Edinburgh Cunting Festival

[Guest Tata Steely Dan]

Imagine that for absolutely no reason everybody decides that for one month of the year they will kick your front door down and ransack your house for a month. Do a little digging and it turns out that your house has, arbitrarily, been the 'festival' house since the early 1950s, though you cannot think of a good reason why. You wake up one morning and there is an angry Japanese woman in your kitchen shouting "WHICH WAY CASTLE?" as you try and make your breakfast. You cannot get dressed without some failed stage-school Daddy's Money cunt trying to hand you a flyer. You go into the bathroom and there is a loud English twat in there bellowing about his one-man re-imagining of The Taming of the Shrew, as seen through the eyes of legendary castrated code-breaker Alan Turin, himself re-cast as a transgender man in a North Korean concentration camp. Naturally his play is being performed in your shower, that you have to share with an unwashed Spanish tourist with a raging head cold because he is the only other sap that got coaxed into attending this bollocks. Your house quickly fills up with dreadful people who eat all your food, stub dreadful cigarettes out on all the furniture, clog the toilet with their dreadful meaty English shits and break all the crockery with their dreadful English clumsiness. A hoard of passive-aggressive, ignorant fucks that don't know how to read a map or figure out how any of the public transport works, and who think that bus drivers double up as tourist information officers. 

When these cunts finally leave they ram a wad of greasy tenners into your front pocket with a final bellow of 'same time next year old chap?'. As you mull this over you quickly realise that the wad of tenners won't cover the cost of the cleanup, and that most of the money went to some other cunts anyway who won't offer any help.

The Edinburgh festival is shite. Don't bother coming here, just take it from me.

The Fringe is worse. Every cunt who did drama at school, and who is now resigned to an utterly pointless middle-management office job, seems to take this month as the time to cut loose and imagine that they are some luvvie cunt. For 11 months of the year you adhere to the strict office dress-code, but this is the one change you get to dig out the pastel-shade sweaters, chinos and loafers. Time to imagine that they are still a thespian or tortured artist at heart, even if they work in accounts. At one point back in the wilds of the [80s it was possible to see a rising comedian in the Fringe, playing a grubby church hall somewhere for 50p a ticket. Now the Fringe is exclusively the preserve of £10 tickets to see any cunt even half decent, in a venue sponsored by a multi-national drinks company. The Fringe was meant to be the grimier, grittier underside of the festival, but now it is a bigger corporate stitch-up than the real Festival; hundreds of dreadful comedians with still clamouring to 'make it' at the already saturated Fringe. There is the mincing upper-middle class English one of dubious sexual orientation that uses their general limp-wristed uselessness as a source of self-effacing humour. There is the rough Northern-English one who over-shares their personal information and issues, or the rough cockney-geezer one that talks about his Dad giving him a stolen bike at Christmas. There is the token minority women who gets one joke in per appearance on Mock The Week and insists on making jokes about head scarves to a sea of uncomfortable giggles. There is the Nineties-era dinosaur recycling Nineties-era jokes in a conference center somewhere on the edge of town (Stewart Lee, Richard Herring, David Baddiel or one of those other ancient unfunny cunts). Then there is all the nerdy cunts recording podcasts where they discuss facts to boring to make it into an episode of QI, thicko 'dreamy' girls who sing songs about genital herpes while playing the ukulele, foreign cunts with a single rat-tail dreadlock playing in 'Balkan' bands or all the other cunts generally stinking the place up with their mundane, third-rate bollocks.

The worst bit is that when I travel abroad, or even elsewhere in the UK, I have to contend with Festival cunts telling me how much they love my city, even though they only know the inside of a dozen pubs and venues. They totally get Edinburgh, because they paid £25 to see some second-tier Live at the Apollo cunt in the Fosters Magic Comedy Tent at the Pleasance, paid £20 for two Gin and Tonic and then locked themselves out of the shitty student flat they paid £300 to stay four days in. For all the money the Festival and Fringe brings in the city doesn't seem any better for it.

