Tuesday, May 31, 2005


Star Wars: yawny yawny cunt cunt

I have never watched a star wars film, I was too young when it came out at the cinema, and too old when it came out on video, and I am a bird. Women who like science fiction are not normal, or they might be pretending to like it, to get a ride. Whatever, I hate science, and pretend science sounds like the end of a dog's cock. Science fiction, well you could say it is not really my thing. Space is just that isn't it? A space And aliens, I am not interested in them. If there is life in the sky, well bollocks to it.

Worse than star wars and science fiction dullness, worse still are people who say "Oh I really, really hate star wars, look at me with my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears going lalalalala while the thing is on because I am so hateful of it". Fuck off you people. It is just a boring kids film with people who have too much hair or wrinkles or wear a lot of metal, with weird ears. It is not a terrible thing, and Star Wars fans do not poke it down the throat that much really, as it is a bit gay to go on about pretend things in space. And what about those ones that dress up like the characters? They are quite entertaining to look at really, and quite odd. It livens things up having people in costume around being weirdos.

Much worse than people going on about loving or hating "star wars" are the stars themselves. I do not like stars at all, the big gaseous bastards exploding and showering the metorites. And I hate people who go out in the garden and look at stars and start that bollocks "oh man, we are just such a tiny part of a huge universe", they make me want to shit.


James Hargreaves Is His Own Mum's Cunt

We have had, over recent days, a new contributer ( if you can call his brainless sarcasm a contribution) and frankly he is the world's biggest cunt. Here are some snippets from the cuntmeister:
"You silly cunts! Write something funny and I might deign to patronise your pathetic commentry again."

"Still at it aren't you? Haven't you lot got something else to do, like a college assignment to finish or something?I knew that this blog was not only authored by a cunt, but read by cunts too, when the subject under discussion was the hilarious subject of free range eggs. Hahaha!Hey, keep up the good work Ball Bag. It's really funny!"

"Al-hamdu L-illah! Hahaha! Brilliant!"

So he said if we write something funny he would comment again. Then he comments again telling us we are 'funny' and 'brilliant'. Do you think he means it? I am confused, I think he might be being sarcastic. It's hard to tell isn't it?

I used to say the opposite of what I thought when I was younger, in the same way that Cunt Cuntgreaves does, but I stopped when my balls dropped because I thought it was a bit childish.

He also seems to think that Noreen and I are the same person, I wonder why. He seems confused about sexuality, the poor boy.

By the way, his expert psychological analysis has me pegged as 'middle class' with an 'above average job'. Well, I suppose I am middle class, but Noreen isn't, she is a proper toff. And I don't have an 'above average job' I'm afraid, so his psychological skills seem to be a bit off, the dirty great cocksucker.
Ball Bag

Monday, May 30, 2005


Al-hamdu L-illah

Praise the lord that I live in a muslim country!Despite having to put my mini skirts in mothballs and tone down my public drunkenness, I love it here. Do you know why? It is not the gopping food. It is not the gentlemen ogling and touching. It is not even the limbless beggars hassling. It is the weather.

The thing about the weather in this nice, warm, muslim country is that the men do not take their shirts off, because that would be terribly frowned upon. How very fucking sad. boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo.
This time last year, I lived in London, and the weather was up and down. When the sun came out, off came the men's shirts, and everywhere were fat, wobbling, man- breasts, pierced nipples, nasty tattoos in foreign languages or those awful barbed wire ones, gay, shaved and st tropez tanned six packs and you could see the elastic of the mens knickers because they were all wearing those poo catcher trousers with no belt. There is no need for it, it is never so hot in London that you need no clothes on, and don't give me that "oh they just are being all free and easy" because they are not, these shirtless wankers think they look great and they are nearly all minging old Barrys, who reek of horrible cheap body sprays and have dye in their hair.

The men here will pinch your arse, and follow you around saying filthy things or even get their lads out and press them against you, but at least they are dressed.

Sunday, May 29, 2005


What the fuck is a bagel?

I hate New York things, and the way people go on about the place, like it is some kind of a cultural hub. Fuck off with it, it is a real load of shite.
There is a lot made of having breakfast there, out in some restaurant. People go out and meet friends at breakfast time, that is how pushy they are. Fuck that. I like a nice fry in the greasy spoon as much as anyone, but I like it alone, and behind a tabloid, not done up to the fucking nines eating only the white of the egg, with a hoard of screeching dogs in Prada. No thank you.

