The Social Issues Tattler

Thursday, October 27, 2005If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.

Mailbag:

Dear Miss Tattler,
Thank you so much, the tears created by your humour are still rolling down my cheeks as I type, we the many of the Brotherhood (only Cyndy insist on being called Sister) are so pleased you were created, it has removed the lime light from us in our quest to achieve the impossible.
Thank you on behalf of,
Grandmaster Cyndy U K Div.
Grandmaster Proud Jesuslander USA and Canada
Grandmaster Luddite, Southern Hemi.
And last but far from least Grandmaster Wayne retirement section.

Yours faithfully Goast_3

The Tattler: Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. Where's the chipped beef you promised?

Mailbag:

Dear Miss Tattler
I wonder if you would be so kind as to advise Paltalkers via your wonderful journal that my Brother Rotton Ronnie needs to be in bed by 2200hrs GMT.
We all know he is to much of a gentleman to close a room Grunto style, in future could they just all leave greacefully (so as he will not notice) as he has bedroom duties to perform with his wife (eye drops) for his dog.
Yours faithfully Goast 3
p.s. If you could give his car raffle tickets a mention he will be delighted.

The Tattler: Do you chew his food?

Mailbag:

Dear Sir or Madam,
I am now assured by my Dear Paltalk friend Swan that you are a she; you will now understand my reason for calling you madam in future. With regard to your invitation to join in the pagan festival you will understand my need to decline on religious ground, ( I was excused PE at school as well) I take it French Fly's like most enjoy resting on excreta to digest what ever they may have eaten or just bitten off, then its an excellent choice for one of my nations traitors.
Yours fraternally
Goast_3

The Tattler: Do you have a job?

Mailbag:

The Tattler At Bat

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Nine sanctimonious, holier-than-thou, two-faced disingenuous, whining, cunning, deceitful, dishonest, duplicitous, insidious, left-handed, oblique, underhanded, back stabbing, bombastic bastards, that day.

The score stood Zilch to a big BITE US, with but one more game to play.
At bat the new and improved player clamed up, and the humongous followers did the same. A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game and a straggling few got up to go in deep despair.

The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
The thought, "if only The Tattler could but get a whack at that. We'd put up even money now, with Tattler at the bat."

For Social Issues Freaks preceded Tattler, as did Social Issues Glob; and the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a lark. So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy sat; for there seemed but little chance of The Tattler getting to the bat.

But the player who road in on a train wreck let drive a single, to the wonderment of all. And, another much despised and disgusting excuse for anything close to human, tore the cover off the ball.

And when the dust had lifted, and the back stabbing bastard Nine saw what had occurred, there was a player safe at second and another a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell; it rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; it pounded through on the mountain and recolied upon the flat; for Tattler, might Tattler, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Tattler's manner s he stepped into his place, there was pride in Tattler's bearing and a smile lit Tattler's face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, no stranger in the crowd could doubt t'was Tattler at the bat.

Then thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt. Five thousand tongues applauded when he smeared smut on his face.

But when the writhing Nine threw out a gauntlet from the mound instead, defiance flashed in Tattler's eye, a sneer curled Tattler's lip.

And as the gauntlet came hurtling through the air, Tattler stood a-watching it in haughtly grandeur there.

Close by the sturdy Tattler the gauntlet unheeded sped --- "That ain't my style," said Tattler.

"Strike one!" the Nine said.

From the benches, packed with minions, there went up a muffled roar, like the beating of the strom waves on a stern and distant shore.

"Kill them! Kill the Nine!" shouted patrons in the stand, and it's likely they'd have killed them had not the Tattler raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity, great Tattler's visage shone, he stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on.

He signaled to the Nine, and once more the gauntlet flew, but Tattler still ignored it, and the Nine said, "Stike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!" But one scornful look from Tattler and the audience awed.

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, and they knew that Tattler wouldn't let that gauntlet go by again.

The sneer has fled from Tattler's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate. He pounds, with cruel violence, his retaliation upon the plate.

And now the Players hold the prize, and now they let it go, and now the air is shattered by the force of Tattler's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright. The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hears are light. And, somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout, but there is no joy in PalTalkville, alas mighty Tattler struck out.

In pissing matches, all are destined to get pissed on.

Let us be entertained by the dancing monkeys who continue to play the game.

Patron of the Game

The Tattler: You're hired.