[Guest Quincy Cockfingers]

Dan. That was as long as fuck. I went and bought popcorn half way through. 

Dont rent out your rooms to these fucking loud, blabbering wanks, it's bad enough without you encouraging it. 

If you rent these cunts shit holes, and tell them they are shit holes in advance, they always say they are "cool" with it as they're "used to slumming it for the fest". But when they arrive the always go mental as they clearly thought one was joking about the shit hole bit. This is resolveable - 

1. Take full non refundable deposit equivalent to the whole fucking amount, and by bacs only.

2. On no account meet them upon arrival- leave keys in a key safe.

3. On no account answer your phone until you know they have gone. 

[Decimus]

13 minutes ago, Tata Steely Dan said:

Imagine that for absolutely no reason everybody decides that for one month of the year they will kick your front door down and ransack your house for a month. Do a little digging and it turns out that your house has, arbitrarily, been the 'festival' house since the early 1950s, though you cannot think of a good reason why. You wake up one morning and there is an angry Japanese woman in your kitchen shouting "WHICH WAY CASTLE?" as you try and make your breakfast. You cannot get dressed without some failed stage-school Daddy's Money cunt trying to hand you a flyer. You go into the bathroom and there is a loud English twat in there bellowing about his one-man re-imagining of The Taming of the Shrew, as seen through the eyes of legendary castrated code-breaker Alan Turin, himself re-cast as a transgender man in a North Korean concentration camp. Naturally his play is being performed in your shower, that you have to share with an unwashed Spanish tourist with a raging head cold because he is the only other sap that got coaxed into attending this bollocks. Your house quickly fills up with dreadful people who eat all your food, stub dreadful cigarettes out on all the furniture, clog the toilet with their dreadful meaty English shits and break all the crockery with their dreadful English clumsiness. A hoard of passive-aggressive, ignorant fucks that don't know how to read a map or figure out how any of the public transport works, and who think that bus drivers double up as tourist information officers. 

When these cunts finally leave they ram a wad of greasy tenners into your front pocket with a final bellow of 'same time next year old chap?'. As you mull this over you quickly realise that the wad of tenners won't cover the cost of the cleanup, and that most of the money went to some other cunts anyway who won't offer any help.

The Edinburgh festival is shite. Don't bother coming here, just take it from me.

The Fringe is worse. Every cunt who did drama at school, and who is now resigned to an utterly pointless middle-management office job, seems to take this month as the time to cut loose and imagine that they are some luvvie cunt. For 11 months of the year you adhere to the strict office dress-code, but this is the one change you get to dig out the pastel-shade sweaters, chinos and loafers. Time to imagine that they are still a thespian or tortured artist at heart, even if they work in accounts. At one point back in the wilds of the [80s it was possible to see a rising comedian in the Fringe, playing a grubby church hall somewhere for 50p a ticket. Now the Fringe is exclusively the preserve of £10 tickets to see any cunt even half decent, in a venue sponsored by a multi-national drinks company. The Fringe was meant to be the grimier, grittier underside of the festival, but now it is a bigger corporate stitch-up than the real Festival; hundreds of dreadful comedians with still clamouring to 'make it' at the already saturated Fringe. There is the mincing upper-middle class English one of dubious sexual orientation that uses their general limp-wristed uselessness as a source of self-effacing humour. There is the rough Northern-English one who over-shares their personal information and issues, or the rough cockney-geezer one that talks about his Dad giving him a stolen bike at Christmas. There is the token minority women who gets one joke in per appearance on Mock The Week and insists on making jokes about head scarves to a sea of uncomfortable giggles. There is the Nineties-era dinosaur recycling Nineties-era jokes in a conference center somewhere on the edge of town (Stewart Lee, Richard Herring, David Baddiel or one of those other ancient unfunny cunts). Then there is all the nerdy cunts recording podcasts where they discuss facts to boring to make it into an episode of QI, thicko 'dreamy' girls who sing songs about genital herpes while playing the ukulele, foreign cunts with a single rat-tail dreadlock playing in 'Balkan' bands or all the other cunts generally stinking the place up with their mundane, third-rate bollocks.

