Decimus

Don't forget to profusely apologise for your white privilege to anyone who will listen whilst you're there, Billy. If you'd really like to make a difference, though, I'd suggest that you cut off your cock and balls and offer up all your womenfolk as Yardie groupies.

@JohnnySaucePants you reading this, "mate"? Lol, you bullshitting, Brylcreemed, bankrupt fucking bender. Fuck off.

Henry reminds me of Steph McGovern, in that I'm utterly perplexed as to how he's had a career. I don't know anyone, black, white, yellow, purple or fucking green who likes him or finds him even remotely humorous. I genuinely wish he was dead.

If "Sir" Leonard was serious about his black activist credentials, he'd insist on shoving his knighthood back up Her Majesty's arsehole. However, being a thick, uneducated, bounty fucking hypocrite, I doubt it's ever entered his mind about how incongruous it is that he's parading about with a British Empire title. As an enobbled, multi-millionaire, race traitor, he's about as relevant to most inner-city black kids as Frank is around here.

I've no doubt that this race card playing extraordinare has been nominated several times before, he is afterall quite possibly one of the most punchable, fucking talentless wankers to plague our television screens over the last 40 years. The latest stunt he's pulled that makes me want to perform a blood eagle ritual on him is with regards to his recent comments on the BBC. Lenny has issued a stark warning that Aunty risks losing a large percentage of BAME viewers as its programming is not "diverse enough". I'm not sure what version of the BBC the stupid fucking cunt is watching, but he must be colour blind if he's missed the unnecessary and blatant shoehorning of ethnics into every single facet of the BBCs schedule over the last several years. I'm perplexed as to what else Henry and his troop wants the BBC to do. In relation to their demographic size, the BAME community is vastly overrepresented on our TV screens as it is. No doubt the uppity cunt will continue to moan until the only white faces you'll see on TV will be female and grinning on the end of a big black fucking dick. Fuck off.

Here he is, Sweeney Todd! The bullshitting barber of Fleet Street. As for playing it safe, I guess I'm just not that much of a pioneer and risk taker. I'll leave the excitement and job satisfaction of doing something any illiterate teenage girl with an NVQ can do to you, Nicky Clarke. Anyway, a few questions. 1: How did you go bankrupt? 2: Do you feel less of a man for taking money off your daughter to help bail you out? 3: Can I get a short back and sides? Shove your stripey pole up your arse, you insolvement, clipper-wielding wanker.

Drunken Duncan, now there was a hard cunt. People bang on about Roy Keane, but that Caledonian savage was the real fucking deal. There's absolutely no one like him around in the modern game, unfortunately.

Classic Drew and no mistake.

Reported for paedo inferences. You're on thin fucking ice.

Jesus fucking Christ, what a trio of useless wankers, it's genuinely painful reminiscing about them. Some fans have mixed feelings about Worthington as well, but for someone of my age he gave me my first taste of success I could actively enjoy as I was too young to appreciate the first few years of the Mike Walker reign. Re the 80s and coins at Carrow Road, my old man has also confirmed how different it was to the sterile, family friendly atmosphere you get nowadays at Norwich games. He can remember the old bill handcuffing an away fan temporarily to a fence and then the poor cunt getting bombarded with coppers and fuck knows what else. Imagine if the crowd knew Fashanu was a fucking queer back then.

Indeed, I remember it well, probably the lowest I'd felt as a Norwich fan since the woeful tedium of the Rioch years. I remember going to a midweek game against Walsall during his tenure. Back then we'd be lucky to get 13,000 in the ground, I think there were only about 12 that night. I can't remember the score or anything about the football because I spent about twenty minutes watching a van burn in the car park through the gap between the River End and the old South Stand. That's how fucking bad it used to be, a Transit conflagration held my attention more than Chris fucking Llewellyn tripping over his own bootlaces.

Alas, it's true. Funnily enough it was a bit of a turning point and the best thing that ever happened to us. Prior to that game we'd hire ex-players as managers or just shove in the assistant of anyone we sacked, with predictable and shit results. After the match we poached Colchester's manager and he won us back to back promotions upto the Premier League. But then it went to his head, the arrogant cunt took the money and ruined his career by abandoning us for a worse club with bigger pockets. I wish he was dead.

Never mind that shit, after today's sublime performance I'd say that it won't be long until Buendia is off to Arsenal or Spurs. I'm sick of the lack of ambition at the club, they'll flog him and maybe one or two others after they get promoted, spend a maximum of twenty five million in the premiership next year, then wonder why they end up relegated.

Interestingly enough, being a more robust, outdoorsy and less metrosexual version of me, my brother is also into archery. Again this is something I'd always had a vague interest in, but never actively pursued. I rather naively thought it would be quite easy, but I couldn't handle anything he had with any ease unless the draw weight was under 90lb. He can comfortably shoot at 120lb and is capable of drawing a 140lb with intermittent success. What a cunt.

I've certainly got no issue with it, my brother has provided me with a good number of plump breasted birds over the years lollllzzzz. In all seriousness though, he absolutely loves it and I can see the attraction. Alas I've only ever shot clays, but I would love to give the real thing a try. I think there is something immensely instinctive about going out and bringing home food that wouldn't otherwise be on your table but for your own skill and actions. Personally I'd love to go deer stalking, but beyond my own romanticised fantasies about it, I've got absolutely no idea about the practicalities or legalities involved in it.

For someone who's "only having a laugh" and "not really bothered" this looks suspiciously like you have been rattled to the core. @Wolfiehas already pointed this out, but you have now confirmed it. Your woe is me whingeing about the class system just validates the fact you have a massive chip on your shoulder about never being able to make it to the big time in a country where it's significantly harder to be accepted into the upper echelons of society than it is in the shitty little provincial backwater you fled to. You couldn't handle the heat, so you got out of the kitchen. It's obvious you would have killed to have made a success of your life here, and that you resent this country for not respecting and appreciating your non-existent business acumen and intelligence. You're quite pathetic really when I stop to think about it, you bankrupt, Edward Scissorhands, spastic fucking cunt.

You'd shit your Pampers pull-ups if you'd seen the things that I've seen. I'd wager that you've never roamed the fens and marshes on a cloudy, moonless night. Desperately trying to grope your way along a narrow causeway, stagnant peat and bog surrounding you as you frantically attempt to avoid being sucked down into a cold, dark and lonely grave. I imagine that you'd scoff and set a disparaging smile upon your ludicrously sceptical features as you blindly follow the ethereal floating lights that you adamantly believe are leading you to safety. It would only be mere moments before you completely expired from this plane of existence that you would finally come to the realisation that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. You stupid fucking cunt.

And your mum. Lol. Fuck off.

Of course you would. Fair or foul, you'd feel physically sick rubbing your tiny fucking bullet up against any female, regardless of species.

Love it.

You're not welcome here tonight, Gyps. I'm on the sauce, I can't fucking go out and I'm desperately hoping for a few laughs this evening. Your Arthur Askey "Where's me Washboard?!" shit isn't going to cut it with me, so fuck off and don't log in again until the morning.

He knew fuck all about committees, though. Hopefully he used his Girl Guides firearms knowledge to shoot himself in his fat, fucking Benny Hill head.

You're not a blue are you, Willie?

Bootiful.

The North remembers. Numquam veniam. Numquam obliviscar.