Sir Barry Gibb

[Last Cunt Standing]

And when you rise in the morning sun....you’re still a Cunt of the highest order. 

I never did like this Cunt, ever since he and his malodorous brothers took musical inspiration from the Aberfan landslide to come up with the mangled mess that is New York Mining Disaster 1941. But now he’s allowing one of the Windsors to doff him on the shoulders, he’s promoted himself to mega Cunt. He and his retard brothers spent their entire career behind the curve, attempting to piggyback the creativity of others. Odessa should have been a death knell, being half amphetamine-inspired psychedelic wet dream and half Alan Partridge nonsense. Yet even then the Cunt wouldn’t die, shamelessly plagiarising the cream of Motown to develop that beyond-parody falsetto and wail about Nights On Broadway. Then came his moment of Cunt immortality, bashing out a few lazy fag-packet efforts to form the backing track for a low-rent B-movie in which the worlds’ second favourite Scientologist weirdo gets a white suit on and struts about a gay nightclub, in between gang-raping a woman by proxy and loitering about like a pisspoor version of the Jets from West Side Story. Saturday Night Fever was an utter abomination, a backstreet abortion of an album that killed the mainstream disco movement just as it began to show promise.

The cunt grew fat on the royalties from the tone deaf and the gullible, then carved a second career as purveyor of MOTR warblefests for the intellectually lazy. As his brothers had the good grace to die, presumably of sheer embarrassment, this cunt ploughed his ill-gotten resources into trying to look like Aslan The Lion fucked Esther Rantzen. The inevitable Country music experiments, endless collaborations with bored warblers told by faceless PR types to stretch their demographic, and a frankly sad “legend” appearance at Glastonbury, all did nothing to atone for a lifetime of Cuntery. 

So, with the announcement of his knighthood and his beatification amongst the dullard press, let me be the first to say this man is an unrivalled Cunt, who needs staking out naked in the desert sun while a thousand wasps swarm over his honeyed scrotum. Fuck the squeaky Sir-twat. 

Paul Gambaccini can go fuck himself, too. 

[Snowy]

As much as I hate the big teethed cunt gibbs I was wondering if your available as my local doctor, from your posts it wont be the usual eat more healthy your a fat cunt get out of my surgery escalator  affair, It will be a long winded joint where I may even get to ask you to look at my bum fruit...sign me up doc.

[Guest Lady Penelope]

[Guest Lady Penelope]

Robin Gibb was a passenger on the 1943 Hastings to Charing Cross train on 5th November 1967 .. many people were killed sadly Robin Gibb .. I'll get me coat.

[and]

7 hours ago, Last Cunt Standing said:

And when you rise in the morning sun....you’re still a Cunt of the highest order. 

I never did like this Cunt, ever since he and his malodorous brothers took musical inspiration from the Aberfan landslide to come up with the mangled mess that is New York Mining Disaster 1941. But now he’s allowing one of the Windsors to doff him on the shoulders, he’s promoted himself to mega Cunt. He and his retard brothers spent their entire career behind the curve, attempting to piggyback the creativity of others. Odessa should have been a death knell, being half amphetamine-inspired psychedelic wet dream and half Alan Partridge nonsense. Yet even then the Cunt wouldn’t die, shamelessly plagiarising the cream of Motown to develop that beyond-parody falsetto and wail about Nights On Broadway. Then came his moment of Cunt immortality, bashing out a few lazy fag-packet efforts to form the backing track for a low-rent B-movie in which the worlds’ second favourite Scientologist weirdo gets a white suit on and struts about a gay nightclub, in between gang-raping a woman by proxy and loitering about like a pisspoor version of the Jets from West Side Story. Saturday Night Fever was an utter abomination, a backstreet abortion of an album that killed the mainstream disco movement just as it began to show promise.

The cunt grew fat on the royalties from the tone deaf and the gullible, then carved a second career as purveyor of MOTR warblefests for the intellectually lazy. As his brothers had the good grace to die, presumably of sheer embarrassment, this cunt ploughed his ill-gotten resources into trying to look like Aslan The Lion fucked Esther Rantzen. The inevitable Country music experiments, endless collaborations with bored warblers told by faceless PR types to stretch their demographic, and a frankly sad “legend” appearance at Glastonbury, all did nothing to atone for a lifetime of Cuntery. 

So, with the announcement of his knighthood and his beatification amongst the dullard press, let me be the first to say this man is an unrivalled Cunt, who needs staking out naked in the desert sun while a thousand wasps swarm over his honeyed scrotum. Fuck the squeaky Sir-twat. 

Paul Gambaccini can go fuck himself, too. 

You really don't have too much of a clue about music, do you?

You probably buy the latest trendy shite, wear skinny legged trousers and have grown a beard because that's what hipsters ( or cunts who think they are hipsters) do these days.

So you're either a wanker student type who thought mumford & sons were a bit edgy, or some knob who tunes in to x-factor because you think you're being 'ironic' watching that karaoke cunt fest.

Whatever.

Try some Captain Beefheart, then kill yourself, you cunt.