The worst bit is that when I travel abroad, or even elsewhere in the UK, I have to contend with Festival cunts telling me how much they love my city, even though they only know the inside of a dozen pubs and venues. They totally get Edinburgh, because they paid £25 to see some second-tier Live at the Apollo cunt in the Fosters Magic Comedy Tent at the Pleasance, paid £20 for two Gin and Tonic and then locked themselves out of the shitty student flat they paid £300 to stay four days in. For all the money the Festival and Fringe brings in the city doesn't seem any better for it.

The irony is probably lost on you, but this rant sounds exactly like the sort of monologue that would be performed by some alternative student type bender at your fucking god awful festival.  One word. Move.

[Guest Tata Steely Dan]

14 minutes ago, Decimus said:

One word. Move.

Fuck off. 

[Guest Ollyboro]

Dan, you cunt, have you seen how much fucking space quoting your nom takes up?

[Guest Ollyboro]

46 minutes ago, Tata Steely Dan said:

Imagine that for absolutely no reason everybody decides that for one month of the year they will kick your front door down and ransack your house for a month. Do a little digging and it turns out that your house has, arbitrarily, been the 'festival' house since the early 1950s, though you cannot think of a good reason why. You wake up one morning and there is an angry Japanese woman in your kitchen shouting "WHICH WAY CASTLE?" as you try and make your breakfast. You cannot get dressed without some failed stage-school Daddy's Money cunt trying to hand you a flyer. You go into the bathroom and there is a loud English twat in there bellowing about his one-man re-imagining of The Taming of the Shrew, as seen through the eyes of legendary castrated code-breaker Alan Turin, himself re-cast as a transgender man in a North Korean concentration camp. Naturally his play is being performed in your shower, that you have to share with an unwashed Spanish tourist with a raging head cold because he is the only other sap that got coaxed into attending this bollocks. Your house quickly fills up with dreadful people who eat all your food, stub dreadful cigarettes out on all the furniture, clog the toilet with their dreadful meaty English shits and break all the crockery with their dreadful English clumsiness. A hoard of passive-aggressive, ignorant fucks that don't know how to read a map or figure out how any of the public transport works, and who think that bus drivers double up as tourist information officers. 

When these cunts finally leave they ram a wad of greasy tenners into your front pocket with a final bellow of 'same time next year old chap?'. As you mull this over you quickly realise that the wad of tenners won't cover the cost of the cleanup, and that most of the money went to some other cunts anyway who won't offer any help.

The Edinburgh festival is shite. Don't bother coming here, just take it from me.

The Fringe is worse. Every cunt who did drama at school, and who is now resigned to an utterly pointless middle-management office job, seems to take this month as the time to cut loose and imagine that they are some luvvie cunt. For 11 months of the year you adhere to the strict office dress-code, but this is the one change you get to dig out the pastel-shade sweaters, chinos and loafers. Time to imagine that they are still a thespian or tortured artist at heart, even if they work in accounts. At one point back in the wilds of the [80s it was possible to see a rising comedian in the Fringe, playing a grubby church hall somewhere for 50p a ticket. Now the Fringe is exclusively the preserve of £10 tickets to see any cunt even half decent, in a venue sponsored by a multi-national drinks company. The Fringe was meant to be the grimier, grittier underside of the festival, but now it is a bigger corporate stitch-up than the real Festival; hundreds of dreadful comedians with still clamouring to 'make it' at the already saturated Fringe. There is the mincing upper-middle class English one of dubious sexual orientation that uses their general limp-wristed uselessness as a source of self-effacing humour. There is the rough Northern-English one who over-shares their personal information and issues, or the rough cockney-geezer one that talks about his Dad giving him a stolen bike at Christmas. There is the token minority women who gets one joke in per appearance on Mock The Week and insists on making jokes about head scarves to a sea of uncomfortable giggles. There is the Nineties-era dinosaur recycling Nineties-era jokes in a conference center somewhere on the edge of town (Stewart Lee, Richard Herring, David Baddiel or one of those other ancient unfunny cunts). Then there is all the nerdy cunts recording podcasts where they discuss facts to boring to make it into an episode of QI, thicko 'dreamy' girls who sing songs about genital herpes while playing the ukulele, foreign cunts with a single rat-tail dreadlock playing in 'Balkan' bands or all the other cunts generally stinking the place up with their mundane, third-rate bollocks.

