Oxford: No Filthy Money-Grubber He

On Mar 7, 3:11 am, Algernon H.Nuttsakk wrote:
The impossibility of the dirty money-lender, the scheming
business skank Shakespeare of Stratford, as the author,
is evident in every shining line of the holy canon. How
could any sane expositor possibly conclude that the grimey
land speculator, the man who was fined for leaving a steaming
pile of his own nut-raisin-studded poop in the middle of
a Stratford street, was the author of the mighty Lear? How
could any of these academic fools believe for even one
stale-breathed microsecond that the turdish wool dealer,
who handled grungy bacteria-laced money...yes my friends,
MONEY! could have written our brilliant Merchant of Venice?
Indeed, HOW could this crap-seller, this coarse unhealthy
dunner of the town for trivial dinner wine, have even
the time between leather-making and using the outhouse
to write such exquisite work as Two Gentleman of Verona?
Should we believe that this crud-master, this fecal
extrusion from the nether-world of country bumpkins,
between trips to the smutty brothels of Shoreditch,
found time to pen the gentle Marina? How, HOW, I ask,
could this ****-stained hick from Stratford, this
grimey straw-hatted garterless lewdkin, this
RECTAL BUM POOP ROCKET POSSIBLY HAVE WRITTEN OUR MOST
HIGH AND GLORIOUS HAMLET????? HOW HOW HOW HOW?????
HOWOWOWOWOWOAAAAAAUAUAUAAUAUAUGGGGGGHHHHH!!!

Probably one of the classics of post-modern fiction.



See my demolition of Monsarrat's RES paper!
http://hometown.aol.com/kqknave/monsarr1.html

The Droeshout portrait is not unusual at all!
http://hometown.aol.com/kqknave/shakenbake.html

Agent Jim

On 21 Mar, 00:28, "Jim KQKnave" wrote:
On Mar 7, 3:11 am, Algernon H.Nuttsakk wrote:





The impossibility of the dirty money-lender, the scheming
business skank Shakespeare of Stratford, as the author,
is evident in every shining line of the holy canon. How
could any sane expositor possibly conclude that the grimey
land speculator, the man who was fined for leaving a steaming
pile of his own nut-raisin-studded poop in the middle of
a Stratford street, was the author of the mighty Lear? How
could any of these academic fools believe for even one
stale-breathed microsecond that the turdish wool dealer,
who handled grungy bacteria-laced money...yes my friends,
MONEY! could have written our brilliant Merchant of Venice?
Indeed, HOW could this crap-seller, this coarse unhealthy
dunner of the town for trivial dinner wine, have even
the time between leather-making and using the outhouse
to write such exquisite work as Two Gentleman of Verona?
Should we believe that this crud-master, this fecal
extrusion from the nether-world of country bumpkins,
between trips to the smutty brothels of Shoreditch,
found time to pen the gentle Marina? How, HOW, I ask,
could this ****-stained hick from Stratford, this
grimey straw-hatted garterless lewdkin, this
RECTAL BUM POOP ROCKET POSSIBLY HAVE WRITTEN OUR MOST
HIGH AND GLORIOUS HAMLET????? HOW HOW HOW HOW?????
HOWOWOWOWOWOAAAAAAUAUAUAAUAUAUGGGGGGHHHHH!!!

Probably one of the classics of post-modern fiction.

See my demolition of Monsarrat's RES paper!http://hometown.aol.com/kqknave/monsarr1.html

The Droeshout portrait is not unusual at all!http://hometown.aol.com/kqknave/shakenbake.html

Agent Jim- Hide quoted text -

- Show quoted text -

May the burning flames of hell consume your mortal form, and may there
be no trace of your cankerous stench upon the earth.

--
WH

On 21 Mar, 00:37, "William" wrote:
On 21 Mar, 00:28, "Jim KQKnave" wrote:





On Mar 7, 3:11 am, Algernon H.Nuttsakk wrote:

The impossibility of the dirty money-lender, the scheming
business skank Shakespeare of Stratford, as the author,
is evident in every shining line of the holy canon. How
could any sane expositor possibly conclude that the grimey
land speculator, the man who was fined for leaving a steaming
pile of his own nut-raisin-studded poop in the middle of
a Stratford street, was the author of the mighty Lear? How
could any of these academic fools believe for even one
stale-breathed microsecond that the turdish wool dealer,
who handled grungy bacteria-laced money...yes my friends,
MONEY! could have written our brilliant Merchant of Venice?
Indeed, HOW could this crap-seller, this coarse unhealthy
dunner of the town for trivial dinner wine, have even
the time between leather-making and using the outhouse
to write such exquisite work as Two Gentleman of Verona?
Should we believe that this crud-master, this fecal
extrusion from the nether-world of country bumpkins,
between trips to the smutty brothels of Shoreditch,
found time to pen the gentle Marina? How, HOW, I ask,
could this ****-stained hick from Stratford, this
grimey straw-hatted garterless lewdkin, this
RECTAL BUM POOP ROCKET POSSIBLY HAVE WRITTEN OUR MOST
HIGH AND GLORIOUS HAMLET????? HOW HOW HOW HOW?????
HOWOWOWOWOWOAAAAAAUAUAUAAUAUAUGGGGGGHHHHH!!!

Probably one of the classics of post-modern fiction.

See my demolition of Monsarrat's RES paper!http://hometown.aol.com/kqknave/monsarr1.html

The Droeshout portrait is not unusual at all!http://hometown.aol.com/kqknave/shakenbake.html

Agent Jim- Hide quoted text -

- Show quoted text -

May the burning flames of hell consume your mortal form, and may there
be no trace of your cankerous stench upon the earth.

--
WH- Hide quoted text -

- Show quoted text -




What happened to Marlowe.