Fuck off

[Last Cunt Standing]

5 hours ago, Snowflake said:

As much as I hate the big teethed cunt gibbs I was wondering if your available as my local doctor, from your posts it wont be the usual eat more healthy your a fat cunt get out of my surgery escalator  affair, It will be a long winded joint where I may even get to ask you to look at my bum fruit...sign me up doc.

Believe me, there are many and varied ways, some terribly verbose, of telling someone they are a fat cunt who should fuck off out of my surgery. A particular favourite are the arthritic knee crowd, who look so crestfallen when you say the NHS won’t fund their surgery until their BMI is lower than the national debt. Advising them to take up jogging on their fucked knee, or find £10k to go private always makes me chuckle. 

I have just realised there is a Bee Gees song I like. Massachusetts is not awful. 

[Guest luke swarm]

7 hours ago, Last Cunt Standing said:

And when you rise in the morning sun....you’re still a Cunt of the highest order. 

I never did like this Cunt, ever since he and his malodorous brothers took musical inspiration from the Aberfan landslide to come up with the mangled mess that is New York Mining Disaster 1941. But now he’s allowing one of the Windsors to doff him on the shoulders, he’s promoted himself to mega Cunt. He and his retard brothers spent their entire career behind the curve, attempting to piggyback the creativity of others. Odessa should have been a death knell, being half amphetamine-inspired psychedelic wet dream and half Alan Partridge nonsense. Yet even then the Cunt wouldn’t die, shamelessly plagiarising the cream of Motown to develop that beyond-parody falsetto and wail about Nights On Broadway. Then came his moment of Cunt immortality, bashing out a few lazy fag-packet efforts to form the backing track for a low-rent B-movie in which the worlds’ second favourite Scientologist weirdo gets a white suit on and struts about a gay nightclub, in between gang-raping a woman by proxy and loitering about like a pisspoor version of the Jets from West Side Story. Saturday Night Fever was an utter abomination, a backstreet abortion of an album that killed the mainstream disco movement just as it began to show promise.

The cunt grew fat on the royalties from the tone deaf and the gullible, then carved a second career as purveyor of MOTR warblefests for the intellectually lazy. As his brothers had the good grace to die, presumably of sheer embarrassment, this cunt ploughed his ill-gotten resources into trying to look like Aslan The Lion fucked Esther Rantzen. The inevitable Country music experiments, endless collaborations with bored warblers told by faceless PR types to stretch their demographic, and a frankly sad “legend” appearance at Glastonbury, all did nothing to atone for a lifetime of Cuntery. 

So, with the announcement of his knighthood and his beatification amongst the dullard press, let me be the first to say this man is an unrivalled Cunt, who needs staking out naked in the desert sun while a thousand wasps swarm over his honeyed scrotum. Fuck the squeaky Sir-twat. 

Paul Gambaccini can go fuck himself, too. 

I'm not reading all that LCS, like Mr Trump I need my cunt facts in haiku or picture form. 

[Last Cunt Standing]

3 minutes ago, luke swarm said:

I'm not reading all that LCS, like Mr Trump I need my cunt facts in haiku or picture form. 

My apologies Luke, I realise the longest book in Wolverhampton Civic Library is a pamphlet on the cultural highlights of the Black Country. Those of us not living in caves and picking our gormless arses like Barry from Auf Weidersehen use things called words to form an argument. Sometimes a thought more complex than “do yaw wanna go down the Bullring, bab?” might take a paragraph or too. I will strain for brevity in future, but in other settings being longer than average attracts such praise it’s clearly affected my psyche. 

[Guest luke swarm]

1 hour ago, Last Cunt Standing said:

My apologies Luke, I realise the longest book in Wolverhampton Civic Library is a pamphlet on the cultural highlights of the Black Country. Those of us not living in caves and picking our gormless arses like Barry from Auf Weidersehen use things called words to form an argument. Sometimes a thought more complex than “do yaw wanna go down the Bullring, bab?” might take a paragraph or too. I will strain for brevity in future, but in other settings being longer than average attracts such praise it’s clearly affected my psyche. 

what's this you say, Wolverhampton has a library, are you sure? 

[Jiggerycock]

He got a Knighthood??!

What for? 'Services to looking like Aslan?'

Pull the other one! You'll be telling me Nick Clegg has got one next.

[Last Cunt Standing]

29 minutes ago, luke swarm said:

what's this you say, Wolverhampton has a library, are you sure? 

I believe it’s a multi-use building which doubles as a homeless shelter and halal butchers every third Wednesday. Or at least it was when I last visited the Florence of the West Midlands on a poverty safari. 

[Witheredscrote]

38 minutes ago, Jiggerycock said:

He got a Knighthood??!

What for? 'Services to looking like Aslan?'

Pull the other one! You'll be telling me Nick Clegg has got one next.

It's all a load of bollocks Jiggers.  What next I ask.  Decimus getting a Peerage. I can see it now,  Lord Webfoot of Marshland.

[Guest Lady Penelope]

54 minutes ago, luke swarm said:

what's this you say, Wolverhampton has a library, are you sure? 