The worst bit is that when I travel abroad, or even elsewhere in the UK, I have to contend with Festival cunts telling me how much they love my city, even though they only know the inside of a dozen pubs and venues. They totally get Edinburgh, because they paid £25 to see some second-tier Live at the Apollo cunt in the Fosters Magic Comedy Tent at the Pleasance, paid £20 for two Gin and Tonic and then locked themselves out of the shitty student flat they paid £300 to stay four days in. For all the money the Festival and Fringe brings in the city doesn't seem any better for it.

Fucking told you. Cunt.

[Guest Tata Steely Dan]

2 minutes ago, Ollyboro said:

Dan, you cunt, have you seen how much fucking space quoting your nom takes up?

 

Don't fucking quote it then?

[Guest Tata Steely Dan]

Apologies, I thought some of you cock smokers might actually have a half-developed attention span.

[Cuntybaws]

49 minutes ago, Tata Steely Dan said:

Imagine that for absolutely no reason everybody decides that for one month of the year they will kick your front door down and ransack your house for a month. Do a little digging and it turns out that your house has, arbitrarily, been the 'festival' house since the early 1950s, though you cannot think of a good reason why. You wake up one morning and there is an angry Japanese woman in your kitchen shouting "WHICH WAY CASTLE?" as you try and make your breakfast. You cannot get dressed without some failed stage-school Daddy's Money cunt trying to hand you a flyer. You go into the bathroom and there is a loud English twat in there bellowing about his one-man re-imagining of The Taming of the Shrew, as seen through the eyes of legendary castrated code-breaker Alan Turin, himself re-cast as a transgender man in a North Korean concentration camp. Naturally his play is being performed in your shower, that you have to share with an unwashed Spanish tourist with a raging head cold because he is the only other sap that got coaxed into attending this bollocks. Your house quickly fills up with dreadful people who eat all your food, stub dreadful cigarettes out on all the furniture, clog the toilet with their dreadful meaty English shits and break all the crockery with their dreadful English clumsiness. A hoard of passive-aggressive, ignorant fucks that don't know how to read a map or figure out how any of the public transport works, and who think that bus drivers double up as tourist information officers. 

When these cunts finally leave they ram a wad of greasy tenners into your front pocket with a final bellow of 'same time next year old chap?'. As you mull this over you quickly realise that the wad of tenners won't cover the cost of the cleanup, and that most of the money went to some other cunts anyway who won't offer any help.

The Edinburgh festival is shite. Don't bother coming here, just take it from me.

