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Last Cunt Standing

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About Last Cunt Standing

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    Massive Cunt

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  1. That’s Lady Nugee to you, pleb. Don’t forget your polling card tomorrow. And some goose fat; those polling booths are ever so narrow.
  2. Can’t be. I asked The Judge where in the world I lived and he said it was all fantasist remoaner bullshit. As we know, answers can’t change even when the information does, so I’m sticking with this.
  3. Nah. Couldn’t care less now I’m afraid. Be nice if the pound rose a little but if the UK wants to go mad for a while, that’s fine by me.
  4. I retired to the sun at GMT + 8 Panzy, it’s a beautifully warm Saturday morning here. Is that pub on Thomas Street still there - Arthur’s, is it? - seemed like the drinking section of the US Consulate when I popped in for a pint on my last visit. Before I retired from the NHS last year, one of the last meetings I went to was an emergency planning meeting held by my CCG. Some suit from NHS England led the session. It was felt worth “wargaming” a medicines supply problem of at least 6 weeks, with particular reference to insulins, antipsychotics, and diamorphine. When it was suggested that we might have to advise patients of means to take long holidays abroad (including Eire) and source medicines over there using their EHIC cards until “it was all sorted out”, many of us got up and left. It was always a complete fucking shambles. I’m sure BoJo will solve it.
  5. I think you omitted the “would”, though I imagine this is nothing new. I’m grateful to you for helping to fund the BBC Sounds App, which is great over a morning flat white. Speaking of which, it’s time for The News Quiz and my breakfast.
  6. Well this does not surprise me. Even if you could find your little winkle among the adipose, the diabetes and antihypertensives will have long rendered you useless, having last experienced tumescence on an NF March in 1975, aside from a lazy lob in June 2016.
  7. Not really, though no doubt the fat prick will chip in with a “BBC remoaner” infused load of old bollocks. Meh.
  8. Not many, Punky, I agree. But I have nothing bad to say about Ken Bruce, and thanks to the internet, I can still have a go at PopMaster over a coffee in the morning.
  9. Get fucked you dunce. As always you are welcome to check my IP address.
  10. Indeed. But it’s faster here than blighty. 50mbps is standard.
  11. Do you have a defence minister, or is it just some Mrs Doyle type figure preparing tea and cakes for anyone “getting a bit close off Galway, there”? Still, think of the money you’re saving not having Armed Forces. Even more Euro to shovel into the Celtic Tiger.
  12. Are you trying to be Humerus?
  13. The £100m feline has apparently curled its paws in the arms of its “human mummy”. It’s surely enough that humanity has become so soft-brained that a deformed cat becomes a global phenomenon and nets the owner a fortune. But to plaster the death all over the internet and invite candlelit vigils for a “legend of popular culture” is taking the piss.
  14. The Urologists’ favourite game, if memory serves. Extra points for a TWOC WOC, too. But never a TUBE. Wrong speciality, and much more likely to get your collar felt.
  15. I gather they had to dropped “Armed” from the Irish Air Force acronym for fear of confusion among the athletic fraternity. One worry was that in the confusion athletes’ piss samples would end up piling up on the desk of the Irish Defence Minister, who is of course much more used to have the piss taken rather than given. The IAAF it transpired had a bigger budget, was felt more valuable to the defence of Western Europe, and had more working equipment. They managed for the most part to tell men and women apart without the need for a Lovely Girls contest, and didn’t spend their spare time offering to tarmac anyone’s drive. In the end it was decided that Michael O’Leary of Ryanair would get the IAF contract, with one rusting 737 circling Shannon with its landing lights on forming the heart of Irish Air Defence. Ordnance carried would obviously be subject to the baggage fees, and would be dropped an hour’s bus ride away from any target.
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