Just realised...

English: Pope Francis.

Spanish (his native tongue): Papa Francisco

Now, Francisco can be shortened. In English, he becomes Frank. In Spanish he becomes Paco

Papa Paco? He either sounds like a fart going off or a company that makes party supplies.

The only way it could have been better if if he'd gone for Joseph. In Spanish, Pope Joe is Papa Pepe which sounds like a nursery class singing the Windows starting tune.

NotBert wrote:
Papa Paco? He either sounds like a fart going off or a company that makes party supplies.

Fuck me, I was feeling whimsical that day...

This was a "Just realised" from earlier today.

I was walking along the road earlier and I saw a bee on the floor seemingly rolling about with some morsel or other. It looked a bit strange so I stopped to see WTF was going on. As the situation developed over a couple of seconds, this fucking huge bumble bee separated itself from... two smaller bees. One flew off, the other stayed there on the floor and the big one stayed as well an inch or two away.

I moved on and thought WTF have I just witnessed? And as I thought it through I came upon this nugget; in the animal world, if there were a giant balance scale and on one side you put all the insects and on the other, everything else, the insects would be heavier; and from this, in the insect world, the female is generally larger than the male.

Armed with this, I came to two conclusions
(i) I had just witnessed a bee mugging. Two teenage gangsta bees had piled on to this woman on her way back from the Post Office with her pension or family allowance (I couldn't put a bee age to her) and had off her pollen sacs. The first one flew off with the goods, the second was either wounded, had a bit of social conscience and was checking Maureen (yes, I put a name on her in this scenario) wasn't hurt before nicking off either, or was warning her to tell no-one while brandishing a bee knife at her, the sting-y little cunt.
(ii) The more likely one was I'd just witnessed a bee's "Devil's threesome" and either the dirty fuckers had decided just to get it on in plain sight and hang the consequences or it was a planned show where a bee husband and wife had invited a young buck in to spice it up. The way they were rolling round when I noticed them suggests to me this second option is more likely. Also, the one who flew off would be the extra cock and flew off when done, leaving a glowing husband and wife to sit on the pavement and say that was fucking AWESOME and then fuck again later on.

As a result, I now feel that I have inadvertently been roped in as a lookie-lou and feel a bit used. I also feel a bit violated by having to watch their dirty bee sex shenanigans. Consequently, as I felt used and violated, I got a bit turned on and teased out some white honey of my own.

      

I was on a bus earlier and a woman who got on at the same time as me suddenly, as we got to the town centre, started a coughing that sounded like a seal being dropped down a mine shaft while protesting its innocence. Well, it was like a fucking cue - someone at the back started coughing, then front left, then two rows behind them. Do you mind, I'm trying to read here?

Just realised that rather than being people coughing, they were in fact a cabal of spies who were secretly communicating. I love a thriller and have been scouring the news all day for coups and assassinations. I got so excited in the consideration that I had to tease out a little encrypted "message" of my own.

Brilliant Bert    

Today was a bit of a fun day once you got your curiosity piqued early on by a bee menage...  

NotBert wrote:coughing that sounded like a seal being dropped down a mine shaft while protesting its innocence

  

...what a dirty shower of bastards the Victorians were.

I took the kids to one of our larger parks today (Sefton, look it up, it's shaped like a kidney, which, given how green it is, I'll say a very sick kidney) and it struck me as I sat down one a bench that I was doing what the Victorians did a century and pieces ago - walking, taking a seat for the airs and watching other people promenade.

Ever done the geometry of a park bench? When you sit down as an average height man, your eyeline becomes navel height of the average height woman. Which means they were designed to give you a field of view without moving your head that was for boobs inbound, arse outbound. I spent a good twenty minutes working this out to the point I gave myself an attack of the vapours and spilt my essence over one particularly auburn specimen...

Also saw a bloke naked to the waist who while not my bag (bit thin, tbh) had dynamite areolae

On the bus today, a reedy bloke in all black tried to get on by the hospital (chancers always try the same stop, don't know why) with what can only be described as an attempt at a ticket. He offered to surrender this invalid specimen if he let him on (which in terms of negotiation, is frankly fucking idiotic) and got nowhere. As he left the bus, he came out with some truly immortal stuff to the driver.

"You bastard, you prick, I'll remember you when I'm famous."

Thinking on, I thought "so many possibilities". How will he become famous? He's not going to be the next Shaun Greenhalgh. He might kill a bus driver, I suppose. However, either way, if he does become some sort of a legend, is the first thing you do when you hit those heights think "now I can get that fucker from Arriva back". What are you going to do, stand and wait for a bus and tell him "I'm now famous, I dont need to get on your bus!"

That'll show him.

This story didn't arouse me at all, but firstly, thinking it should and secondly, being disappointed it didn't, actually turned me on and so I punched my own ticket as a result.

The older I get, the more Monica gives me the horn rather than Rachel (who is the default for the younger male). I don't see Phoebe ever making the cut, though.

NotBert wrote:On the bus today, a reedy bloke in all black tried to get on by the hospital (chancers always try the same stop, don't know why) with what can only be described as an attempt at a ticket.  He offered to surrender this invalid specimen if he let him on (which in terms of negotiation, is frankly fucking idiotic) and got nowhere.  As he left the bus, he came out with some truly immortal stuff to the driver.

"You bastard, you prick, I'll remember you when I'm famous."

Thinking on, I thought "so many possibilities".  How will he become famous?  He's not going to be the next Shaun Greenhalgh.  He might kill a bus driver, I suppose.  However, either way, if he does become some sort of a legend, is the first thing you do when you hit those heights think "now I can get that fucker from Arriva back".  What are you going to do, stand and wait for a bus and tell him "I'm now famous, I dont need to get on your bus!"

That'll show him.

This story didn't arouse me at all, but firstly, thinking it should and secondly, being disappointed it didn't, actually turned me on and so I punched my own ticket as a result.

Had another one yesterday. Bloke tries to get on at the front of the heap (mix into the crowd, dickhead, always mix into the crowd) with a forged ticket. Driver has him back as he reckons "it's a fake".

"You're the fucking fake" said our hero as he got off. That confused me because this bloke was clearly a bus driver. Or was he? Maybe he was in fact just a chancer driving the bus in a stolen uniform, my life in his non-PSV licensed hands? I had a frisson of danger at this thought as well as concern about getting home safely and with that in mind, I decided my best plan of action as this could be the last half hour of my life was to furiously masturbate towards the redhead on the seat in front of me. He wasn't happy. I'm in court next week.