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  • hello my little f1 bum chums it marion here from peru.
    mr hamiltons son say he stay with mclaren men for life. that nice for him but what do mclaren men say? you see mclaren is now german owned. the parent company is the mercedes benz which is the german. the engine is the german engine. everything about the team is the german. mr hamiltons son now the swiss gentleman he eat much cheese and sings in the morning at mountains. mr hamiltons father is also now the swiss man. in fact there nothing british about this team at all. even the man who tidy up the garage after the race has moved to switzerland with his mother. switzerland is owned by the german. my friends the whole team is GERMAN - and guess what - so is mr glock. now you see why the time stand still for mr glock on the last lap. like he in the time warp. not even the people abducted by the alien lose the amount of time he lost on that last lap. IT IS A DISGRACE!!! HOLD YOUR HEAD IN THE SHAME MCLAREN

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    • 5 gold stars from me too, Nigel.

    • Nice Avatar Marion, were you at a party enjoying yourself when you had that taken of yourself.

    • Dedicated to Marion and all his psychotic personalities ...

      Gilbert & Sullivan On-line
      (To the tune of ... The Major General Song)

      I am the very model of a Newsgroup personality.
      I intersperse obscenity with tedious banality.
      Addresses I have plenty of, both genuine and ghosted too,
      On all the countless newsgroups that my drivel is cross-posted to.
      Your bandwidth I will fritter with my whining and my sniveling,
      And you're the one who pays the bill, downloading all my driveling.
      My enemies are numerous, and no-one would be blaming you
      For cracking my head open after I've been rudely flaming you.

      I hate to lose an argument (by now I should be used to it).
      I wouldn't know a valid point if I was introduced to it.
      My learning is extensive but consists of mindless trivia,
      Designed to fan my ego, which is larger than Bolivia.
      The comments that I vomit forth, disguised as jest and drollery,
      Are really just an exercise in unremitting trollery.
      I say I'm frank and forthright, but that's merely lies and vanity,
      The gibberings of one who's at the limits of his sanity.

      If only I could get a life, as many people tell me to;
      If only Mom could find a circus freak-show she could sell me to;
      If I go off to Zanzibar to paint the local scenery;
      If I lose all my fingers in a mishap with machinery;
      If I survive to twenty, which is somewhat problematical;
      If what I post was more mature, or slightly more grammatical;
      If I could learn to spell a bit, and maybe even punctuate;
      Would I still be the loathsome and objectionable punk you hate?

      But while I have this tiresome urge to prance around and show my face,
      It simply isn't safe for normal people here in cyberspace.
      So stick me in Old Sparky and turn on the electricity
      Would be a fitting punishment for my egocentricity.
      I always have the last word; so, with uttermost finality,
      That's all from me, the model of a Newsgroup personality.