Bread is an essential part of the breakfast, and I am a bastard for a piece of fried bread or two, and maybe a few bits of white toast to have marmalade on afterwards. In New York they do not have bread, they only have these round things which look like arseholes, called bagels. "Oh, that is a roll", you'll be thinking. It is not a fucking roll, it is a roll with a hole in it, which means that whatever you put in it sort of pokes out of the hole. The worst thing about bagels is that they are so dense. Really, really dense. I found out why the bagel is so dense, it is because it is not cooked in the oven like normal sane bread, you have to boil it first and then bake it. For fuck's sake! Making bread is tedious enough, all the kneading and leaving it and kneading it and hiding it under a towel. Why would you want to make it even more complicated! Boiling bread is the work of a lunatic, and when all you get is this really heavy thing that you could chew all day, I don't fucking get it at all. What a waste of time. And don't give me that "Well, you could buy the bagels, there is no need to be boiling away there in the kitchen" Yes I know that. But someone has been boiling it, and that is it, isn't it.

What makes me most fucking livid, is that people make out bagels are so fanstastic. "Ooh a bagel, I love them". Well I hate them. Bread should be sliced, or a roll not a fucking lead doughnut. Fucking boiled bread, fuck off.

Friday, May 27, 2005


He doesn't need a fucking lawyer

Arguments are boring. There is no real point in sitting around saying the opposite to the person you are talking to. The best way to disagree with someone is to say "You are wrong. Fuck off", and then go off for a walk or watch the telly.

I really despise people who say "Let me play devil's advocate for a minute" , they are Hell's own cunts. All they ever do is say the exact opposite to you, which is not very hard. Being a devil's advocate is supposed to be mighty clever, because the word "advocate" makes you think the person has financially crippled his whole family by spending years and years at Bar school and doing pupilages and buying wigs made of horse. Not true. Devil's advocates are just jumped up cunts who are too scared to commit themselves to a personal opinion, they have had no formal training and are not members of a society or some type of an Inn.

Anyway, the Devil would not need a lawyer would he? Unless he were on some kind of a mission to clear his name, and if he were, he would not ask Jim fucking Briggs or some other mediocre cunt to be his lawyer, he would go out there and get a QC

Thursday, May 26, 2005


Free Range Eggs Are Pure Shite

Only cunts buy free range eggs. Do they not realise that whenever they buy cakes/mayonnaise/anything else containing eggs, the manufacturer is not going to use free range eggs because they cost more? And yet when they buy a box of eggs it simply has to be free range. Stupid fuckers.

And anyone who says that free range eggs taste better is talking utter bollocks. If anything they taste fucking worse. Think about it: free range chickens have to runabout and peck the ground and move their heads backwards and forwards AND lay eggs. The battery chicken can simply crouch in their tiny cage in the dark and concentrate solely on laying eggs. They are bound to taste better, they are laid by professional layers concentrating entirely on their job.

So avoid being a cunt and buy normal eggs. You know it makes sense.
Ball Bag

Tuesday, May 24, 2005


Why would you call it that? Jesus Christ!

Yesterday I was in that mood where you want to watch a film. For someone with a very low attention span, this is a rare occurence, and to keep me interested there must normally be some stuff going on there. I love a disaster, when they need to land the plane, or the boat goes upside down, and I like porn films too, they are great.

Anyway, I wish those fuckers who make films would give them a title which made a bit of sense. I watched "boxing Helena" last night. God's bollocks it was the most almighty old shite ever put on a video tape. I thought it was going to be about a woman boxer, and you can see how I got to that thought: Helena is a woman and she likes boxing. Right? Wrong.Do you know what it was about? It was about a woman having bits of her cut off so she would fit in a box by this one who loved her. What a weirdo. It was not even properly violent, there wasn't a lot of blood or the spare limbs sitting about going off, it was all a psychological load of invisible nonsense. A terrible, terrible film. Then I watched this french one called "the piano teacher", which again you would think would be about a man or a woman who taught the piano. Instead it was about a woman who cut at her minge with knives, because she enjoyed it, and then she had an argument with some people and she taught the piano a bit and then she just went out and crossed the road and that was the end of the film. Fucking french film making bastards, that was another wacko one. At least the title had something to do with a small bit of the film, although it would be better to call it "piano teacher who cuts her minge with knives" and the other one which was not about boxing, they should call that "A man who cuts his girlfriend up so she will fit in a box".

