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Peter "Hypertension" Howard is a liar and a thief and a false accuser
Peter "Hypertension" Howard, under the pseudonym "Antitroll", has
repeatedly under the headline "Andre Jute Great Lie From The Past - June 7" claimed that the text below is a lie. Howard does this because he is worthless and talentless and tries to attract attention to himself by assaulting his betters. So let's give the poor tenthrate puddingpull the attention he craves. Yo, Howard, you wretched little man. You claim the text isn't true, so why don't you prove it isn't true? This is your big chance. By the way, you're a thief as well as a false accuser. That is my copyright text below and I didn't give you permission to use it. Andre Jute Laughing already at the little man's antics THE TEXT IN FULL ****** I had connections to the Zulu, for instance I had gone through their manhood rites. I'm a blood brother of several of their current leaders. So, when some British eejit (South Africans were never insular; my university, the birthplace of apartheid, had an official policy of hiring teachers from around the world) suggested we should study native medicine, some other ignoramuses confused it with homeopathy. I knew better. I suggested, with a barely straight face, that I should apprentice to a Zulu witchdoctor. While those who'd been in-country longest laughed with hands in front of their mouths at my joke, the well-meaning ignorant applauded loudly. So, fortified by a fat scholarship (I bought an Austin-Healey 3000 Mk III *and* made an entire feature film called Visitante out of it!), I went off to play polo in Zululand. The witchdoctor, who got his orders from the royal hut, gave me a bye for umpteen credits but a supervisor turned up with an interpreter for the passing-out tests. Behind my back the witchdoctor told this guy that he taught me to cast a mean spell (this was a lie -- I learned from his father many years before) and the supervisor wanted a demonstration, so I gave him a painful and irritating rash in a private place. He was ****ed off, not because of the rash, but because, "Jesus Christ, Andre, how the **** can I stand up in front of the Senate and tell them we should cum you because you gave me pimples on my balls? They'll laugh both of us out of the room, not least for the pun." I chuckled dutifully at his joke, shrugged, and went off ice-skating in Durban a couple of hundred miles away with a girl I met casting for my little movie; I knew he would find a way to ensure my laudes. What he and the doped-up witchdoctor concocted in my absence was truly horrifying; he because he was ignorant, the witchdoctor because he inhaled so much marijuana (with which I paid him for my apprenticeship) that he was careless of the consequences of ****ing with me. I could do small-scale, personal "witchcraft"; any accomplished psychologist can give an impressionable a twitch. But what these two cooked up as final test nearly killed me by thirst and starvation. They parked me in front of a derelict hut miles from anywhere people knew me as a friend of the main men, in the sun. All I had to do was use my mind to persuade women, working in fields so distant that I could barely make them out, to bring me food and water. I didn't succeed until the third day... I was in hospital for another three with sunburn. I wrecked the witchdoctor's career for his stupidity but let the other guy run; he was just ignorant. I hate to disappoint you but a witchdoctor doesn't do anything a psychologist doesn't. He just has some mumbo jumbo for sleight of hand. And he uses herbs instead of artificially made chemicals. (The rash on the balls of the supervisor was caused by some carefully planted hints about his sexual habits and an infusion in his beer; he did it with his own mind, helped by "homeopathy"!) And, because he doesn't have a professional body muttering about behaving professionally, a witchdoctor gets away with **** which could get a professional disbarred, like forecasting the future (invariably accurately because he does it to impressionables who then move heaven and earth to make his prediction come true). The difference between a witchdoctor and a good psychologist is not magic but showmanship. ******** |
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#2
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Peter "Hypertension" Howard is a liar and a thief and a false accuser
"Andre Jute" wrote in message ... Peter "Hypertension" Howard, under the pseudonym "Antitroll", has repeatedly under the headline "Andre Jute Great Lie From The Past - June 7" claimed that the text below is a lie. Howard does this because he is worthless and talentless and tries to attract attention to himself by assaulting his betters. So let's give the poor tenthrate puddingpull the attention he craves. Yo, Howard, you wretched little man. You claim the text isn't true, so why don't you prove it isn't true? This is your big chance. By the way, you're a thief as well as a false accuser. That is my copyright text below and I didn't give you permission to use it. Andre Jute Laughing already at the little man's antics THE TEXT IN FULL ****** I had connections to the Zulu, for instance I had gone through their manhood rites. I'm a blood brother of several of their current leaders. So, when some British eejit (South Africans were never insular; my university, the birthplace of apartheid, had an official policy of hiring teachers from around the world) suggested we should study native medicine, some other ignoramuses confused it with homeopathy. I knew better. I suggested, with a barely straight face, that I should apprentice to a Zulu witchdoctor. While those who'd been in-country longest laughed with hands in front of their mouths at my joke, the well-meaning ignorant applauded loudly. So, fortified by a fat scholarship (I bought an Austin-Healey 3000 Mk III *and* made an entire feature film called Visitante out of it!), I went off to play polo in Zululand. The witchdoctor, who got his orders from the royal hut, gave me a bye for umpteen credits but a supervisor turned up with an interpreter for the passing-out tests. Behind my back the witchdoctor told this guy that he taught me to cast a mean spell (this was a lie -- I learned from his father many years before) and the supervisor wanted a demonstration, so I gave him a painful and irritating rash in a private place. He was ****ed off, not because of the rash, but because, "Jesus Christ, Andre, how the **** can I stand up in front of the Senate and tell them we should cum you because you gave me pimples on my balls? They'll laugh both of us out of the room, not least for the pun." I chuckled