage in a book about bleeding radiators, I copied it and sent it to my parents and yes I did feel vindicated.