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Last Cunt Standing

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About Last Cunt Standing

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    New Cunt
  1. Hypochondriacs and Pisstakers

    thanks for your considered contribution to my post, Decs. For every patient "enabled" by the internet, there are six dozen rendered incontinent with anxiety by Dr Google, and I'll chose to take your first sentence as broad agreement with this estimate. I'm sorry you found my spleen venting tedious, though delighted you are happy with your doctor, as indeed are the vast majority of my patients, prattling fish wives aside. Fuck off yourself.
  2. People who confuse "Pacific" and "Specific"

    I've had the lot this week. From three of these Pacific/Specific dumbos, to a pregnant woman who told me she had compensation running down the inside of her windows, to another loss to science who told me she was worried her compact lenses were getting stuck in her eyes at night. Sick of biting my lip after 30 years, I've taken to guffawing openly at these linguistic pearls while their originators sit and blink at me, clueless. And thats before we get onto the hilarity which results from the various mangling attempts people make at telling me which medicines they'd like more/less of this week courtesy of the taxpayer. OM-EP-RAZ-OLE you big ugly sack of shit, it is really not that difficult. I'm supposed to check you understand how it works and why you are taking it, and you can't even fucking pronounce it without a random sprinkling of vowels and more spittle than is ever necessary. WTF. What bloody hope is there for civilisation when people can't even speak the fucking language anymore? Then you have the nerve to tell me the eminent Sri Lankan Cardiologist you visited at the hospital last week was in your view difficult to understand because "he was one of them Pakistanis". Go and jump in the river, you cretin. In case our Korean brethren are listening, and to paraphrase John Betjeman; Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough, It isn't fit for humans now.
  3. Len Goodman

    My neighbours retarded nephew tells me this is a rip off of a segment on Keith Lemons Celebrity Juice, where Holly and Ferne make much merriment from the fact some words sound like others. A fine tribute to the National Curriculum. The Beeb used to give us Civilisation with Kenneth Clark and Life on Earth. Now we get a faux cockney dance teacher giving us the TV equivalent of flashcards. Fuck off and die.
  4. Just bury her in the garden and tell the neighbours you thought she was a gold fish.
  5. Hypochondriacs and Pisstakers

    i'll dip my toe in the toxic swamp of CC after some considerable time away from you lovely people by giving 80% of my workload this week an absolute unbridled Cunting. I expect i just need a holiday. From the cunt who wants his passport picture signed and has no friends to do it, the biathlete who wants advice on how he can get a blue badge because he is dyslexic, to the podgy arsehole with a freckle who is adamant Dr Google has diagnosed metastatic melanoma and wants me to do a skin graft on the spot, it seems silly-season Cuntery is no longer unique to Westminster and the Media. Everyone with a mild twinge of back pain after strimming their hedges wants an MRI and Oramorph just in case they have "that spinal cancer what was on the Telly". Or teenage boys wanting a prostate exam "cos Wayne Rooney says men shouldn't neglect their tackle". Rotund elderly dullards and amateur sex offenders who want me to prescribe Factor 50 sunblock and some standby antibiotics for their trip to Pattaya but are also terrified of flying and want me to dish out some diazepam to get them through the plane journey. Politely telling them maybe its time they stopped shoving it up Thai teenagers before their rancid cock falls off gets a toothless shrug of the shoulders and a "I've paid my stamp, Doc, we aren't all on your wages, I'll have some calpol for our Tiffany while i'm here an' all, an' some of them NHS Condoms". I'm supposed to sit there smiling, of course. Then once I've done with a morning of 16 ten-minute Mastermind rounds, its off for a home visit to little Doris who's forgotten why she requested a visit by the time i get there but wonders if I know someone who can fix her Sky TV for her as she can't get Challenge TV anymore and she likes that nice Jim Bowen - opened her cupboard to find a yellow pages only to be near drowned in about 6 months of unopened repeat prescriptions "because that nice Indian lady at the chemist orders everything for me every month and I like her popping round". Her fat gormless teenage granddaughter, entombed in a duvet and a onesie at 1pm just grunted when i suggested she might pop to the chemist for grandma occasionally. Too thick to know even the basics of their own anatomy (whats this lump in why chest, Doc, is it cancer? - no madam, it's your xiphisternum and has been there since birth), and whipped into foaming anxiety by countless public health campaigns saying you can't be too careful (except of course you can be too careful), the public now troop into my office with an insane list of demands and wants, and are completely resistant to the idea there is most likely fuck all wrong with them. I'm in my 30th year in this job, and suspect its time to retire soon, but seriously, when did people become so unable to cope with anything, and when did it all become my problem? I really don't remember a week like this one. Its some fucked up end of empire shit. Roll on flu season and the phlegmy viral masses who "just can't go on coughing like this" after 6 hours. Really? My granddad worked down the pit for 30 years and coughed a thousand times a day for 40 years you fucking pussy. Man up. I think a machine gun nest at reception might be our next innovation. Do any of you esteemed ladies and gents have any solutions to this epidemic of needy, stupid, irresponsible leeches? Bark strippers are forbidden.
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