From Finding Nemo, the blue fish called Doris…she had short-term memory loss as well.

I noticed his jacket sleeves are always awfully tight around the upper arms. Biceps? Fat? Or just a pudgy man wearing slim fit?

Anyway, this Joseph should spend five minutes with me at work.

Bag of shite, idiot, mong, short-arsed dago, cunt, git, twat and arsehole are just some of the things I’ve been called by my bosses. And I fucking thank them for it. Because it’s damn good training.

“This just won’t do, Baxxter,” means I have to pull my finger out or be fired.

Joseph Muscat doesn’t impress me. He can stick his rich-kid smirk up his fat arse.

When confronted by anything other than gushing praise, he will either try to laugh it away, mirthlessly (like he does with Lou Bondi`) or put on an expression of scorn (like he does with this reporter).

What a godawful softie. Whatever happened to manliness? He needs working on.

[Daphne – That’s why women don’t fancy him, H. P. Men just won’t understand that physical appearance is just a minor part of what pushes women’s buttons, and if the other buttons are not pushed, then even good looks become irrelevant. Let alone when there are no good looks to start with. I really can’t get over his ‘botni’ figure and the way he walks like a port-loader up top (the arms and shoulders) and an incontinent old man down at the bottom (that short-legged shuffle). Sex on a stick he most definitely is not. But he thinks he is.]

Joseph, the fish out of water.

”TLIFT IL-FIDUCJA FIK”.

Good point and Dory is blue, Labour’s favourite new colour.