Mailbag:

Well, I guess I should be flattered to be mentioned in such AUGUST company in Tuesday's Tattler, I must confess, however, that I have no knowledge of any Robertsons in my family background, Nicholsons abound ... as do Fitzpatricks, and the occasional MacGregor, but Robertson's?? I'm afraid not. As far as inventing anything, the only thing, any of my ancestors invented was the town of Guelph Ontario, and that was more by accident than astute planning on our part. However I did say yesterday, in passing (since we were talking about tools and screws, and problems thereof) that a man NAMED Robertson had invented the Robertson screwdriver..(and that he had made his money on the screws ... not the screwdriver) and that Mr Robertson lived in Montreal. I hope this has made everything as clear as mud.

best regards
Saltspring (aka Sword of the Amish)

PS love your rag.. keep up the good work

The Tattler: Got it now! Mrs. Robertson screwed Mr Nicholson on a farm in Guelph, for nuts and bolts. Here's to you Mrs. Robertson, Jesus loves you more than you will know.God bless you, please Mrs. Robertson. Heaven holds a place for those who pray, Hey, hey, hey

Mailbag:

Dear Twatler ty for the better come back tiday I had a much better laugh than yesterday.
Do you think you could make with a bit more sparkle tomorow
Wee Alice

The Tattler: Warning! Never write emails under the influence of anesthesia. How's the hooter?

Mailbag:

I know im not in the rooms everyday but reading the tattler is JUST like me being there... here i sit drinkin my coffee before i wake up my 4 kids and put them on 3 different buses and one thing i must say i dont give out respect easily and i dont expect to earn respect easily but this is the FIRST time i respect somebody who i have never met or no clue who it is...DONT change you lay it all on the table and fukers wanna pull a chair to your table they better get ready to EAT whats served!!! even if its their own words!!! ha ha ha as usual you got my RESPECT you are always ROCK!!!

The Tattler: Mais cher, dat was de most touching ting I never did seen befo. I can't believe you stopped atin dat dar piza, possibly losin all dem crawdad toppins, to pay you respects.

Mailbag:

Hello Tattler
Luminol has really been crying, truely hurting, that he has been ignored. I should hope that you would ease his pain and report he is scoping out his ass with a mirror to see his hemoriods or how ever you spell it.

Kindest Personal Regards
Goatlove

PS true story

The Tattler: Did you ever consider he might be looking for your head up there ?

Mailbag:

Hi tattler, this is earthy brunette, I enjoy your website and visit it almost nightly to find the scoop on social issues, although I do disagree with you on crabfisherman, I personally think he is vile, but keep up the good work
earthy

The Tattler: He pays us to say those things.

Mailbag:

After reading your last issue I felt a correction was in order. Your statement to Conservative Atheist went as follow... (You'r a vile little man, who expresses your anger about your physical short comings and dating your left hand.)...Vile little man? Have you seen this guy? He's a bloated chipmunk. Vile yes...Little? Hell No. I've taken the liberty of adding his pic to my profile for your viewing pleasure.
Running Fer Cover

The Tattler: Can you put that to music?

Mailbag:

Hey Dude, Dudette, or comgination of aformentioned

Why so bitter? Did'nt you know the world is full of shitheads? Do not loose heart though, as chat rooms are shithead magnets, not a fair demographic of our society, and your taking them to task will not change them. The social consiquences of being a shithead in the real world force them into the virtual world like exlax forces, well you get the picture.
Better leaqrn to rise above or you will be in over you head, heads in the shit pile. For me, a bong and a beer works really well. Good luck, like your rag!

Goatlove

PS If fish is not a meat, what is it?

The Tattler: Fish.

Mailbag:

Just want to let you know that i really enjoy reading your site. Great twist of words, and usually right on the mark calling them as i also see them. Todays version i found especially entertaining, and spot on....
Yes, I'd have to say i'd vote for today's tattler As Best version thus far.
Keep up the good work. Please say hi to all of the decent folks on paltalk for me, and continue to rip up the assholes.

ZAKJAN (The Banned one)
The Tattler: Hello decent folks.

Mailbag:

Listen TICKLES YOU FLAMING FAG GO GET FUCKED

greeneyes

The Tattler: Excellent alliteration. You grab the reader's attention immediately with a one word command; "Listen". Then you waste no time addressing the villian by name. Very good, now you have the readers full attention. "Flaming Fag" is a wonderful use of the visual in your written words. I can see the cigarette's crimson glow as clear as a crystal in my mind. "Go" a perfect verb, and so understated and under-used by today's wordsmiths. Your finale "GET FUCKED" is magnifique. Bravo! And they say all the good writes are gone. Hemingway weeps at your simple, but elegant, words. I'm humbled in your presence.

Mailbag:

dumb ass I DID NOT BANN cc i don:t own the room Stephanie does now matter what scar hag tells you dumb fuck

greeneyes

The Tattler: Just for our own clarification, are we "a dumb ass, or, a dumb fuck"?


Quote of the day--- Ricochet Rebel: Noooogie you are the ratler? Noooogie: yes i am (We'll trade you one Driller for a Brutelogic).

Numbnuts of the day--- Conservative Atheist: rape is about stealing sex