Monday, May 23, 2005


This Is Not The Best Chip Shop In The Country

Have you ever noticed how most people believe that their local chip shop does the best chips? "Oh, I must take you to our local chip shop," someone said to me the other day "It does the best chips in Ireland." I sighed wearily, but went along anyway to eat what were supposed to be the best chips in the country. "Pretty good, huh?" he asked as I chewed on a half cooked sliver of potato and looked sadly at my limp battered sausage. "Great" I replied as I stuffed my chips, wrapped in their paper, down his stupid, idiot throat. Best chips in Ireland? Fucking bollocks, more like.
Ball Bag


Get yourself a cloak, man

The king of Afghanistan seems like a pleasant man, all forgiving and large hearted and he has a marvellous hat.
So why, why does he insist on wearing his coat without his arms in the sleeves? I know he has arms, I have seen them, before any of you gayers go on about "Ooh he is disabled, the man has no arms that is why" Fuck off. He has arms, alright? What he does not have is arms in his coat.

I can't argue "he will not feel the benefit wearing his coat like that" because, he has it on and even done up, and anyway it is probably quite hot in Afghanistan, so he would not have to worry about heat. What I can argue is that he is a fucking king, so if he wants a coat with no arms, he could get a servant to make one. It looks weird with the arms hanging all empty there, and reminds me of a man I sat next to on the tube who did not have his arms in, and the reason was, because he was playing with his parts inside the coat. I do not think that King Khazi, or whatever his name is, is having a fiddle with himself, although he could if he wanted because kings can do anything can they not? I just think he looks really gay with his arms not in, that is all.
I have just realised he is not a king at all, just some pleb interregnum thing. Not that it really matters, he doesn't have the excuse of being inbred and therefore too stupid to dress himself, but then he is not a king, so he can't throw his weight around as much. I don't care about that, he needs to put his fucking arms in his coat. Put them in, or people will think you are in a burkha you big gaylord!

Saturday, May 21, 2005


Aren't mules great!

I love horses, they are good to ride on and great to bet on. Donkeys are pretty good too, they can carry a lot of bricks. Best of all those things like a horse is the mule. There is a mule down the road from me and it looks exactly like a horse. However, it does not do gay neighing, it makes a hee haw sound just like a donkey.

Do you know what the most outstanding thing about a mule is though? No one will eat it. People eat horses and donkeys, the dirty bastards, but they do not eat mules. Even the french and chinese do not eat them, and they will eat anything as long as it is not metal

Friday, May 20, 2005


I hate having my photo taken

I have nothing against photographs, in fact, I rather like looking at them. From "scenery" to hilariously wacky football teams chucking themselves about, I am not all that fussy. There are people who roll the eyes if someone brings out an album or gets the holiday snaps out. Not me! It is like going to the zoo, I fucking love it, even pictures of people's relatives I have never and will never meet, I will look at them all.

However, if you try and take a photo of me that is a really different matter. I bloody hate it. I know you will be thinking "that is because she is a real old minger" well, I am not a minger, I just hate photographs. I go all stiff like a great lummox and I have this face on like I am about to spit, because guess what? If you take my picture, I will spit at you. I mean it

And what about those women who really are mingers and then they go off to a studio and get themselves done right up like a thousand dogs dinners and there they are, lying almost stark naked under a sateen sheet, and the picture comes out in black and white, with an effect like it is really an oil painting? What are they thinking of? They still look like mingers, noone is fooled, they just look like mingers who have tried their very, very hardest but with all the will in the world they are still mingers' mingers. A man stopped me in the supermarket one day and offered me a free day doing that mingers minger thing, like it was some kind of a treat. I stared at him and then I did a bad thing. I burst into tears (not real ones) and said "You think I am fat, don't you. I can tell, you think I am ugly and fat, you will put vaseline on the lens and then you will have a before and an after photo to show how you can make the silks purse". I kept that up for ages until the stupid camera waggler fucked off. Cheeky fucking bastard.

