Proof that Malta remains an unevolved democracy and deeply unsophisticated society: the fact that these specimens are back and setting the behavioural standards
Ronnie Pellegrini (right) with his new friend Jonathon Brimmer, who has been put on the state payroll as a ‘communications officer’
A member of the board at Malta Freeport, one Ronald Pellegrini (a 1980s Lorry Sant thug who specialised in roughing people up with a crash helmet) has taken to the Facebook Timeline of an ageing fat queen who waxes his own face and makes his money by waxing other people’s pudenda and anuses for a fee, to give a reasoned and rational argument as to why he disagrees with me.
Being a man of few words, he has kept it brief: “JAAAAAAQQQQQQQ”.
It never fails to astonish me how people who are quite literally crawling about at the bottom of the genetic heap are so very self-satisfied.
If one were to strip Ronnie Pellegrini naked – not that he needs much encouragement, I suspect – and pull a condom over him (no need to buy a large size), he could usefully be presented to the Labour masses as the very same black dick they’re busy offering to an EU Commissioner.
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You only need one condom to fit these two dicks in the picture above.
“JAAAAAAQQQQQQQ” to him – he looks like a boiled lizard.
Why are you astonished Daphne? The lower a person’s intellect, the less capable that person is of critical thought. That’s what makes such persons so self-satisfied. If they had a half functioning brain, they would realise how deficient their thinking processes are and bye bye self-satisfaction.
Now who would have thought Lady Deafley harbours cyber-fetish sentiments towards Ronnie Pellegrini.
This is cyber-harassment of the cyber order. Hudilha isimha, surgent. U Pellegrini ukoll talli qallha cyber-Jaaaqqq.
U irranga dik il-beritta ghax tghid bik.
[Daphne – I suggest you have a word with your wife, Kevin, who appears to have rather a simple mind and not to understand the definition of harassment. Out for a day on the beach with her brothers (as always; you would think they are having an affair), instead of relaxing like a normal person she spent the entire day craning her neck and turning their bed (they shared one) around to get a better look and a picture. It would never have occurred to me to do the same with them, but then I have been going to beach clubs since childhood and know the codes of behaviour, which include allowing fellow guests their privacy and not harassing them in any way. She stopped short of walking past me with her phone to get a better angle, because even she knows that this is grounds, in a place like that, for being removed from the premises. Mentalita tar-rahal, I’m sorry to say. The sad reality of Malta is that there is nowhere you can get away from unsavoury individuals. Harassing people at a beach club is like harassing them at a dinner-party: you just don’t do it because it causes awkwardness and embarrassment for your hosts/the management, who have to protect the interests of their guests.]
Hudilha isimha wkoll, surgent. Dawn il-paparazzi m’hemmx li nehilsu minnhom. Sus wara kemm halsuha. Celebrita bhal Lady Deafley taf iggib qliegh kbir… M’hemmx li nsib xoghol iehor jien ukoll…
[Daphne – There is a stronger case for staring at your wife and trying to get her picture, Kevin, because she is a politician and I am not. But nobody was doing that, including me, because we’re civilised. Beach clubs, like private houses, demand respect for the privacy of others. The correct code of behaviour is to pretend that you haven’t seen the person, unless you know them and wish to have a conversation. Even if Joseph Muscat had turned up on a sunbed next to mine, I would have pretended I hadn’t seen him – not to be rude or hostile, but to acknowledge the privacy we had both paid to have. The bottom line is that you might know what civilised behaviour is, but your wife, her family and their fellow-travellers do not.]
She might be a closet admirer, you never really know these days, but don’t be alarmed if it boils down to a figment of your imagination as many celebs suffer from the fixation that they’re continually being stalked.
[Daphne – Bit difficult for it to be a figment of my imagination when I actually saw the neck-craning, the bed-turning and the perky ‘waving from a distance’. Also, the most unsensational photograph she took was uploaded this afternoon on Natius Farrugia’s Facebook profile. ‘Here’s a photo of Daphne Caruana Galizia. Oh look, she’s normal.’]
See, I told you she is a secret admirer. Who would go through all that trouble, risking life and limb, to prove to the Natius nation that you’re just a normal down-to-earth, homely mother and wife?
[Daphne – If she were an admirer, secret or otherwise, she would have worked out by now that I don’t give a flying monkey’s what a bunch of people at the bottom of the genetic heap think of me. But I do mind being pestered in person.]
I would have thought otherwise, given that you get so flustered whenever that genetic heap disparages your name.
[Daphne – Practically nothing gets me flustered, Kevin, believe me, except for the obvious like accidents requiring immediate attention. In my younger days my nickname was ‘the sphinx’, and it wasn’t only because I looked like the ancient Egyptians of popular imagination. It was because I was totally sphinx-like and inscrutable. Nobody ever knew what I was thinking, and in real life, I’m still very much like that. I do, however, enjoy rattling their cage. This is vastly different from being flustered.]
‘Sphinxy’ is our black dog’s nickname, Daphne. Like you, you’d never guess what’s going on through his mind. But he’s so cute.
[Daphne – No flirting, please, Kevin. That’s another thing I don’t do (“kemm hi kiesha”, “min tahseb li hi”, “lesbjana” blah blah blah).]
Pulling legs is not flirting, Daphne.
[Daphne – It is. The classic form.]
For the record, I am told that my wife did not post that photo on Natius’ FB, nor did she send him any. Moreover, that photo was NOT taken by her.
[Daphne – It definitely was either your wife or her brother, Kevin. They were the only people in a position to take it, the only people with an interest in taking it, and the only people who spent the entire day – except for the couple of hours of peace we had when they were upstairs at lunch – craning their necks and walking around with phones angled in our direction. Your wife was actually blatantly staring at me fixedly when I turned round – still with her phone in her hand. She now has a problem because if the same thing happens again, there will be a report to the management. Not only photos, but also any staring, nudging, gossiping, bed-turning and neck-craning. I get enough of that in the street (as do others), but then you expect that. At a private beach club, different codes of behaviour apply. Everybody is there under the same terms, as equals, and the unwritten rule is that nobody pesters anybody else, in whatever way. Your wife did not post the picture on Farrugia’s Facebook. He did. And no, I don’t think she sent it to him. She would have sent it to her best friend Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando, who would in turn have sent it to Farrugia so as to be seen to be publishing it himself. You spend too much time supping with the devil, Kevin, and I don’t believe you have a sufficiently long spoon.]
What happened with the crash helmet?
Ara Brimmer, dak nazzjonalist qal. Qed tara Daphne, kemm ghandna meritokrazija.
Li twerwirni hi kif kienu ilhom hames snin itambru fuq futur u protagonisti u x’naf jien, mbaghad hadu giopp mal-gvern.
X’vizjoni eh?
Jaqq to him and that man next to him.
What an embarrassment these people are. Daphne, stick to the beach club you know they have not discovered and which is too exclusive for them to set foot in.