dutifully at his joke, shrugged, and went off ice-skating in Durban a couple of hundred miles away with a girl I met casting for my little movie; I knew he would find a way to ensure my laudes. What he and the doped-up witchdoctor concocted in my absence was truly horrifying; he because he was ignorant, the witchdoctor because he inhaled so much marijuana (with which I paid him for my apprenticeship) that he was careless of the consequences of ****ing with me. I could do small-scale, personal "witchcraft"; any accomplished psychologist can give an impressionable a twitch. But what these two cooked up as final test nearly killed me by thirst and starvation. They parked me in front of a derelict hut miles from anywhere people knew me as a friend of the main men, in the sun. All I had to do was use my mind to persuade women, working in fields so distant that I could barely make them out, to bring me food and water. I didn't succeed until the third day... I was in hospital for another three with sunburn. I wrecked the witchdoctor's career for his stupidity but let the other guy run; he was just ignorant. I hate to disappoint you but a witchdoctor doesn't do anything a psychologist doesn't. He just has some mumbo jumbo for sleight of hand. And he uses herbs instead of artificially made chemicals. (The rash on the balls of the supervisor was caused by some carefully planted hints about his sexual habits and an infusion in his beer; he did it with his own mind, helped by "homeopathy"!) And, because he doesn't have a professional body muttering about behaving professionally, a witchdoctor gets away with **** which could get a professional disbarred, like forecasting the future (invariably accurately because he does it to impressionables who then move heaven and earth to make his prediction come true). The difference between a witchdoctor and a good psychologist is not magic but showmanship. ******** Give it up you silly old man. Nobody believes your lies. |
#3
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Peter "Hypertension" Howard is a liar and a thief and a falseaccuser
On Jun 7, 4:39*am, "Antitroll" wrote:
"Andre Jute" wrote in message ... Peter "Hypertension" Howard, under the pseudonym "Antitroll", has repeatedly under the headline "Andre Jute Great Lie From The Past - June 7" claimed that the text below is a lie. Howard does this because he is worthless and talentless and tries to attract attention to himself by assaulting his betters. So let's give the poor tenthrate puddingpull the attention he craves. Yo, Howard, you wretched little man. You claim the text isn't true, so why don't you prove it isn't true? This is your big chance. By the way, you're a thief as well as a false accuser. That is my copyright text below and I didn't give you permission to use it. Andre Jute Laughing already at the little man's antics Confronted with a demand for proof, Peter "Hypertension" Howard weakly came up only with: Give it up you silly old man. Nobody believes your lies. You're the one who claims text below is a lie, you coward, Howard. Now prove that it isn't true, you lying little slimeball. We're waiting. -- Andre Jute THE TEXT IN FULL ****** I had connections to the Zulu, for instance I had gone through their manhood rites. I'm a blood brother of several of their current leaders. So, when some British eejit (South Africans were never insular; my university, the birthplace of apartheid, had an official policy of hiring teachers from around the world) suggested we should study native medicine, some other ignoramuses confused it with homeopathy. I knew better. I suggested, with a barely straight face, that I should apprentice to a Zulu witchdoctor. While those who'd been in-country longest laughed with hands in front of their mouths at my joke, the well-meaning ignorant applauded loudly. So, fortified by a fat scholarship (I bought an Austin-Healey 3000 Mk III *and* made an entire feature film called Visitante out of it!), I went off to play polo in Zululand. The witchdoctor, who got his orders from the royal hut, gave me a bye for umpteen credits but a supervisor turned up with an interpreter for the passing-out tests. Behind my back the witchdoctor told this guy that he taught me to cast a mean spell (this was a lie -- I learned from his father many years before) and the supervisor wanted a demonstration, so I gave him a painful and irritating rash in a private place. He was ****ed off, not because of the rash, but because, "Jesus Christ, Andre, how the **** can I stand up in front of the Senate and tell them we should cum you because you gave me pimples on my balls? They'll laugh both of us out of the room, not least for the pun." I chuckled dutifully at his joke, shrugged, and went off ice-skating in Durban a couple of hundred miles away with a girl I met casting for my little movie; I knew he would find a way to ensure my laudes. What he and the doped-up witchdoctor concocted in my absence was truly horrifying; he because he was ignorant, the witchdoctor because he inhaled so much marijuana (with which I paid him for my apprenticeship) that he was careless of the consequences of ****ing with me. I could do small-scale, personal "witchcraft"; any accomplished psychologist can give an impressionable a twitch. But what these two cooked up as final test nearly killed me by thirst and starvation. They parked me in front of a derelict hut miles from anywhere people knew me as a friend of the main men, in the sun. All I had to do was use my mind to persuade women, working in fields so distant that I could barely make them out, to bring me food and water. I didn't succeed until the third day... I was in hospital for another three with sunburn. I wrecked the witchdoctor's career for his stupidity but let the other guy run; he was just ignorant. I hate to disappoint you but a witchdoctor doesn't do anything a psychologist doesn't. He just has some mumbo jumbo for sleight of hand. And he uses herbs instead of artificially made chemicals. (The rash on the balls of the supervisor was caused by some carefully planted hints about his sexual habits and an infusion in his beer; he did it with his own mind, helped by "homeopathy"!) And, because he doesn't have a professional body muttering about behaving professionally, a witchdoctor gets away with **** which could get a professional disbarred, like forecasting the future (invariably accurately because he does it to impressionables who then move heaven and earth to make his prediction come true). The difference between a witchdoctor and a good psychologist is not magic but showmanship. ******** Give it up you silly old man. Nobody believes your lies. |
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