Jiggerycock

There, they're, their

Baws you have access to some fucked-up pictures, that's for def. This cannot be just Google Images and a fertile Imagination. You're not a member of the secret services are you, with all the good stuff on Cliff Richard, Ted Heath and Esther Rantzen are you?

Forgetting such chi-chi notions as our moral duty as well as hard-nosed pragmatism in dealing now with an issue that will blow up in our faces (literally) somewhere down the line if we don't; stopping human beings moving around the planet to escape war or to try to better themselves? You may as well ask them to stop breathing (or in Prof B's case, photosynthesizing). It's how we deal with this innate human desire that's the over-riding question. Encouraging an unchecked diaspora to a continent still only just recovering from an economic downturn and in the mistaken belief from our out of touch leaders that the multicultural / complete freedom of movement experiment was a 'given', that a malleable population had bought into, was always doomed to failure and it's going to be failure on an epic level, when those ISIS sleeper cells scattered through Western Europe start getting going. Fuck 'blood and soil' nationalism! That's not and never will be the answer! But a teensy-weensy bit of thought about national security might not have gone amiss these least couple of years. Worth tripping on when the body-bags start being needed in Central London, Paris, Berlin etc....

Let's hope Sharia justice runs it's sick and perverted course when it comes to homosexuality.

One a steroid-raging goon, one a predatory homosexual and one a cairn terrier called 'Bobbie'.

In that case, Assange is nothing more than a bloody rapist

Ooooh you little coward! Can't believe this translucent, water-for-blood, David-Gower-gone-to-seed piece of shit hasn't got an entire archive on here to his name. What is it when you run away from justice and hide out as a fugitive for years? It's not 'unlawful detention' that's for sure.

Bang on! Just checked back a few pages for 'Cunts Who Twiddle With Your Bits'. Read that and thought 'Aye Aye!' Got out the guacamole and taromasalata, greased myself up, made sure there was nobody else in the library and got all set to rip my fucking crank out from its socket - turn's out the nom was about...oh I forget now, but disappointment doesn't begin to describe it.

What the fuck is this piss?? I don't want to read humorous stuff about the original nom. How dare you interrupt another tedious load of fucking boring old wank about some former resident, that's been done to death more than Stuart Lubbock but somehow still pumps the nads of the bores and drongo's in here

Top Gear is for Irons

Jesus wept. We really are insatiable in our cruelty aren't we?

And people wonder why the public has a lukewarm engagement with politics or is seduced by laughable 'anti-establishment' figures such as Dulwich public schoolboy Nigel Farage or Barbican-flat dweller Arthur Scargill? We are governed by the least-noble, the least-worthy and the most venal, but we get what we settle for, and that's all there is to it.

Yes indeed - we could work out a sponsorship deal with Harpic or Jeyes Fluid or Nitromors

Naw - mine's 'Inter Megran'

I think you're onto something here! This has real scaleability in that (float with me on this) you could add a subroutine that doesn't just tell the user they are a cunt, but - and this is the money shot - it bluetooths everyone in the vicinity telling them they are a cunt! The next-generation one will have a voice synthesiser that facilitates sonic discourse along similar lines, with the user able to choose from a menu of 'voices' with bespoke messages (along the "You're a cunt") line. So for example you could have your app smoothly intoning "You're a cunt, sweetie" in the honeyed tones of Joanna Lumley say....or "Yoooo arrrrrrrgh....a...a....aaa.g cah-haant!" in the curious Esperanto of a Robert Peston. Course, we'd have to bung a few shekels at Peston and Lumley's 'peeps' for voice rights but..........

Or, for the second time in this nom, ram the damn thing up their arse, give the gerbil there something to play with and something other than their teeth to fixate upon.

You're a cyclist? You kept that quiet. The only thing you wear on your wrist are 'go faster' stripes to help with your masturbation addiction when the Tour de Manc is on - that and a protractor to show the precise angle your fist needs to be at to pour the eleventeenth pint of Watneys Red Barrel (which you've kept in a cellar since the mid 70's to re-enforce your gumby Northern stereotype persona) down your stupid neck of an evening. Have a Coke and a smile.

They're pedometers! They're heart-rate monitors! They can calculate your BMI! They can Bluetooth data to your phone so you can download and log all this information into a spreadsheet, which you can then roll up into a ball and stuff it up your arse! Get this (it'll knock your socks off)......they can tell you when you need to get up and move about a bit! By golly, I bet the next generation even has an app (everything has a cocking app these days) that writes a letter of complaint to the manufacturer when you die of Type 2 diabetes because you're a gimmick-worshiping, calorie-accumulating corpulent toad with more money than sense

I think this is 'Piltdown Man' to Prof B's 'thing that crawled out of the primordial soup'. We're a bit further up the evolutionary ladder - but not quite there yet.

What odds? I've got them in a Straight Forecast with Borussia Curtaintiebacks

Football is for irons - yes, yes, get over yourselves you tedious zeitgeist-ignoring cunts. However, Please do tune in to this monument to twit-marketing, dumbing down the already infantile and general fuckwitted buffoonery. It used to be on the radio, on a Monday lunchtime, where a flattened-vowel BBC announcer (very probably in spats and a velvet smoking jacket) would merely announce the ball number and the team associated with it, thus " Number 16 - Tottenbacon Coldspurs" will play "Number 6 - Perverton". You knew where you were and the whole thing was over and done with in 3 minutes. It's more of a moveable feast than Easter now. Sometimes a Saturday evening. Sometimes a Sunday lunchtime, sometimes before matches have even been played. 'The Eleventh Trimester after the final Penalty shootout in Capricorn' possibly, with all the bombast of a Kiss concert! So you have minor celebrities (are there any other kind?) inarticulating pre-scripted 'jokes', with Mark 'Chappers' Chapman, telling everyone what to think when Doncaster Rovers get drawn against 'plucky little Tampax League runners up Oswaldtwhistle Rovers', followed by quick cutaways to supporters of said clubs gurning away for the camera's like Bells Palsy sufferers on crack. Then we go back to Gary Lineker and watch him continue his lame pursuit of a career as a stand-up comedian......

....and you get the second little gold star on your McDonalds-proxy badge if you can do this AND shoehorn in a reference to Frank whilst you are doing it.

Substitute 'Costco' for 'Aylesbury Town Centre' and you get the hell-hole where my cum-stained futon has washed up.......

BAE = Big And Expensive

It does for you, you perverted cunt, jamming our foetid cock in the toaster, like you do......