Jiggerycock

When will we start treating this as a law and order issue? Morally 'we' (Britain...The West...the EEC....Europe) are on the high ground. We have provided safety, food and comfort (to the extent that we are able to in an imperfect world) and certainly the refugees / immigrants are in a better place in a Turkish refugee holding camp, than in Northern Iraq, Syria Eritrea etc. This though is not good enough. Asylum seekers / economic immigrants MUST be allowed to move onward - to Germany, Scandinavia, Britain or wherever they have been told the streets are paved with gold. They will destroy RAF Akrotiri, property in and around Calais. They will put truck drivers liveliehoods at risk, not to mention the 'soul' for want of a better word, of a truck driver who inadvertently takes on board one or more of these people, who then falls from their hiding place or freezes or gets crushed or.... how does the (unknowing) trucker live with that? All manner of crimes are being committed by people unwilling to work within the system, who are utterly convinced they have a moral and legal right to get to exactly where they want to be in the world. And it's re-assuring to know that the EEC's immigration policies are being dictated by gangs of people traffickers, isn't it?

I'm the same with anabolic steroids.

When I was growing up I wanted to make history - now I just want to delete it.

Got to stick with an opener sometime. I'd have Hales and say to him "come what may, you've got the next 2 years - relax and get on with it" Ansari would be a left-field pick, but he bats too slowly; both him and Cook opening would be the Boycott / Tavare option and that is not Test Cricket in the 21st Century I'm afraid! Bell has got to go. Taylor in for him with Ali dropping back down to number 8

Further evidence of Britain's descent into an emotional lability that's become excruciatingly embarrassing. It's the 'Facebookization' of life I'm afraid. Not enough to grieve - one has to be SEEN to grieve and frankly, if you're not giving it greater emphasis than the overseen fucking imbecile next to you then you're going to get castigated as a heartless monster. We laugh at the North Koreans when they do this kind of orchestrated, cry-on-demand schtik, without realising we're no better.

It's not so much the existence or timing of these abominations - cunts though they undoubtedly are - it's the gravitas and pretentiousness that imbues their every screen-second. Flogging the tat is now way, way down the list of priorities of the 'Creatives' that come up with this monkeyspunk. First is, naturally, the budget. Just how much can we squeeze out of 'Sir' at verybigandimportant plcthis year?. Then it's eyes set firmly on the awards they can win, their vaunting egos paraded before their peers being of supreme importance to these wangs. Next - location and / or 'A' lister we can shoehorn into this artwank. "I see George Clooney, surrounded by CGI bunny rabbits...maybe a faun...or a doe....in a log cabin in Norway. On a plinth - yes that's right! A motherfucking PLINTH! All great art has a plinth. No of course we're not going to fucking Norway! Are you out of your mind! It's fucking freezing in Norway! There's a studio in Mauritius that'll come up with a mock up of a log cabin so freaking kitsch it'll have Lemmy from Motorhead crying his tripe out. Plus they'll throw in goody bags of dildoes and all the crystal meth we can handle if we book in for 6 ...no make that 7 weeks". This, my friends, is the true meaning of Christmas.

This is our town, this is Friday night Dressed in our rags and our rage And our best piercing eyes Looking for something, anything, just anyone Stare across the floors, they begin to dance Missing all the rhythms and the chosen right steps And we laugh and we drink in our corner again We're better than them, we're better than them Divided we were born, divided we live Divided we fall, yeah, divided we die Still we tell ourselves over and over again We're better than them, we're better than them With our hunger and our hatred We all walk this town With our fear and our weakness Just holding on With our doubt and our emptiness And this cold, cold frown We got to be so important We'll put the whole damn world down And we build the walls that we can hide behind And our finest weapon is our poisoned pride Here in this town where the jealousies burn We're watching you And truth is only what we need it to be To bring us survival through each and every day Where nowhere is safe and nowhere is home Just be cool And what was she wearing and what did he say? Who goes with who and what did they do? Yeah, we tell ourselves over and over again We're better than them, we're better than them

Same soft cunts who wanted everyone in the UK (including the sheep) to be laminated when Chernobyl went up.

