Battle of the Bert
Jais, It was couple of years back now, when the weight of the world fell upon poor Bertmiester's shoulders. He was landed right down in the dumps, like a feckin ole dog that had been kicked out of every bar in town. There did not seem to be a single room in all of John Bulls country, where Bert could find an individual opinion or a comment that hadnt been made before. It clear seemed that everywhere he went, everyone was having the same ole conversations, in the same magnolia coloured rooms, on the same ole couches, wearing the same ole clothes. In Bert's head, this was all a really big deal.
Bert had sure seen one Ikea sofa too many. He resigned himself to the fact that there was not a goddamn thing he could do about it. Especially, being stuck in some god-awful-backwater-swallyhole be the name a Suffolk.
Bert took on the lifestyle of a recluse, reading 'Catcher In The Rye' and lying on his bed, staring up at the world map that his mammy gave him for a graduation present. "The worlds yer oyster," she said. Although, she would have said it in some mad northern Iron donkey accent, like the shouty blokes off the tele. Anyway, poor Bertykins would be looking up at this huge map of the world and shaking his head at the sheer madness of ending up in Ipswich. And to confound his woes, he'd peer from his window and view the multitude of zaney hoors, spazzing about the place with painted faces, and flags hanging from their car windaes. Girls would hit the town on the coldest of nights, wearing nothing but a bit of string held together by flab and fake tan. Jais, those girleens were stinking. It was enough to make Bert a big gay homosexual type a fella. Thank God for the internet, and its varied assortment of 'classy ladies.'
Away from this world of cyber phantasma, Bert couldnt keep feckin still, he be twistin and turnin, wrigglin and shakin all over the room, like some mad spaz being electrocuted by his own wheelchair. Bert could have won 25 gurning competitions all at once. Man, this dude was messed up right here.
It was around this time that he found his way on an internet chat room. And it was a revelation for the poor focker. Here he finally found some solace. Gabbin away with whiplash Gilmartin and a whole host of messed up hoors. Bert found a release for all his built up anger and frustration, and an outlet where he could vent his spleen.
Little did Bert know, that the forum would bring about the greatest triumph of his life to date. The Battle of the Bert.
It all started one day, when this Dutch hoor came prancing about the forum riding this wee pony. Behind him, there were an army of followers armed with chess skills and photoshop expertise. But the real challenge was laid down when the Dutch hoor reckoned he could do Bert better than Bert could do himself? An astounding claim for someone who couldn't actually speak any English!
"Fock that," thought Bert. His journey to the forum had not been an easy one, and he wasnt gonna give it up for no goddam hurdy gurdy hoorbag.
Bert set his stall out, he started by listing a whole host of Dutch cheeses that werent upto scratch. He likened gouda to dogpoo, and that the Dutch royal family were nothing but a made up tourist scam to get people to visit Holland, but when you actually get there its totally dull and shite, and all the bikes are rubbish, like from the black and white filums with vicars and old ladies!
Dutch Bert replied in Dutch, so we cant comment on what his true reaction was, but I can assure you that Bert won the battle for himself, and the Orange devils were defeated.
Hooray for Bert.
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