Noreen is right!
She is absolutely right about those silly whores who get that stupid photo thing done. A friend of mine's current wife got it done a few years back and insists on displaying the bloody photo on the fireplace. My friend is always trying to hide it in drawers and things, but she gets it back out and gives it pride of place again. She looks fucking ridiculous, the photo is all in soft focus, she is wrapped in a sheet and a fur scarf thing (what are they called?) and she is looking up to disguise the old double chin. Pathetic.

As for having my photo taken, I don't really like it either, but as someone in the public eye it is something I have had to get used to. I am really quite famous, you know.
Ball Bag

Wednesday, May 18, 2005


I Am So Fucking Angry

A friend of mine works for a recruitment company and e-mails me any wierd CVs he is sent. He recently sent me one from a woman who listed among things she enjoyed 'dancing in the rain'. Dancing in the fucking rain! There are so many things about that which make me furious, I can't even begin to articulate them. Dancing in the cunting rain! Can you imagine what a dreadful woman she must be?

My friend wisely did not send me her address, knowing that I would want to hunt her down and slit her fucking nostrils, the silly fucking whore. Dancing in the rain. Christ on a fucking stick.
Ball Bag

Ball Bag is Right!

No sane employer in the UK or Ireland would dream of employing someone like that. Every time the heavens opened the silly bitch would be out in the car park dancing like a mental chimp or that thin one on american televisionwho dances and sees visions. It would waste the man hours. Anyway, women only say that thing about dancing in the rain because they think it makes them look sexual and men will want to fuck them. WRONG. No man likes a bedraggled woman with St Vitus Dance, they just think it is weird. Simply put "fellatio" under hobbies, that gets the message across nicely.


What The Fuck Is Yoghurt?

I hate yoghurt. What is it even fucking made from, eggs or something? Flavoured yoghurts are bad enough, but plain yoghurt is just foul. I have heard that yoghurt is supposed to cure an itchy cunt, is that right? And if so, do you rub it on your itchy cunt or just eat it? Noreen will know, she is very knowledgable about gynecological matters. She also made the very valid point that yoghurt looks like horse jizz (she watches some very odd films and would know about horse jizz).

I would prefer a pot of horse jizz to a pot of yoghurt though. A pot of jizz from a Derby winner could fetch about £30,000, so sell it to a stud farm, but DO NOT EAT IT! You dirty bastards.
Ball Bag

Tuesday, May 17, 2005


Men. They should not be allowed to write girls books. Nor should girls.

Men should write books about wars and fighting and gangs and maybe utopian theory. If they try and write "sensitive" literature all about feelings and gay things like that, they should have their hands chopped off. If they write about music, football or any other boring hobbies and especially if they then try and be all sensitive about it, they should be shot through the arsehole.
Women who write chicklit ought to be sterilised, but as they are so very fucking boring and self obsessed, they are too busy worrying about their weight and whether or not that is Mr Right there at the bus stop, to actually shag anyone, so they will die out eventually.

Monday, May 16, 2005


Grow up, you stupid bitches

Wizards can fuck off. So can public schools. So, therefore, you might think I would have a real down on those fucking interminable Harry Potter books and all the films and knick knacks that go along with them.

I think Harry Potter is alright if you are a child. Despite the gay references to "quidditch" , the psuedo poshness and really appallingly mangled latin, kids like it.

I would not dream of telling children what to read, after all I read some ripe old shite when I was a kid, including Doctor Doolittle and Little Black Sambo which were astonishingly racist. No, it is only fair that children should be allowed to read rubbish, it is good for them.

However, if you are over fourteen and I catch you reading a Harry Potter book, I will take the book and rip each page out one by one and then I will make each of the pages into a tube, and then I will get a billhook and make lots of holes in your skin and insert the quill-like Harry Potter leaf into the hole until the final effect is of a Humanus Porcupinus

Note to women: It is NOT cute and attractive to read childrens books or to go on about them, it makes you look desperate and mental. Men will not want to gather you in their arms and protect you, they will call a doctor and get you sectioned

Sunday, May 15, 2005


Message to Hu Jin Tao

You can't ride two horses with only one arse

Wednesday, May 11, 2005


Think about the children and enormous cocks

I really cannot bear hypochondriacs, people who sneeze and they have flu or who are always “coming down” with something. I wish they were actually ill so they would die, the moaning bastards.

But what if their constant going on about being at death’s door is really a cry for help, because, actually, they want,to be dead? Well, I can help them out there, the fucking time wasters. Jesus Christ!