The Fringe is worse. Every cunt who did drama at school, and who is now resigned to an utterly pointless middle-management office job, seems to take this month as the time to cut loose and imagine that they are some luvvie cunt. For 11 months of the year you adhere to the strict office dress-code, but this is the one change you get to dig out the pastel-shade sweaters, chinos and loafers. Time to imagine that they are still a thespian or tortured artist at heart, even if they work in accounts. At one point back in the wilds of the [80s it was possible to see a rising comedian in the Fringe, playing a grubby church hall somewhere for 50p a ticket. Now the Fringe is exclusively the preserve of £10 tickets to see any cunt even half decent, in a venue sponsored by a multi-national drinks company. The Fringe was meant to be the grimier, grittier underside of the festival, but now it is a bigger corporate stitch-up than the real Festival; hundreds of dreadful comedians with still clamouring to 'make it' at the already saturated Fringe. There is the mincing upper-middle class English one of dubious sexual orientation that uses their general limp-wristed uselessness as a source of self-effacing humour. There is the rough Northern-English one who over-shares their personal information and issues, or the rough cockney-geezer one that talks about his Dad giving him a stolen bike at Christmas. There is the token minority women who gets one joke in per appearance on Mock The Week and insists on making jokes about head scarves to a sea of uncomfortable giggles. There is the Nineties-era dinosaur recycling Nineties-era jokes in a conference center somewhere on the edge of town (Stewart Lee, Richard Herring, David Baddiel or one of those other ancient unfunny cunts). Then there is all the nerdy cunts recording podcasts where they discuss facts to boring to make it into an episode of QI, thicko 'dreamy' girls who sing songs about genital herpes while playing the ukulele, foreign cunts with a single rat-tail dreadlock playing in 'Balkan' bands or all the other cunts generally stinking the place up with their mundane, third-rate bollocks.

The worst bit is that when I travel abroad, or even elsewhere in the UK, I have to contend with Festival cunts telling me how much they love my city, even though they only know the inside of a dozen pubs and venues. They totally get Edinburgh, because they paid £25 to see some second-tier Live at the Apollo cunt in the Fosters Magic Comedy Tent at the Pleasance, paid £20 for two Gin and Tonic and then locked themselves out of the shitty student flat they paid £300 to stay four days in. For all the money the Festival and Fringe brings in the city doesn't seem any better for it.

 

1 minute ago, Tata Steely Dan said:

Don't fucking quote it then?

I beg your pardon?

[Cuntybaws]

Never forget the the true meaning of The Festival.

 

[Guest Manky]

Someone seems not to like the English. For a country where Susan Boyle is the closest thing to a page three girl, their top football team would get twatted by Paignton U11 girls netball team and the last musical act we heard of had a lead singer shooting their fan with an air rifle,. your national cuisine is deep fried cholesterol and your oil rigs are fucking near redundant, this is bordering on a mental illness.

[Guest Tata Steely Dan]

2 minutes ago, Manky said:

Someone seems not to like the English. For a country where Susan Boyle is the closest thing to a page three girl, their top football team would get twatted by Paignton U11 girls netball team and the last musical act we heard of had a lead singer shooting their fan with an air rifle,. your national cuisine is deep fried cholesterol and your oil rigs are fucking near redundant, this is bordering on a mental illness.

Call me back when the Canal Street Diving Festival is in full swing.

[Jiggerycock]

You think that's bad?

Mercifully, September - like death and taxes - will come and you can be shot of the whole sorry bunch for 11 months remission from the cancerous wank.

Unfortunately, these little viruses go back to the world and it is then the trouble starts.

My God they can bore for Britain.....well, the Northern Hemisphere really. Shitting on about this 'rilly 'tastic, mime artist they saw or how 'you simply mustn't miss this unheralded nobody that is apparently going to be the next big thing in ballsachingly twee humour' all delivered with the pretentiousness that would make Punkape look like an exercise in keeping it real down at KFC

These little cunts and their boring Edinburgh stories are everywhere.

Don Level 4 Biohazard Suits, take lots of anti-retroviral drugs and under no account engage any of them in conversation.

 

[Guest Manky]

1 minute ago, Tata Steely Dan said:

Call me back when the Canal Street Diving Festival is in full swing.

It runs all year round. Worth a tenner a throw to watch drowning homosexualists. Funnier than The Fringe.

[Guest Tata Steely Dan]

2 minutes ago, Manky said:

It runs all year round. Worth a tenner a throw to watch drowning homosexualists. Funnier than The Fringe.

