It’s strange they didn’t reference Katharina’s back story in this article:
I guess they didn’t have as good sources as Bearsy.
2 Likes
Bear I was away playing with kids when this chapter broke. Glad Lou brought it to the top of the threads.
I have three observations.
-
It’s very good.
-
I love the use of the definte article in front of Cortese. Clever.
-
I actually started to write something similar about Cortese myself a few years ago - called The Don, and I had him sitting on an enormous chair with everyone else that visited his office on tiny chairs. Great minds…no, scrub that…
Keep it up, Bear!
2 Likes
Yeah they mention in there that Katharina declined to be interviewed by amateurish Bloomberg bros, clearly prefering to reserve her Official Account for respected & prestigious publishing houses like i.e. Papsweb
Bloomberg bros wrote:
Spurs (as in the blades fighting cocks wear to stab opponents)
Is this true? I’ve heard of cock fighting, but I had no idea they went tooled up!
2 Likes
Originally posted by @Bearsy
Is this true? I’ve heard of cock fighting, but I had no idea they went tooled up!
You do know chickens don’t have hands, right Brian?
1 Like
Oh.
4 Likes
wtf do the do that 4real?
Yep. They still fight cocks in my sister in law’s village.
How did yours get on?
1 Like
Originally posted by @Lets-B-Drinking
Originally posted by @Goatboy
Yep. They still fight cocks in my sister in law’s village.
How did yours get on?
Still sore.
1 Like
This needs a bump. Hilarious stuff and such a talent Bear.
1 Like
Sup bros! Sorry for delay, I found this chapter v.difficult, cos it is Introspection Chapter where Nothing Happens and these are v.boring to write. I would prob have skipped it, except Katharina insisted. She thinks it is Important for bros to understand her State of Mind, and her Motivations, and dumb junk like that. She seems to think it is Justification for all the terrible things that Follow. I’ve tried to keep it as short as poss tho
Chapter 5
I was low. So low. Lower than a transvestite’s voice. Lower than a midget’s nuts. Lower than a paedophile on a Saga cruise ship.
I was also empty. So very empty. Empty like a crack addict’s bank account. Empty like a rattlesnake’s sock drawer. Empty like a thalidomide’s sleeve.
In addition to being low, and empty, I was also ruined. So completely ruined. I was the torn anus of a gay elephant’s boyfriend. I was the EU policy for supranational constraints on unilateral development of community norms. I was low-fat mayonnaise.
Under these circumstances, I could hardly be expected to function, and I didn’t even try. I gave in. I retired to my bed, and I didn’t leave it for days and days. Not for anything. Not to wash, not to eat, not even to toilet. I just lay in my own filth and excrement, fingering myself freely, and tried not to think of all the company’s I had lost to my brother.
As the days ticked by, the powerful stench I was creating in my boudoir began to take on a life of its own. I watched it drift about the room, tarnishing mirrors, and peeling back wallpaper. I had restricted myself to the traditional Swiss diet of cheese, meats, and chocolate, and this had enabled me to add many thick, powerful gases to the gathering storm. The lack of proper roughage and vitamins had also caused my faeces to harden, and the pellets I was passing became increasingly, small, hard, and shiny, until finally I shat out a compact little turd, that could have served as a decorative paperweight.
I plucked it from the mattress and inspected it thoughtfully. It was a beautiful object. A black bullet of protein and carbohydrate, as buffed and shiny as an elk’s udder. I could see my face in it. This magnificent turd, it gave me hope! It proved that even now, at my lowest point, when all my hopes had been thwarted, I was still capable of producing something of great value. I may have been a failure, but I was not useless.
But was it enough? I was still the most deeply unfortunate person in the whole world. My circumstances were desperate. I was deprived, I was destitute, I was ruined. No-one was worse off than me! I leaned over, and pulled on the golden cord, ringing for the butler.
‘Ma’am?’ he said. It was a mistake. An enterprising puff of green stench-cloud darted in his open mouth, liquidizing his teeth, and assaulting his oesophagus. He spent a few moments making frantic, desperate gestures at the window, but I had no time for such nonsense.
‘Stebbings! What am I going to do?’
‘You could take a bath, ma’am,’ he said, in a muffled voice, handkerchief pressed over his cake-hole.
‘I’m serious! I’ve lost all my companies, and my profits! My lovely profits!’
He said something.
‘Pardon?’
He tried again. ‘Southampton. You have Southampton.’
‘The football club? What am I supposed to do with that? It’s making a loss!’
Stebbings was wrestling with the window frame, and he finally got it open. He stuck his head fully out, like a labrador, and when he came back, he looked almost human. ‘You are a Liebherr,’ he said austerely. ‘More than that, you are Katharina Liebherr! Where is the girl that I saw wank off an elk, a thousand times over, to turn a profit? Are you saying that you could not do the same, to a football team?’
He had a talking point. He seemed slightly off with his facts – I don’t know where the wanking thing came from – but if anyone could turn a profit from a football club, it was me. I could do it, surely I could? And with the profits from Southampton football club, I could buy something better. An ice-cream van or something. And with the profits from that, I could buy a chip shop. And so on. If I was half the businesswoman that I knew I was, that my father had raised me to be, it wouldn’t be long before I raised enough capital to come back, buy out my brother, and all the Liebherr holdings, and consign the whole cunt lot of them to the scrap-heap!
It was a plan! A brilliant plan! I leapt from the bed, showering the carpet with turds and cheese. I was naked and filthy, like a child new-born, except with long, dangling fanny-hair, shivering in the breeze. I opened my palm, and looked again at my paperweight poo. I would keep it with me, always. It was a reminder of my lowest point. A memoir of my fantastic re-birth. It was my lucky turd.
8 Likes
Aw, c’mon Bearsy, do another chapter - I’m waiting for the Girl Power moment!
(that was v. funny tho).
I might have to right, cos a week or so ago, i was just driving along the road, minding my own business, and i suddenly thought of THE FUNNIEST PELLE JOKE OF ALL TIME! It’s a fucking brilliant Pelle joke! I nearly crashed the car it was so funny! and I’ve been sitting on THE FUNNIEST PELLE JOKE OF ALL TIME for over a week now and it’s driving me MAD cos I cannot tell anyone! I can’t seem to get the cunt on screen quick enough! Things move so slowly! We’re prob chapters and chapters away from meeting Pelle! I dunno what I’m going to do!
I want to hear it! Can’t you type faster?
I’m but one bear! I have but two paws! And i still have v.important Other Business to attend to like finding Emoticons better than pap’s tard-looking ones 
srsly tho i will give bros heads up b4 unleashing the Pelle joke cos you will srs not want to be operating heavy machinery or have full bladder when you is reading the Great Pelle Joke! It is Truly Great Pelle Joke! OMG! LOL!
Ok, I’ll let you off. Emoticons are more important.
1 Like
Brilliant use of both simile and metaphor there, Bear. Plus, of course, the usual insight and accuracy that can only come from very close contact with your source.
1 Like