Jiggerycock

Fact is, that cunt Allardyce has 'em playing the type of football that'll see one man with a dog-eared cheroot screwed into the corner of his mouth, his dog and Danny Dyer watching through binoculars as tumbleweed rolls around the vast bowl (just like Carlton fucking Cole). ......and no amount of gold-plating a turd by that shitehouse Brady, in the shape of cheap season tickets, will result in anything otherwise.

These self-reverential cunts all live in the same big (f)arthouse. Criticise them and their 'look at me being alternative' art and it's you that's the tasteless Philistine. As a result you get cunts like Gilbert and George and Andres 'Piss Christ' Serrano NOT being chased down the street by outraged machete-wielders, but lionised as challengers of contemporary thinking. Clearly this doesn't apply to the Charlie Hebdo cartoonists. They're nearly as good as Tony Hart.

​I once tried to wipe my arse on a Hovis Wholemeal and snagged my ring on a pumpkin seed.

Fucking grasping one-trick pony ghouls

I'll be laying the smackdown and opening a can of whoop-ass on anyone that tries this shit with me

​It's okay Fatty. 'The Directors Cut' of that last posting is available at Mothercare, for the hard of thinking.

​That's me! Forever re-inventing myself! The David Bowie of Cunts Corner! (Questionable sexuality, possible extreme right wing views and no one has a fucking Scooby what I'm rabbiting on about. But boy can I play guitar!)

​Yeah - this latest steroid cycle, the bench pressing plus my having to bulk up for the Mr Britain contest in July, and, well, you know how these things go for us bodybuilders (yeah go ahead - believe everything I say!)

I think it's fair to say if you're contemplating a takeaway of any variety then you've forfeited the right to any superiority complex. Your choice of comestible is irrelevant in this instance and do you know what? I don't give deep-fried fuck about it! When I'm in the calorie zone, it can be battered lard with a side order of sugar coated lard. Do NOT cock-block me on this one and do NOT trifle (God I'm so 'next level' it's cruel) me with your petty-footling 'hierarchy of culinary superiority' arguments. Nom nom, and indeed, nom

​.....and the makers of the Lead pencils his mother clearly chowed down on night and day during his gestation.

​'Stress balls'? Are they like 'Tennis Elbow'?

I thought we dealt with this one the other day on a recent thread? Leftover Naan Bread wasn't it? Or Chapatti if you're really into 'Goldfinger' Russian Roulette.

Gingers! Don't forget gingers!

Can't be arsed to click it but I'll take a wild stab at what'd transpire if I did? Gay-slash-borderlinepaedophile-slash-depravedcartoon-slash-watersports (i.e slash) fucking boring load of old toot?

​Now there's a dish that won't be featuring in this week's finals of Masterchef. No 'coulis' of this or 'pithivier' of that you see.

THIS!! This....this (paradoxically) sanitised pile of shit. It's always presented as a rural idyll, to ensure the townies still believe the village clocks perpetually stuck at ten to three and there'll always be an England, before going back to their Tiny Tempah downloads. No mention of the high suicide rates. No mention of the increasingly widespread drugs problem among rural kids (reference glue especially). No mention of closing of facilities due to the increasing rural depopulation thanks to second (third and fourth) home ownership by city dwellers. And certainly no mention of the Countryside Alliance - can't afford to upset the right on urban middle classes and their romanticised views of the ickul foxies. As long as that Grinning Ninny Adam Henson wofts some of his pillock charm over everything, Ellie gives great eye candy for the Sunday evening masturbators and John Craven keeps it real for the Sanatogen brigade, we'll get another series commissioned, sweet as the honey that's always going to be for tea.

​I'm thinking Bobby Sands-era 'H' Block?

Face it, the language thing is the spear on the whole Prom Night / Trick or Treat / Baby Shower fucking Cruise missile.

​It's a fucking war zone outside Gatsby in the summer with pissheads draped all over the outdoor furniture in various stages of undress and consciousness. Happy to report the food is well up to scratch (steak - perhaps an unimaginative choice but nonetheless, a poem). Other than that it's a bit of a culinary desert unless you pop over to Gilbeys in Amersham?

​Should've tried Carluccio's or had a fry up at that Greek Sandwich shop next door.

Didn't Eggs Benedict play that character in 'The A Team'. You know the fellah. Him!

​Me too with all those good looking women and smart, articulate '5% bodyfat' fitness gurus........said no one ever.

​It's amazing isn't it, the lengths people will go to look 'authentic' - bar actually being authentic of course. Way too much effort involved in that.

Do these things come pre-shredded or do you buy them new and then go for the whole custom-shredded badass heavy rock dude thing once you get them home? At the risk of going all Punkape on yo' asses (what a hideous image), as they don't allow these things in the Club Enclosure at Cheltenham or Ascot, it's all lost on me. Kempton would probably let them in. It's like Yates Wine Lodge at closing time down there.