 

Looks like you Mancunians have a murderer on your hands! 

http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/serial-killer-dubbed-the-pusher-7204892

The Canal Pusher is performing from the 5th to the 12th of August at the Underbelly, George Square. Tickets from £15.

[ratcum]

I get quite vexed if I see someone standing too close to impressionist art

[Guest Manky]

2 minutes ago, Tata Steely Dan said:

 

Looks like you Mancunians have a murderer on your hands! 

http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/serial-killer-dubbed-the-pusher-7204892

The Canal Pusher is performing from the 5th to the 12th of August at the Underbelly, George Square. Tickets from £15.

No pusher. Strong beer. Don't  leave home without your tinfoil hat.

[Guest Tata Steely Dan]

7 minutes ago, Manky said:

No pusher. Strong beer. Don't  leave home without your tinfoil hat.

No Pusher, Strong Beer. 

Magic is about to happen. In No Pusher, Strong Beer, Manchester's most deluded dancing magicians are set to sprinkle sunshine over the Edinburgh Festival Fringe with their latest magical dance and splash spectacular.

'The laughter never started'  (Manchester Evening News).

Comedy

Assembly George Square Gardens - George Square, EH8 9LH 

[camberwell gypsy]

3 hours ago, Tata Steely Dan said:

Imagine that for absolutely no reason everybody decides that for one month of the year they will kick your front door down and ransack your house for a month. Do a little digging and it turns out that your house has, arbitrarily, been the 'festival' house since the early 1950s, though you cannot think of a good reason why. You wake up one morning and there is an angry Japanese woman in your kitchen shouting "WHICH WAY CASTLE?" as you try and make your breakfast. You cannot get dressed without some failed stage-school Daddy's Money cunt trying to hand you a flyer. You go into the bathroom and there is a loud English twat in there bellowing about his one-man re-imagining of The Taming of the Shrew, as seen through the eyes of legendary castrated code-breaker Alan Turin, himself re-cast as a transgender man in a North Korean concentration camp. Naturally his play is being performed in your shower, that you have to share with an unwashed Spanish tourist with a raging head cold because he is the only other sap that got coaxed into attending this bollocks. Your house quickly fills up with dreadful people who eat all your food, stub dreadful cigarettes out on all the furniture, clog the toilet with their dreadful meaty English shits and break all the crockery with their dreadful English clumsiness. A hoard of passive-aggressive, ignorant fucks that don't know how to read a map or figure out how any of the public transport works, and who think that bus drivers double up as tourist information officers. 

When these cunts finally leave they ram a wad of greasy tenners into your front pocket with a final bellow of 'same time next year old chap?'. As you mull this over you quickly realise that the wad of tenners won't cover the cost of the cleanup, and that most of the money went to some other cunts anyway who won't offer any help.

The Edinburgh festival is shite. Don't bother coming here, just take it from me.

The Fringe is worse. Every cunt who did drama at school, and who is now resigned to an utterly pointless middle-management office job, seems to take this month as the time to cut loose and imagine that they are some luvvie cunt. For 11 months of the year you adhere to the strict office dress-code, but this is the one change you get to dig out the pastel-shade sweaters, chinos and loafers. Time to imagine that they are still a thespian or tortured artist at heart, even if they work in accounts. At one point back in the wilds of the [80s it was possible to see a rising comedian in the Fringe, playing a grubby church hall somewhere for 50p a ticket. Now the Fringe is exclusively the preserve of £10 tickets to see any cunt even half decent, in a venue sponsored by a multi-national drinks company. The Fringe was meant to be the grimier, grittier underside of the festival, but now it is a bigger corporate stitch-up than the real Festival; hundreds of dreadful comedians with still clamouring to 'make it' at the already saturated Fringe. There is the mincing upper-middle class English one of dubious sexual orientation that uses their general limp-wristed uselessness as a source of self-effacing humour. There is the rough Northern-English one who over-shares their personal information and issues, or the rough cockney-geezer one that talks about his Dad giving him a stolen bike at Christmas. There is the token minority women who gets one joke in per appearance on Mock The Week and insists on making jokes about head scarves to a sea of uncomfortable giggles. There is the Nineties-era dinosaur recycling Nineties-era jokes in a conference center somewhere on the edge of town (Stewart Lee, Richard Herring, David Baddiel or one of those other ancient unfunny cunts). Then there is all the nerdy cunts recording podcasts where they discuss facts to boring to make it into an episode of QI, thicko 'dreamy' girls who sing songs about genital herpes while playing the ukulele, foreign cunts with a single rat-tail dreadlock playing in 'Balkan' bands or all the other cunts generally stinking the place up with their mundane, third-rate bollocks.