What annoys me most about the miserable cunts is not their sympathy soliciting, it is the amount of chalk they get through. All those fake pills they get given do not come out of thin air, do they? They are made of chalk which comes out of the ground. They should think about future generations, those self-obsessed weaklings. If the hypochondriacs use up all the chalk on their vitamins and mineral tablets and other placebos, then there will be no White Horses on the hills of Wiltshire, or that man with the enormous cock in Dorset. History would be eroded, all because of a few uptight pill-popping selfish fuckers.
I would like to die on a Sunday, before songs of praise. That is all

Monday, May 09, 2005


I don't think you are my father daddy-O

I really like rap music, except for that anaemic twit who lives in a mobile home, the rest of them are marvellous. I love fifty cent, he is obsessed with shagging and the other one with the women on a lead, he is just great. They are no oil paintings, this is true, but I just like all the swearing and sexual references and the talk about champagne and violence.
My only criticism is some of the words they use. Quite often when Fiddy is in his crib with a Ho he says "come to daddy" and "let daddy make you moan". I am not any sort of a prude but really this sounds like incest. I am not saying that these men are doing it with their children, just it is easy to get confused, and you could be there dialling away for the NSPCC when in fact it is just some large gangster banging some old slapper. They should make it more clear.

And the other thing which is very confusing is the way they call their girlfriends "shorty". Are they all midgets? I would be very displeased if some rich feller with designs started calling me shorty, I am five feet eight and a half for fucks sake! That is not short at all, so in my case, would the man call me "tally". He had better fucking not, that is all I am saying, he will have to watch out, that one. There is no need at all for those kind of personal observations what is wrong with "darling" or "love", christ on a stick!

Sunday, May 08, 2005


I hate middle class people

I really hate middle class people they are just the most boring, tedious, smug wankers in the whole, enormous world. Dinner parties are just the fucking end of a dog's cock, and middle class people will fuss around trying to upstage each other with exotic recipes and the women will go out and buy a new outfit, from some horrible boring shop like Boden, and get done up to the fucking nines, just to go and sit in someone elses house. Then they will spend hours talking about education, which is arguably the most dreadful subject of conversation in the world ever. Most of these middle class people have been to those universities like Durham or Exeter which are not as good as Oxford and Cambridge but sort of pretend to be the same as them, and so they will not miss an opportunity to prove how intelligent they are, poking their slightly larger than average brains down everyones throat the whole time which is just appallingly dull. Or they might talk about houses or even whichever miserable book they have just finished reading which was recommended to them by The Times. If they fancy themselves as being a bit of an old rake, maybe the men will quote some bits of Monty Python or the other one about Jesus, and laugh in a snorting way at each other. I would far, far rather be at the dog track or the bingo or Poundland, or in a castle or playing polo, which, as I can play snooker and ride a horse, I reckon I would be able to do just like that.

Someone should get hold of that really cloudy organic apple juice they all drink and put a nerve toxin in it, then they would all die out, and noone would ever have to get dressed up in mediumly expensive clothes and sit in someone elses garden talking about wine and sun dried tomatoes and private schools ever again. That would be nice.

Friday, May 06, 2005


Gutted? You Fucking Will Be.

There is now no acceptable way in England to express disappointment other than to claim you are 'gutted'. Your football team loses, you are gutted, your Granny dies, you are gutted, your house burns down, you are fucking gutted. I hate people who say they are gutted. Nobody uses any word for disappointed except gutted, there are loads of other words: aghast, balked, cast down, chapfallen, complaining, defeated, depressed, despondent, disconcerted, discontented, discouraged, disenchanted, disgruntled, disillusioned, dissatisfied, distressed, down, downhearted, foiled, frustrated, hopeless, let down, objecting, shot down, taken down, thwarted, unhappy, unsatisfied, upset, vanquished, worsted and fucked off.

If this trend continues the English language will consist of a few hundred words. I now carry around a large bailing hook so that if anyone uses the word gutted I will ensure that they literally are. It is the only way to save the English language; natural selection, see?
Ball Bag

Ball Bag is right!