To be given the title of 'Manager' of anything, it's pretty much a given that you'll have to manage people - and that's where the rot sets in. It's the founding principle of CC that every person is a cunt, so I'm preaching to the converted here. Nonetheless, there are people out there who have read Dale Carnegie, who are convinced they are 'Alphas' who people would follow over a cliff due to their sheer charisma and who get an incredible stalk on (including and especially the ladies) at the idea of 'heading up a team' (maybe to go 'pick the low-hanging fruit'; we do not know). Three months or less of dealing with stroppy ne'r do wells, convinced you're a cunt and they could do the job ten times better, who never turn up or if they do it's to pick a fight or act sarcastic, and the power-dressed manager is reduced to the status of a bum, panhandling for change and poking his shit with a stick outside the nearest Starbucks.

Don't you lot EVER get tired of taking a thread and turning it into another oh-so-hilarious mugging off of this 'Frank' person. 19 posts, the vast majority about this wholly unremarkable individual.

True but this little shit just had to go all 'look at me' playing the drums, when a fucking drum machine would do, but oh no, cuntychops here has to be the centre of attention. Same on Live Aid. Turn up, do the gig, utter a few pious phrases. Fuck off again, I mean what could be simpler. That's all we wanted him to do but oh no. Cunt has to get on Concorde and play both sides of the Atlantic, driving everyone bats with the logistics, but just so he can play out his GIANT fucking ego on as broad a canvas as possible

Good drummer??? Cunt turns into the biggest show off (and the competition was pretty bloody fierce) at the Band Aid single recording and everyone thinks he's a fucking tub-thumper par excellence, just 'cos he can crack out a basic paradiddle (.......and if you filthy cunts don't convert that open goal I've just set up for you there, then we'll be having words).

Talking about his kids "They love my music and I’d like to take them out so they can enjoy it.” When they turn into angry young fuck-ups, ripped to the tits on PCP and Christ-knows-what, tooling around Sunset Strip in hot rods before going into McDonalds and cutting off diners heads with a cheeswire, they've got the perfect alibi. "Dad made us listen to his beige, nearly-music, therefore I request all charges be dropped your honour"

{thrums away like a Benobo chimp at the thought of this}

I don't checkout women these days - I leer at them, apparently. Guess it's just the way my face sits on my skull but it's quite a realisation to know you've gone from hip young gunslinger to hip replacement guy, seemingly overnight. Oh well, back to my date for the evening. See if she can gnaw off her leg and hop over the compound wall before I've finished unpacking and hosing her down.

Some people think their surrealist comedy isn't in the slightest bit funny but that's probably because they're Mica Paris on Ferris wheel, sniffing a good pinch of snuff.

So Apple, where do you stand on Ian Bell now? For me, it's his windpipe, with a pair of Doc Martens

Roger Moore can be the hardest cunt alive in real life. His tales of shagging and drinking can be relieved in hushed whispers in the shabeens of Stockwell. He can have all that...all of it....and he'll never be more than a fucking plank of wood with sentient eyebrows in front of a camera. In fact if you think he was anything more compelling than a small lead pencil locked in the box of a long-dead poet from Westphalia as an actor, then you should evolve and strum one out to the body of work of Derek Thompson, the actor (a word I'll use for handy reference purposes) who plays Charlie Fairhead in Casualty.

....and indeed, tissues

DIE YOU HERETIC!!!!!!

Saw The Ruts last night They've still got it, even though they're probably pushing their late 50's now. More energy, melody, wit, suss and attack than Sam cunting Smith will ever have.

Child prodigy to Sharon Osboure having her nose up Bill Wards arse in 40-odd steps - less if you discount all the fucking arsehole cunt wank shit stuff about Frank (whoever he is) This place blows my mind sometimes!

Agreed, the wearing of a baseball cap is the British Kite Mark Standard of Imbecility. If worn with peak to the side or back, this is merely the nutterspaz equivalent of adding a spear to a cruise missile.

What the video fails to show is Bill Ward, taking him out on a gigantic bender - and I mean one of his Venice Beach jobs, just after Dio replaced Ozzy - before breaking him into tiny little pieces, purely by playing him the rhythm section of 'War Pigs' at volume eleven.

They do respect our way of life! The primacy of the market, the glory of the internal combustion engine and fuck morality and the future, I mean what could be more British than that?