Here it is, I have been in it. There were at least five books

[Last Cunt Standing]

1 hour ago, Lady Penelope said:

Here it is, I have been in it. There were at least five books

Looks like the sort of building our dear departed Punkape is commonly found in, lurking in the stall clutching his carrier bag and slowly rocking back and forth muttering some bollocks about golf clubs and nice claret. 

Ten quid says when he pops up hydra-like from whatever hole he’s crawled up, it’ll be some bollocks about his fortnight in Sandy Lane. 

[Guest Snatch]

He might be a buck toothed knob but he's done a lot more for music than the other one that got a knighthood,Ringo fucking Starr.

[Guest Earl Albert of Ross (Bt)]

1 hour ago, Last Cunt Standing said:

Ten quid says when he pops up hydra-like from whatever hole he’s crawled up, it’ll be some bollocks about his fortnight in Sandy Lane. 

I hope he's not anywhere near my villa there!

[Decimus]

33 minutes ago, Albert Ross said:

I hope he's not anywhere near my villa there!

If by "villa" you mean your hastily constructed polythene sheet-tent at the Barbadian municipal rubbish tip, I'd say that your chances of bumping into Barry are next to zero. 

[Guest Earl Albert of Ross (Bt)]

2 minutes ago, Decimus said:

If by "villa" you mean your hastily constructed polythene sheet-tent at the Barbadian municipal rubbish tip, I'd say that your chances of bumping into Barry are next to zero. 

It's a 21st century chattel house.

I take it you're very familiar with the Barbadian municipal rubbish tip? Or St Lawrence Gap as chavs call it.

[cuntspotter]

Guilty only of being old and looking a bit weird. Always a bit behind the leading edge of popular music. Too lightweight for real dance afficianados. Try this:

https://youtu.be/lbbzBTWKrz0

[Witheredscrote]

1 hour ago, cuntspotter said:

Guilty only of being old and looking a bit weird. Always a bit behind the leading edge of popular music. Too lightweight for real dance afficianados. Try this:

https://youtu.be/lbbzBTWKrz0

It's easy to forget how long DB was about.  In his formative years my late brother - in - law was a drummer with him. I have some really good photos of them performing at a gig in the Rat & Parrot, Beckenham. Apparently DB came to dinner one time, and my late mother-in-law discouraged the 'relationship', as he was an 'odd type'!!!. Silly cow.

[Decimus]

21 minutes ago, Witheredscrote said:

It's easy to forget how long DB was about.  In his formative years my late brother - in - law was a drummer with him. I have some really good photos of them performing at a gig in the Rat & Parrot, Beckenham. Apparently DB came to dinner one time, and my late mother-in-law discouraged the 'relationship', as he was an 'odd type'!!!. Silly cow.

The next time you decide to take a trip down memory lane, take it by yourself without boring the fuck out of everyone else.

Fucking idiot.

[Guest Wizardsleeve]

17 hours ago, Last Cunt Standing said:

And when you rise in the morning sun....you’re still a Cunt of the highest order. 

I never did like this Cunt, ever since he and his malodorous brothers took musical inspiration from the Aberfan landslide to come up with the mangled mess that is New York Mining Disaster 1941. But now he’s allowing one of the Windsors to doff him on the shoulders, he’s promoted himself to mega Cunt. He and his retard brothers spent their entire career behind the curve, attempting to piggyback the creativity of others. Odessa should have been a death knell, being half amphetamine-inspired psychedelic wet dream and half Alan Partridge nonsense. Yet even then the Cunt wouldn’t die, shamelessly plagiarising the cream of Motown to develop that beyond-parody falsetto and wail about Nights On Broadway. Then came his moment of Cunt immortality, bashing out a few lazy fag-packet efforts to form the backing track for a low-rent B-movie in which the worlds’ second favourite Scientologist weirdo gets a white suit on and struts about a gay nightclub, in between gang-raping a woman by proxy and loitering about like a pisspoor version of the Jets from West Side Story. Saturday Night Fever was an utter abomination, a backstreet abortion of an album that killed the mainstream disco movement just as it began to show promise.

The cunt grew fat on the royalties from the tone deaf and the gullible, then carved a second career as purveyor of MOTR warblefests for the intellectually lazy. As his brothers had the good grace to die, presumably of sheer embarrassment, this cunt ploughed his ill-gotten resources into trying to look like Aslan The Lion fucked Esther Rantzen. The inevitable Country music experiments, endless collaborations with bored warblers told by faceless PR types to stretch their demographic, and a frankly sad “legend” appearance at Glastonbury, all did nothing to atone for a lifetime of Cuntery. 

So, with the announcement of his knighthood and his beatification amongst the dullard press, let me be the first to say this man is an unrivalled Cunt, who needs staking out naked in the desert sun while a thousand wasps swarm over his honeyed scrotum. Fuck the squeaky Sir-twat. 

Paul Gambaccini can go fuck himself, too. 

LCS, I think the post is a bit light. Beef it up a bit, won't you?  A more paragraphs about the cunt, with some colour graphs and charts, and a load more of humourless commentary from your good self.  You'll then have enough dead cunts to open a cemetery scam.  

Cunt.  

[ratcum]

And the award for swallowing the most spunk in 24 hrs goes to:

MARC ALMOND OBE (Order of Bender)