Jiggerycock

Fuck it, I'm in! Just going to start sending birthday cards to random long-lost members of my family in the hope of hitting middle pin when it comes to the reading of the will (nubile daughters a bonus). Why hasn't this entrepreneurial exercise ever been pitched on Dragon's Den? Debra Meaden'd be at it like a rat up a rope!

If you sent cards to him, you might be in line for a payout from his will too! Result squared!!

I sense a polarisation of thought for the common or garden sociopath when presented with an invitation to one of these Johnnies. Go, and inflict every facet of your damaged psyche on your bewildered former classmates, up to and including mass murder Or Avoid, as, in the time-honoured words of our hero Applescruff, it's bound to be a cuntfest and you can best spend your time sticking needles into Voodoo Dolls and calling Tom Daley a cunt.

Sometimes, when the golden ball of wonderment flies in the sky, it hurts - oh look, never mind, just go back to the porridge and the rain

Fucking love them! You can play the role you were born to and not what fate and curious happenstance actually gave you. In my time I've been a member of the Territorial SAS, a professional gambler, a roadie with Oasis and the enigmatic stranger that you read about in fortune teller's tales. I once, rather convincingly (no, really dahling) was the unfortunate soul, mildly afflicted with Tourettes ("CUNTS - I'm sorry, who said that?"). Moonwalked out to complete silence! It was totally 'tastic!

I saw the headline 'One Direction to take hiatus for a year' and thought to myself 'I've done some class A's in my time, but I've never heard of this 'Hiatus' shit. I hope the soppy little half-ounces overdose on it' Maybe it's a made-up drug - like 'Cake'.

Piss up a rope, fuckstick!! Granny's pubes y' whore!! Ah - magical memories!

Seems this Lewis bloke in the OP has wound his neck in and apologised all over his Facebook account, which is fair enough I suppose.

I wonder... ....what would happen if you poured self-raising flour on an orphan?

.....said Steve Cram, in a parallel universe.

An airshow you say? Just be grateful you are still alive, in fact airshows are up there with the annual Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca, when it comes to a guarantee of carnage.

Fucking daft old cunt should have been taken out and shot for his efforts trying to pronounce 'Tegla Loroupe' in the London Marathon - and that was about ten years ago! Dribbled it out like Steven Hawking on mogadon.

However, Jean-Hugues Anglade himself cannot take the moral / tough-guy high ground here, because the second it kicked off, he shat himself and with a Gallic shrug and a purse of his lips, complained the bottle of Medoc he'd been served was 'corked' whilst, in a great feat of cowardly multi-tasking - speed-crocheted a white flag whilst crying for unconditional surrender.

Another dribbling, superannuated old cunt (see Peter Alliss) riding in the sleeping compartment of the BBC gravy train. I bet none of these spineless cunts - him, Paul Dickinson, Cram, Colin Jackson - get right up in Justin Gatlin's grill and call him out for being a snide fucking cheat!

Johnson - pantomime villain though he undoubtedly is to the English cricketing public - is also a major disappointment anywhere other than Australia and when his team is in the ascendancy. The very definition of a flat-track bully. Glad to see the Aussies have Siddle in there now. Tries his bollocks of no matter what the match situation or state of the pitch and can always be relied upon to put in a shift. As regards Lyth, England have got to try to stick with an opening partner for that nasty piece of shit captain we've got, hence why Lyth keeps getting the gig. Compton and Hales (in particular) can feel like they've been fucked over good and proper.

Like a stab wound on a gorilla's back Anyway, Ashley Maddison? I'd sort of assumed it was a made-up name, like a porn-star's. Suggestive without being ribald. Like Heady Lamaar.......Holly Golightly......Chokeme Withcock, that sort of thing.

What in your jizz??? If you're gay, that's probably about as good as it gets - or if you can suck your own cock, which you can go and do any time you please (he said, gratuitously)

I think it's something to do with the temporary suspension of belief and a willingness to open one's mind to the seemingly impossible. It's the same device Eastenders uses to convince us that Max Branning and Phil Mitchell are stud muffins.

It may not be rocket science but it's still gone over the heads of a vast swathe of our population. Fuck the lot of them. When the nuclear winter comes down on us, they won't get through the doors of the shelters - and if they do, they'll be shot by the guards for sticking their mitts in the cookie jars, before the kids got first dibs.

You clearly don't come from Aylesbury, where these weebles abound, popping out of their egg sacks at the rate of one a minute, else you'd change your tune PDQ. Still, it doesn't matter if you last saw your cock just before puberty or your tits are in your shopping basket or you've given up on any pretence of dignity or responsibility for yourself. You pay your taxes and it's down to the NHS and society to come to terms with your greed and diseases. Anyway, this is the 21st Century and it's all about 'how you feel and stuff' Now pass me that doughnut because I'm just big boned, that's all.

I would take it with a pinch of salt, however that may lead to water retention issues, marring my otherwise ripped physique and Christ-like obliques.

Some blokes actually come out with that claptrap? I'm prepared to believe it, despite having only your word for it, on the basis that there's no end to the fuckwittery of mankind. Just when you think you've reached the Jedward / Heat Magazine / Zlatan Ibrahimovic triptych of deep-fried cuntyness, something like this socks you in the jaw from leftfield and you have to completely reset the parameters. Natural Alphas (or those who claim to be) are usually the most insecure, boring, show-off wristers that ever drew breath - and no amount of bicep curls (I just bet they use the biggest dumbells in the gym, keep their forearms locked at 90 degrees and hurl their upper torso's backwards and forwards, convinced they're stronger than Godzilla) will make a lick of difference to this assertion.

Yeah there are those types. Spend 10 minutes preparing to do their 1 repetition maximum bench press (with a 'technique' that'll leave their backs more fucked than Katie Price's creamy way), before going off to check out their 'guns' in the mirrors. Either that or the pec deck is treated as their own personal fiefdom as they sit there, doing slightly less than fuck all, waiting for the stars to align and the karma to be right, before doing 10 seconds of exercise, prior to another 5 minutes of siting around, discussing last night's telly.

I 'gym' (introducing another verb there to our fantastic language). I enjoy it because it guarantees a degree of solitude, it involves effort and long-term commitment and I feel better and look better than 90% of my generation, swigging their Caramel Machiatto's (with extra caramel) and generally carrying themselves with all the grace and pride of a gored robot. I AM a holier-than-thou body fascist and the pissant little naysayers can take their potshots, but know this: I fucking despise you corpulent cunts, with zero willpower. Controlled by bacon sandwiches, lard and your own inertia, you trot out your pat little excuses about why you've e completely given up on any pride in your appearance, whilst scoffing your way to type 2 diabetes, a coronary and having a roadie to come round and help you take a shit from whatever fat-fold is filling up with cheese and bum-gravy today. Fuck you, and suck my huge vascular bundle cock, maggots!