Decimus

Oh, that makes me look a bit silly then, doesn't it? ...I genuinely thought that you were going to travel to a random Scottish city and start asking around if anyone knew a Cuntybaws. Good job you were on hand to point out that you weren't being serious, Fucking idiot.

I'm afraid to say the current craze in the music industry is for fat lounge singers a'la Adele or tinkling little poofters like Sam Smith. Execs want dreary, dirge like shit warbled out over the airwaves so teenage girls and middle aged housewives can appropriate it for themselves and apply the lyrics to their own tedious love affairs. The days of the guitar thrashers are over. Only the Arctic Monkeys have survived, more's the fucking pity.

Stubby, think about what you're saying. I highly doubt that the master of surveillance himself will be worried about your spasticated efforts to track him down. I for one don't hold much hope for your success as you shuffle around Glasgow screaming "BAWSEEYYYYY!!!!" like Sloth from the Goonies whilst repeatedly shitting and pissing yourself.

I imagine that his PC is some sort of monstrously bastardised contraption, formed with spare parts from hard drives and motherboards either picked up out of bins or acquired at dodgy carboot sales. Obviously dial up, with a customised manual choke that he has to pull frantically in order to increase the atrocious download speed of his GeoCities amateur dogging porn page. His one nod to the 21st century is a space age chair originally designed by NASA to resist the huge g-forces involved in leaving the Earth's atmosphere, but subsequently now utilised as the only structure in creation able to adequately support his fat fucking arse.

I'll tell you what I think. Something happened up north to a poor person. The location and the demographic of the victim automatically means that I couldn't give a flying fuck. Do something else.

Fucking hell, Drew. Have I been ghost writing for you whilst under the influence of drugs? Because I sure as shit can't remember giving you my material.

"So I come in from the pub with my arsehole in tatters (less fist next time, Stavros) and read this fucking shit. I don't know who you think you're kidding with this fantasist bollocks you muggy cunt, but no one is going to believe that you have a brother, you flash wanker. Snowflake's like you make me fucking sick, never worked a proper day in your lives yet you can afford brothers because you have a trust fund and are funded by corporate big business. Pull the other one, next you'll be telling us all that you've held a girl's hand, like you're some sort of Don Juan. Jackanory, jackanory." @judgetwi ™

To be brutally honest with you, Bawsey, I wish that I wasn't afflicted with the curse of heterosexuality. Women are disgusting creatures. Their cunts are foul stinking hives of fungus and bacteria, with all the ascetic beauty of a wound inflicted during a brutal medieval battle. 95% of them are invariably thick as shit, whilst the other 5% are aggressive bull dykes intent on proving that they can make it in a man's world. Coupled with the fact that the overwhelming majority of advancements that mankind has made were contributed by men, beyond being a receptacle for my spunk when I'm horny, they really are utterly fucking worthless.

My brother is in town today and we met him at the premier inn that the tight little cunt has picked for his base. In tow was his new girlfriend, an opinionated fat fucking slag with ideas above her natural station. Dinner orders were made, and I was absolutely fucking disgusted to hear her order a steak. Obviously not bothered about making a decent first impression, she had no shame in tucking into a cheap piece of red meat like a disgusting Ice Road Trucker. I don't mind if a woman wants to eat what is essentially man-food in private, but I draw the line at an Emmeline Pankhurst wannabe cunt exercising what she thinks is her God given right to eat a sirloin in public like some sort of fucking she-neanderthal savage from the Flintstones.

You'll have to forgive The Judge's cynicism, P. So far he has expressed incredulity at the following: 1: Me travelling on a train. 2: Anyone who has ever read anything other than a dog eared two day old copy of The Daily Mail. I doubt that between repetitively shouting God Save The Queen and singing "My Old Man Said Follow The Van" he has any opportunity to consider that someone from Ireland is capable of browsing the internet.

If you're not Lorraine Kelly or that faggot cunt who does the entertainment news on This Morning, you should be fucking ashamed of yourself for even knowing who this fat fucking tart is. Kill yourself. PS: In case you are either Lorraine Kelly or the faggot, also kill yourself.

An excellent subject matter sadly ruined by an absolutely fucking awful execution. A top tip for any future posts that you make would be to inject a little bit of humour into them. Failing that, casual racism usually goes down quite well here.

Cor-blimey trouser wearing, pigeon feeding, tuppence a bag waving, eel-stinking, knees-up mother browning, Kray twins knowing, fat bent cunt.

Fat faggot Fonzi '50s cunt

Was going to ignore this, but see you're currently logged on. Fat queer.

None taken. I'd give him one myself (matron) but I'm currently allocating my daily allowance to John Bull.

Let's compare the above two posts. One is from a member widely considered to be perhaps the thickest cunt to ever drape his nit-filled ponytail over Proper's welcome mat. The other is from the self-proclaimed big hitter and "best one on here". Proof if proof was necessary that spastic trumps narcissist every single time.

I imagine that the last time you were sober enough to clutch any wheel was 1976. Did they even have mini roundabouts then?

She does. Reported.

I'm not sure whether you're overly found of Mrs. S. I'm assuming that you wish her dead. May I suggest that you hook her up with Mrs. D. and we then send them off toward Beachy head together in a Bedford Rascal stacked full of flammable substances and a Thelma and Louise soundtrack in the tape deck.

Another nom based upon the antics of my idiot fucking wife whilst traversing the highways of Great Britain. There is a mini roundabout near our house and if we want to head toward the city and semi-civilisation we turn right at it. This morning as we headed toward said roundabout to sample the delights of Norwich, a huge van with a trailer full of hay bales approached from the left of the mini roundabout. I could see that it wasn't slowing down and was about to career straight into the side of us, so kindly took the opportunity to save our lives by telling her to open her fucking eyes and brake. Cue a stream of obscenities directed at me about "How it's my fucking right of way, why should I look, it's his fucking fault". Despite trying to explain to her for ten minutes that just because it's your right of way you shouldn't drive with your eyes fucking closed whilst hoping for the best, the stupid fucking cunt still cannot grasp the fact that she needs to account for the fact that other drivers can be just as fucking thick as shit as her. What a stupid fucking cunt.

The emasculation of the nation's hipsters and biker gangs is complete. Gyppo walked all categories and received an additional lifetime achievement award for the hairiness of her gooch, wiping the floor with her nearest competitors, a silverback lowland gorilla, Dave Lee Travers and Mrs. Roops.

Much like the common house mouse, Drew lives his life in a near constant state of incontinence. I imagine that he'd be a fucking nightmare at a festival after his 16th tin, ripping his catheter tube out of his maggot and cracking it around like a pissy whip.

Have you been sanctioned at the job centre again?