Jiggerycock

I think so it's a reworking of Ernest Hemmingway isn't it, except with all the good bits removed and the English language getting its arse kicked?

It's from this thing called The Internet. On it they have 'The Googles' and, with a bit of knowledge of contemporary culture, why you can unearth almost anything these days!

I think Sullivan was returning to a recurring 'leitmotif' in his 'oeuvre'; namely the insidiously, incestuously gossipy prurience of the lost White British underclass. Although written in 1984, it foretells the Inghamesque spin doctoring of the 'truth being only what we need it to be' as well as degraded potential of Twitter and Instagram and other social media to be less a force for good, merely now a contrivance for empty souls to yammer ceaselessly into the void ('And what was she wearing and what did he say? Who goes with who and what did they do?') In this respect then, there is real power to this compelling narrative. Then again - it could well be utter fucking utter, utter shite.

And how does the Queens Counsellors (gedditt!) feel about 'poove'. Bit old (brown) hat? Bit Chaucerian?

It's one godawful clichéd shitstorm isn't it? Has management sprung for a free bar? That's the only saving grace at these things. You can experiment with all kind of random shit - Advocaat (that's always a winner), Bombay Sapphire. Kaluha and Medori. Go on! Knock yourself out, only I hope you're an introspective and quiet drunk and not going to lead all the single, menopausal 'cat women' in a Bacchanalian chorus of 'I Will Survive' on the karaoke, before you all go home and sob yourselves to sleep in your suburban bedsits.

Oh that? I'm leaving that to John The Baptist - or David Cameron as you call him.

"All right my love? .....{bivva, bivva, bivva}....Higher!!? Higher?? Nice to see your minge, to see your minge - nice! .......{bivva, bivva, bivva}"

I did the same 'cept as a Trappist Monk - again, like you, no bugger noticed. It's like feeding Caviar to pigs sometimes in here, it really is.

It's not about 'Personality'. That one was skewered the year Steve Davies won it. It'd have made more sense to have given it to the fucking chalk. No this is all about Gary Lineker's continuing pursuit of a career in standup comedy. Eddie Butler doing his John Gielgud portentous voiceovers and the BBC Sports Department taking industrial-size hits of LSD before giving is long, lingering close ups of Jessica Ennis' shoelaces, fast-cut into super slo-mo pictures of the balls-eys view of a Novak Jokovic serve and random long shots of Bramall Lane from a drone 6 miles over Sheffield on FA Cup 3rd round day.

I'm hanging up my sex-slave on the wall - or I would be, if I wasn't being constantly interrupted by a load of Mistletoe and whiny bollocks blaring out from every radio and department store.

Or winning the Ashes to having an Adze buried in your sinuses....or (indeed) something.....

Torch the fucker and claim on the insurance. Pay off CG's 'brothers' - win win!!

And you think that's a coincidence? Re the cross thing at the risk of coming over all Applescruf, that would be a joy to the cuntfest that is my life at present

I'll try and get round to it but I've got a gang of chavs wanting to touch the hem of my cloak (Yes! Cloak! Read it and weep, Redundos!) to be cured of their scabies and scrofula. It's not a whole bundle of laughs being The Messiah. No one ever invites you over to share an ounce of killer weed or to split tickets for the Motorhead tour.

Well sign me up for the white ribbon! I bought the yellow wristband and now Cancer has been cured. I bought a pink wristband and now Breast Cancer has been cured. I bought a blue bracelet and bullying stopped, in fact at the risk of sounding like a fucktard teenager, I'm pretty sure I AM Jesus Christ, such is the restorative powers of my mere presence among you

I was whacked out of my gourd on that over-prescription of Temazepam you gave me to, er, 'keep me under control'. Deny that if you can you little strumpet!!

Only after you completely ignored me going into Rigor, as I passed a kidney stone the size of Somerset, whilst you chatted with your mates at the Nurses station

Yeah but it's never about the amazing sex she's having or that time her and her beau - ripped to the tits on cheep speed and booze - danced in the night away to some fierce beats from Booka Shade in the Arcadia Field, say. No, it's always a 'my man done me wrong' Billie-Holliday-channeling' fucking dirge, I mean cheer the fuck up love! You're parked up on Easy Street next to a machine that shits gold and bar your percentage body fat, your life is a bloody whoopee cushion.

Yes just what the NHS needs. Ever more 'pie-in-the-sky' amounts of money diverted from other budgets, because, well it's the NHS innit...grand institution....world class healthcare.....nurses...salt of the earth. They're all riding the monolithic graytrain, whilst invoking the spirit of Nye Bevan, when we don't automatically confer sainthood on nurses and junior doctors

The soundtrack to a million and one Home Counties dinner parties

Bit bloody late for that! They're here already, thanks to Frau Merkel acting like one of those clueless Facebook teenagers who invite everyone to a party at their house, then shit their pants when thousands of people turn up, many being nutters.

" So Tyson. What's this photo of you shitting on a Vietnamese Ladyboys tits, whilst his sister wanks you off into their mother's hair?" "Oh yeah - just a bit of banter innit!" "So Tyson. About those chidren in the leukemia ward that you strangled?" "Oh that! Just a bit of banter. I'm crazy me!" ".....and you calling ISIS a bunch of towel-headed, Muzzie twats, that are softer than shite after syrup of Figs?" "Yeah! I'm mad me. It's all a laugh innit"

You present a compelling case. ,,,and the Corgi's....?

It did take some getting I'll admit, but they were the last truly virulent cultural smartbomb we ever dropped on the 'Atlantically Challenged', I feel

Not sure I could thumb in a softy when it comes to Her Maj The Q. Face like stuntman's kneecap. Pippa - yes, until she was a puddle on the floor. Does Fergie still have her hand in the till, because frankly I'm a bit 'meh' about her, imagining she has a biff like a shotgun wound on a Porpoise?