The other thing I loathe is when people say "gobsmacked" instead of "surprised". My expectations are lower than Ball Bag's. I don't expect a different synonym each time something remarkable happens. I just want people not to say "Gobsmacked". Do you know who invented the word "gobsmacked?" Cilla fucking Black, television's ginger, singing, matchmaking, comedy scouser. I would not smack the surpsied gobsmacked people in the gob though, to make my point, I think I would take a piece of string and force feed it to them until it eventually appeared out of their backsides. Then I would take each end of the string and floss the bastards

Thursday, May 05, 2005


Why would you want to do that? Christ on a stick!

One day when I was about twelve, my grandmother caught me watching Russel Grant, this great fat astrologer, going on about what was going to happen that day. She was very furious and got out her rosary beads. "What a wicked man he is" she said "And so large". She was right.
Now I am interested in a different aspect of the occult, and it is this thing on the telly which goes on for fucking days and days wher a team of people go around in the dark screaming at balls of light and people muttering. It is a load of old monkey shite, except for this absolute fraud called Derek who has a special dead friend called Sam. This Derek will go into a room and start giving a spiel about some old historical figure or other who is haunting it and then he will break off and say "what did you say, Sam?" as if there really is a dead person there talking to him. The first time I saw it I thought he was taking the piss, the second time I laughed until my stomach felt like Russel grant had been sitting on it and the third time I was a bit more serious and I said to the old man "this is not right, will I write a letter? I like a laugh at the afflicted as much as everyone else but this is bordering on the cruel".
They always have really terrible names these occult-dabblers. Russel is not even a name it is a verb and fuck on earth knows what Derek means but it can't be good. That is probably why they have to be friends with the dead as the living would not want to go near them the mumbling screaming fuckers.
And, if Occult means "hidden" why is it always on the fucking television,? There is usually someone or other having a great flid-out and screaming while someone "uses their body", just all hours of the day and night. It does not matter whichever fucking channel you watch even those boring news ones there will be these oddballs crawling around in the dark. They need some fresh air and a sharp kick in the spleen, the fucking weirdos.

Roger and Lancelot are magnificent names. That is all

Wednesday, May 04, 2005


Stick Jesus Up Your Fucking Arse

‘Do you read the bible?’ asked the man at my door yesterday. ‘Do you want to fuck off?’ I replied. He then began to read a passage of the bible to me, the wanker. I told him that it wasn’t a convenient time for him to try to alter my fundamental beliefs on my doorstep, and I asked for his address so I could call round to his house at a more convenient time for me. He wouldn’t tell me, and he was right not to.

I would have called round at 3am and thrown a big stone through his window wrapped in a picture of The Virgin Mary sucking Jesus’ cock. I don’t know where I would have got a picture like that, I might have had to draw one, but I am not a talented artist, but it doesn’t matter anyway because he wouldn’t tell me where he lived, the fucking cunt.
Ball Bag

Tuesday, May 03, 2005


3/4 Length Trousers? Make Your Mind Up, You Gay

Three quarter length trousers are for cunts. Either wear shorts, or wear long trousers, just make your fucking mind up and pick one, don't go for something in between. I have seen grown men wearing these things, and why is it that they usually have sunglasses on top of their head? They could take them off and put them in one of the many, many pockets these so-called trousers have, not wear them like a fucking hair band, the arseholes.

So, to sum up, three quarter length trousers are gay, and wearing sunglasses on top of your head is for wankers.
Ball Bag

Monday, May 02, 2005


Do me a fucking favour

I met someone at the weekend, who had two first names. Not a first name and a second name, (for instance I am Noreen Assumpta), but a double barrelled first name. I have known a few people with the odd habit of having more names than you need. I do not understand it at all.

I got in a right old pickle because I was introduced to this one with the excess name and her friend, so the man says to me “this is Sarah-Louise and Michaela”. There were only two people there so I was thinking “which one is Michaela then, because I can see Sarah and Louise. Maybe one of them is as mad as a horse and has the imaginary friend, poor thing.” It was lucky that I kept the old yap closed as it happened the first one was called both Sarah and Louise.

Why? Why would you want two names? It makes you look like you have indecisive parents, or maybe you are really, really overpowering, so one name is not adequate, you need two like that one Dr Jekyll. Two names, for fuck’s sake, when will it all stop? People will get more and more names and then those poor bastard teachers will spend all day doing the register and noone will learn anything so everyone will become illiterate, and then we will all regress and get back into the caves and go back to calling each other “Og”.

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