"Yes-no-yack?"
My dad's old man was a socially inept spacktard. I detested the twitchy-'tached twat when he was alive and am relieved that he's dead.
He spoke his own "language" - Gobbledygook - regarding anyone who failed to understand him as an utter fuckwit.

"AAA-A-A-A-AH..... PPPPINT??? YES-NO? FAMILY-GORGEOUS!” (Simultaneously flicking his wrist and violently twitching his nose, ergo his filthy salt 'n' pepper moustache.)

He was forever making an arse of himself, especially at family meals. He would always be first at the table, eager to load in whatever food was in his vicinity. I could see my dear Granny's systolic blood pressure elevating rapidly as she placed an overflowing serving dish of mashed potato on the dining table.... paint her cardio-vascular system purple.

"THIS MINE?" (At this point he would have switched off his hearing aid.)

And without waiting for a reply, he'd wheek the dish to his place setting and proceed to shovel it in (with the serving spoon) in the manner of a JCB, much to the abject horror and disgust of my Granny. Her OCD (and basic hygiene standards) deemed the mash to be contaminated, so rather than wrestle the potato from his clutches, he'd be allowed to polish it off. The advantage of this was he'd leave the table as soon as he'd demolished the mash, leaving the rest of us to eat in relative peace.

He also regarded himself as a talented artist and violinist, therefore an aficionado on all things artistic or musical. I remember being at London’s 100 Club in the late 70’s. It was lunchtime, and a rather talented chap was playing modern jazz on a grand piano. Unfortunately, it didn’t meet with Twitchy-‘tache’s approval. He swaggered over to the piano, flicking his hips in a manner that would make Michael Flatley envious. The right wrist started to flick. My father and I began to cringe in anticipation.

“THIS??? YACK!!!! Mka-mka. YACK!! ‘O’ LEVEL!!!”

The poor pianist was reduced to a quivering mass of jelly (without vodka). We man-handled Twitch away from the poor guy and attempted to remove him from the establishment.

“PINT! Mka-mka… PINT! P.P.P.P.PINT.T!”

We had to relent and allow him to finish his beer before we could escort him from the premises...

"YACK. KNACKER-JOB?"
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Wed 5 Nov 2008, 18:37, 5 replies)

if this is
fucking true, then its fucking genious!
(Mr.Dog was in love again on, Wed 5 Nov 2008, 20:54, closed)

unfortunately it is true
In his latter years he was diagnosed as having a "personality disorder"...

I remember another time in a pub, when he was making the usual arse of himself. A couple of blokes started taking the piss out of him (quite justifiably). His response?

"SHITE WITH THE PAIR OF YOU!! I'M SWITCHING ME FUCKING HEARING AID OFF. THERE. YACK. KNACKER-JOB."
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Wed 5 Nov 2008, 21:16, closed)

Yah Tourettes!
click for such excellent pedigree.
(Que?, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 5:23, closed)