Posted on 10/19/2007 7:21:18 PM PDT by george76
Glad to hear that they are training ( they will need it ) :
their principal reason for training there was to be prepared for their “Spain” moment.
Why is it when Arabs and Muslims destroy property in Europe that the press refuses to acknoledge who they are, and indentify them as “youths”?
Wow, that is very interesting news. Good for the Dutch, if that is true that they are preparing. Not a moment too soon, and frankly, quite a bit too late. And if they all move to Australia, aren’t they running away? ...
Wow, that is very interesting news. Good for the Dutch, if that is true that they are preparing. Not a moment too soon, and frankly, quite a bit too late. And if they all move to Australia, aren’t they running away? ...
Wow, that is very interesting news. Good for the Dutch, if that is true that they are preparing. Not a moment too soon, and frankly, quite a bit too late. And if they all move to Australia, aren’t they running away? ...
hahah, I beat my usual 2-posts record. It’s been a day...
Euphemisms R Us.
What they need is midnight basketball.
A three peet.
Damn hard work !
OK.. How about “Adolescent Jihad Vermin”?
yes :
Euphemisms R Us.
That’s the understatement of the year.
Can you and other relatives sponsor your family out of Holland? I really see no hope.
GB
If you wish to be PC, that will work.
I just call them sheet heads.
The Yute, Omar Kadr......he is not an Adolescent Jihad Vermin...and sheet head is being too nice.
...and yes, I have met him.
LOL!
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui chantent
Les rêves qui les hantent
Au large d’Amsterdam
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui dorment
Comme des oriflammes
Le long des berges mornes
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui meurent
Pleins de bière et de drames
Aux premières lueurs
Mais dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui naissent
Dans la chaleur épaisse
Des langueurs océanes
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui mangent
Sur des nappes trop blanches
Des poissons ruisselants
Ils vous montrent des dents
A croquer la fortune
A décroisser la lune
A bouffer des haubans
Et ça sent la morue
Jusque dans le coeur des frites
Que leurs grosses mains invitent
A revenir en plus
Puis se lèvent en riant
Dans un bruit de tempête
Referment leur braguette
Et sortent en rotant
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui dansent
En se frottant la panse
Sur la panse des femmes
Et ils tournent et ils dansent
Comme des soleils crachés
Dans le son déchiré
D’un accordéon rance
Ils se tordent le cou
Pour mieux s’entendre rire
Jusqu’a ce que tout à coup
L’accordéon expire
Alors le geste grave
Alors le regard fier
Ils ramènent leur batave
Jusqu’en pleine lumière
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui boivent
Et qui boivent et reboivent
Et qui reboivent encore
Ils boivent à la santé
Des putains d’Amsterdam
De Hambourg ou d’ailleurs
Enfin ils boivent aux dames
Qui leur donnent leur joli corps
Qui leur donnent leur vertu
Pour une pièce en or
Et quand ils ont bien bu
Se plantent le nez au ciel
Se mouchent dans les étoiles
Et ils pissent comme je pleure
Sur les femmes infidèles
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Dans le port d’Amsterdam.
The Translation:
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who sing
about the dreams that haunt them
away from Amsterdam.
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who sleep
stretched out like pennants
along the dead waters.
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who die
full of beer and tragedy
at the first light of dawn
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors being born
in the thick heat
of oceanic languors.
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who eat
on bright white table cloths
shimmering fish,
and they show you their teeth
made to bite into fate,
to unhook the moon,
to eat up the mast-ropes.
And there is a smell of cod
even to the heart of the French fries
which their thick hands invite
to come back for more;
then they get up laughing
they holler like a storm,
they close up their fly
and get out belching.
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who dance
rubbing their bellies
against the bellies of women,
and they turn and they dance,
like spit suns
in the torn-up sound
of a rancid accordion.
They twist up their necks
to hear themselves laugh
until all of a sudden
the accordion gives out...
Then with a grave gesture,
then with a proud glance,
they bring out their Dutchman
into the bright light...
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who drink
and drink and drink again
and again drink.
They drink to the health
of the whores of Amsterdam
of Hamburg and others places,
in short, they drink to the ladies
Who give them their pretty bodies
who give them their virtue
for a piece of gold,
and when they have drunk enough,
they stand firmly, their noses to the sky
they blow their noses in the stars
and they piss hot tears
over unfaithful women..
In the harbor of Amsterdam,
In the harbor of Amsterdam...
So the next property destroyed won't be a newspaper building.
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