Rev

Of course we're all cunts, you soft poof. This is man talk. When we speak of love for each other, we mean we'd glass each other to fucking ribbons and fuck the shit out of each other's wives. Stop being a cunt.

How does it play, Spotto? This fuckin' "Parfitt" Tele's a peach. Hand-wound single-coils, beautifully radiused neck, Gibson-bridged, Baseball-bat Ash, vintage dual-action truss, front-loaded, heel-adjusted. I wish I could let you play it, you'd be fuckin' astounded. It's a proper cunt's cunt's geetar, built for bastards.

Merry Cunting Christmas. I love you all. Bastards.

Merry bastard Xmas, you cunts. Not been on here for fucking ages, but wish you bastards all the best. You shower of cunts.

Season's Greetings. You bastards.

Good on you, MrsP. What a cheeky old cunt. I hope you fucked her husband for good measure.

Was he...behind you, Scotters?

I ain't even going to watch this. Bronski, you are a fucking spunk-whistle.

I've heard some stories in my time, but that takes the fucking biscuit.

I have a Fender Telecaster deluxe Blackout and a luthier-built Telecaster '65, Vox VT100 and a Vox AC30 with Alnico Blues. I've also got a huge cock, but I am a bit of a cunt.

Nice avatar, ratster. Paul Blobel?

Thank fuck we club these cunts. Penguins are one of the only animals I particularly like. The rest can fuck the fuck right off.

Yeah. Pizza Hut, not as good as it used to be, eh.

Isn't there a cheap and nasty, shortbread and piss themed Scottish tribute to these cunts called McBastard? I've never noticed either group of these fucking bellends before, but I'm willing to take my Corner colleagues' comments as gospel. If one person thinks they're cunts, they usually are. That's my yard-stick. Therefore, I can quite categorically state for the record that they're complete wankers. And probably a shower of poofs. Cunts.

Your arse is a cunt? Perhaps using some aloe vera, or tea-tree oil-infused wipes in a down towards your gooch motion will alleviate this, profb. May I also suggest trimming away any stray dangleberries; there's nothing so unsightly as getting ready for re-entry and being presented with a handful of dried-in arse-conkers, glued to the longest pubic hairs, all clacking away malevolently. However, if your arse is indeed a cunt, where the fuck do you shit from?

Apart from the Vichy Government, I'd make you about right, gypo. However, when offered payment to surrender their Jewish citizens, the Parisians gave them away freely instead. Hence they are cunts. Well, to be fair, they'd have been cunts in any case, the filthy wax-moustached, mollusc-eating bastards. France is a beautiful country, unfortunately, it's full of french cunts. Bastards.

These fucking collaborating rifle-dropping bastards are only marginally beaten by the fucking Belgians for being the international cunts that they are. Nuke them. Bastards.

Bang on the money again, ratster.

I like him, Bronski. Doubtlessly you hold him in such low esteem because he dismissed your advances to use him as a dwarf sex-slave. Not all of these minuscule cunts want to dress up in Joe 90 costumes with attendant 8-ball gag and nipple-clamps, in order to suck off their pony master.

Have you been inhaling the fumes from one of your step-mum's press-on towels again, Bronski?

Were there any old dessicated skeletons of lost schoolgirls there, grumps? I'm sure Bronski hit the headlines there a few years back. While his step-mum was getting a portion of his dad's soldier-juice behind a rock, or something, Bronski was heard screaming, "Fuckin' dingos ate my pony". Rachel Roberts was a cunt.

There is no amount of money on earth that could persuade me to "do" wee Nippy, pk. She's a fucking pinko death-row haircut Jimmy Krankie-looking cunt with a mouth like Beaker from the Muppets and has as much charisma as Bronski's last sloppy shit. Tell you what, give me the £50 and I'll set fire to the cunt, then drop-kick the monobrow sow's screaming remains through a fucking bark-stripper. Welcome back, by the way.

Good. Had any of you given us enough notice, we'd have sent the fat fucker in person (and in several pieces) after we'd kicked seven shades of cunt out of the fat, useless, lying bastard.

If one of Bronski's Rustlers burgers, topped with his step-mum's cunt-blister relish just won't do, why not earn yourself some real brownie points (you never fucking know) with the missus and serve up pan-seared sea bass, on a bed of citrus-dressed broccoli and capers. It's not cheap, but easy to make and guarantees you getting a dripping helmet at the end of the night. Rick Stein's a cunt.

I shouldn't worry too much about calorific content; once his step-mum has spattered it with her "special mayonnaise", they're quite palatable. Allegedly.