Anyone wanting to visit BarryTowers, located somewhere in Asscrack Belgium, take heed of these words from Fraser upon visiting Luba: It’s not a language, it’s some kind of terrible vocal torture, as if people are trying to swallow their own heads while simultaneously attempting to cough up golfball-sized lumps of phlegm. Quite an accurate description, if you ask me.
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I suspect that if Fraser is from London then his accent is none too cute either.
Ah yes, the wonderful Dutch double entendre of the little boy who stuffed his finger in a dyke and saved the country.
( I always thought his name was Bobby and the dykes name was Freddie but there you go).
All the Dutch I’ve ever needed I learned from my Grandmother: “Wat die geur is? Skeet en de broek?”
(I may not have spelled that correctly)
SOFA
And i was told that flemish (belgian dutch) is much softer than dutch dutch – though they are written the same.
Aaaargghh – le langue de étrangers, ik heb hoofdpijn !!!
…merd, c’est le langue d’étranger, je pense. Ik heb trek in een kopje thee.
…et un autre faux pas, c’est la langue. Aaaargghh encore.
Ich fühle mich ein wenig ausgeschlossen, und darum schreibe ich ein wenig deutsch. Ich bin der Himmel…ich bin das Wasser…ich bin deinen geheimen Schmutz…