The worst bit is that when I travel abroad, or even elsewhere in the UK, I have to contend with Festival cunts telling me how much they love my city, even though they only know the inside of a dozen pubs and venues. They totally get Edinburgh, because they paid £25 to see some second-tier Live at the Apollo cunt in the Fosters Magic Comedy Tent at the Pleasance, paid £20 for two Gin and Tonic and then locked themselves out of the shitty student flat they paid £300 to stay four days in. For all the money the Festival and Fringe brings in the city doesn't seem any better for it.

I got through about a third of this before zzzźzzzzzzzzzzzz!!

[Guest Snatch]

4 hours ago, camberwell gypsy said:

I got through about a third of this before zzzźzzzzzzzzzzzz!!

I got as I had as Japanese woman in the kitchen. Too fucking long and going by other posts,too fucking boring.

Tata you long winded cunt,just say you hate the festival without writing your life history.

[Guest DingTheRioja]

7 hours ago, Tata Steely Dan said:

 

Looks like you Mancunians have a murderer on your hands! 

http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/serial-killer-dubbed-the-pusher-7204892

The Canal Pusher is performing from the 5th to the 12th of August at the Underbelly, George Square. Tickets from £15.

“It is unlikely that such a high number of cases are the result of just accidents or suicides as canals are not popular suicide spots, especially for men."

Well, 3 things,

1. they are in an area full of drugged up drunks, walking on wet and mossy paths...
2. they are in an area full of drugged up drunks, walking on wet and mossy paths... who are full of self-loathing/depression/oppression..
3. maybe you're "expert suiciding spotting techniques" have completely missed 80 suicides in one area....

 

 

8 hours ago, Decimus said:

Move.

probably the most intelligent comment you've ever made...

[Guest Ollyboro]

20 hours ago, camberwell gypsy said:

I got through about a third of this before zzzźzzzzzzzzzzzz!!

You turned your Steely Dan on?*

 

 

*This joke only works if you:

1) Know that Steely Dan was a name William Burroughs gave to a vibrator, and

2) You agree that the Corner's Steely Dan is a complete and utter dildo. 

[Guest deebom]

I've never been to the fringe, but a mate of mine is marrying some rich old fella who owns property all over that town. She says we're welcome to stay in one of his flats, so I might go and have a look next year.

[ratcum]

40 minutes ago, deebom said:

I've never been to the fringe, but a mate of mine is marrying some rich old fella who owns property all over that town. She says we're welcome to stay in one of his flats, so I might go and have a look next year.

It’s good. For two months they clear the city of drunken, drugged up pasty faced jocks and bring in some culture. Unfortunately the culture includes Australians but they’re easy to spot.

[Guest Quincy Cockfingers]

2 hours ago, deebom said:

I've never been to the fringe, but a mate of mine is marrying some rich old fella who owns property all over that town. She says we're welcome to stay in one of his flats, so I might go and have a look next year.

It's fucking rammed. Getting decent restaurant booking is a total cunt. Nearly would suggest another time of year , but you haven't before so is worth it, esp if you can get a flash new town flat you'ld be laughing. But you can drink out until 3am at least.