Decimus

Where the fuck have you been? I wanted to talk about Picard's return, but without Quincy SpaceOddyseyFingers around I've had no one to geek out with.

Whereas all the girls go crazy over wizened little bald men who live in bungalows. I imagine that in the short periods of time when you're not comatose with drink, you're beating them off with a stick.

I don't mind the burqa. Half of the fucking pigs trotting around the UK today are orange, with either no eyebrows or ridiculously large caricatures of eyebrows, covered in tattoos, and are grotesquely overweight because fat shaming has been vilified in the media. Enforce it as standard issue dress for the native British women who look like the above and do everyone a fucking favour, for fuck sake.

Here he is, Ready Player One! Have you been on PlayStation live today talking to spotty teenagers about Bieber and Taylor Swift?

Just checking that you were awake.The Ding days all blur into one endless episode of repeat bans for me.

Meggings, mantyhose, man-bags, stay at home fathers, the 21st century British male puts the homo into sapiens. I dread to think what would happen if we were ever invaded. I'd wager that the average millenial bloke would meekly sit in a corner as a foreign horde cuckolded him with his wife and would then dutifully lick her cream pie clean and light her post-coital cigarette.

Fuck off, Pecker. 2001 era Darius Danesh called, he wants his ponytail back.

Ding once changed his avatar to the para badge. To say that I was unhappy is an understatement, although I took great pleasure in bringing up the deaths of Richard Turnbull and Michael Harrison.

Not at all. You're entitled to salivate and impress sixteen year old girls on tinder with tales of your £8.50 an hour a job and PlayStation 4. It's not illegal, but it is highly dubious.

Yes, they were. Is English your sixth language? If not, perhaps you can kindly explain how "barely" legal equates to "illegal". Fucking idiot.

Reptile's currently attempting to smash all his hard drives to pieces with a collection of My Little Pony figurines that "just happened" to appear in his blood and spunk spattered lair one day.

Apologies GamesMaster, I didn't account for the fact that you were as thick as you were perverted. Did you not notice the adverb in the accusation which rendered the post legitimate as far as the site rules were concerned? Of course you didn't, you joystick fondling little freak.

Not nearly as entertaining as your critique of a child's computer console. You're either a fat fucking virgin who lurks within his parents cellar whilst writing Super Mario Bros fan fiction, or a fat fucking virgin who lurks within his parents cellar whilst writing Super Mario Bros fan fiction to catfish barely legal autistic teenagers. You creepy fucking cunt.

Fucking Quality! I'm red faced and Simon Weston crispy from your subsequent "I know you are, I said you are..." burn. What else have you got up your snot-covered sleeve? A fart joke? A natty catchphrase? Simpleton.

Who the fuck are you talking to? You thick lipped, heavy-browed spastic cunt.

Why don't you try and fit "cunt" into your posts a few more times? Idiot.

She's always driven like a complete cunt, but it seems to be exasperated whenever I'm in the passenger seat and bellowing into her stupid fucking face. If her driving skills carry on deteriorating at this rate, it won't be long before she does an Anton Yelchin. Which is good, because it will save me the effort of throttling her to death out of sheer frustration.

More specifically cunt, singular, in particular my fucking wife. I've noticed whilst being in the car with her this week, that within 40 metres of a set of traffic lights that are green, she drastically slows down to the average pace of a shuffling spice addict. I have no idea what the fuck she is playing at, but the amount of times that the lights have turned red due to her fucking dawdling is starting to piss me off. If slow and steady and being a complete fucking spastic wins the race, she's an Olympic champion.

This trial is about gays, cricket is gay, you're gay and this nomination is gay. Why are you such a fucking disgusting queer? Your constant obsession with faggotry makes me feel fucking sick. I hate you. Utterly fucking loathe you.

Mono, I've got a problem with my neighbours and a contentious fence. Is there any chance I could borrow a couple of noirs once Mrs. MC has been sated?

Pecker, you know what I want, and it's within your power to give it. Apologise for your awful fucking slander and we can go back to cordial relations.

I actually sympathise with you. The useless shower of shits at South Norfolk District Council, especially their planning department, are an absolute fucking disgrace. Do not fear though, my chubby little friend, they are in the process of entering into a collaboration with my own superior organisation. I take it that you have lodged an appeal? Now we are sharing data, I'm guessing it will take me a matter of seconds to sniff you out should that be the case. Expect shit through your letterbox within the week.

I can imagine the dining arrangements at Chez Neil, and without preamble I would like to say that it turns my fucking stomach. Eschewing the use of a table, I can picture you lying flat on your stomach atop your soiled raping-mattress, your fat fucking gob snapping open and shut like a Hungry Hippo as you shovel and inhale vast quantities of doner meat and chips, the noise emanating from you akin to a broken down Henry Hoover. Vile fucking pig.

I can imagine Pecker now, straight off the plane at Dublin in his khaki shorts and union jack socks pulled up to his knees. Running up and down Temple Bar with his tiny butterfly net like a colonial explorer, stopping every other Paddy that he sees by bellowing in their face "Dr. Livingstone I presume?". What a disgusting fucking worm.

I don't care how natural it is, it shouldn't be done in public, especially where members of the public are eating. Lots of things are "natural". Shooting a huge load of cum onto the Littlewoods catalogue's lingerie section, squeezing out a shit of Goliath proportions and pissing on your shoes. Just as I don't want to see some cunt with his cock out, gurning and grunting over a photo of maxi-pad, I also don't want to see some sagging tit with dinner plate sized nipples leaking rancid milk into the gummy mouth of bawling child.