Decimus

PECKER IS LOGGED ON

Did you partake in any Dad or Grandad races? I'm particularly enjoying imagining you limbering up for a fifty yard dash, only to overbalance and fall flat on your arse. The thought of you spinning around whilst stuck on your back for twenty minutes like some sort of demented fucking Weeble in an Eddie Stobart t-shirt highly amuses me.

Give us some fucking context, you utterly shit, fat cunt.

You're really getting on my fucking tits.

How long before the inevitable Jib-Jabbing of a Japanese Spitz? The unspeakable horror of Jazz's avatar endlessly entering every furry orifice, furiously thrusting along to the abject warbling of Katy Perry's "Roar"

Alternatively, I could just drive a couple of miles up the coast to Hemsby and cave his fucking skull in.

I've been waiting over two years for this. Repeat bollocks

Ding. Case closed.

Plus a dirty mac and thick bottle-lensed NHS specs I'd wager, the filthy cunt.

The history of British science includes some of the most prestigious intellects the world has ever known. Newton, Hawking, Fleming and now Pecker. Stubby, if you think that anyone is buying that your scientific career proceeded any further than a 'U' grade at GCSE science, you must be thicker than anyone on here has ever given you credit for. Which is saying something, because for me personally, the only names in British history I associate you with are Joey Deacon and Michael Watson post Eubank-inflifcted traumatic brain injury.

I keep fucking forgetting the Roman numerals for 1,1000, 51, 6 and 500. I M LIVI D.

Ahhh, Robin Friday. I'd have loved to have seen Snatch, his big spastic tongue dribbling down his Thundercats t-shirt, fliddy little arms windmilling in impotent rage, say to that late, great beast "Football is for irons". His obvious brain damage would have been increased twenty-fold

Personally, I'd quite like to see a pundit panel consisting of Andy Gray, Richard Keys and Ron Atkinson. Imagine the scenes back in the studio for the Nigeria games. Also, I'd wager that fucking tart Gabby Logan would soon be relegated to grooming Richard's knuckle hair and making the tea instead of gurning like a fucking idiot pitch-side.

The question still remains: How many bottles of Blue Nun can you fit in your fanny?

Never mind the plastic, what about the fucking steel?!?!?!

News just in from Skelmersdale. R-Soles can't put down his panini stickers, so he's been sent down the pub to scream Ingerland at darkies. He's yet to have his tea, but it's clearly still on his mind:

Decs: What you having? R-Soles "NA NA NA! VINDALOO" I hope your red and white face paint has lead in it.

You're fooling no one R-Soles, you excitable little cunt. I imagine that despite defeating football's equivalent of Audley Harrison, you've had Baddiel and Skinner on repeat, whilst screaming "IT'S COMING HOME" out the window of your transit whenever you're stuck behind a VW, Audi or Merc. Shove your papier mache Jules Rimet trophy up your fucking arse. The only thing "coming home" will be a couple of thousand fat, sun-burnt northerners and a million fucking excuses.

Pecker, you've got a lot of explaining to do. You're in a steaming pile of shit up to your goitered neck and The Corner has demanded answers. You promised papers, but have failed to deliver anything but pathetic excuses. I'm packing my bags and on my way to Stansted. When I return in a week's time, I demand to either see the papers or a grovelling apology for misleading the membership of this august site.

Out of likes (blame Bill and Bubba) If I find that more than five of your likes since 1st January 2018 have been from Roadkill, I will be immediately engaging the advocate services of Stupid Pecker QC.

That's your interpretation and it's fine, but the fact remains that the vast majority of my likes are from other posters not considered to be part of the clique. Bill and Bubbles have a similar style of posting to me, so obviously I'm going to like their posts on average more than other posters, but by no means am I only liking their output. The leaderboard is supposed to be a bit of fun and provides some competition, and I'd also wager that the post count has gone up since it came back. It's not until idiots like Stubby and certain others wet their knickers that it is somehow being manipulated that it gets boring. It was a weekly accusation when it was a staple of The Corner, usually coming from unpopular posters who found it hard to comprehend that anyone can get more than a dozen likes a day. It's not hard to understand their lack of comprehension, when most of what they post is fucking dross and doesn't attract any attention or recognition. (Stubby) I'd say that Stubby and his gang of spastics take it more seriously than they let on, hence their constant whingeing, so it's probably best that you get rid of it again.

If you bothered to look, you would see that only 18 of my 62 likes in seven days have come from Bill and Bubbles. The majority of these have come on posts where I have had more than three likes from other members as well, so it's obviously based on the quality of my post and not some reach around conspiracy. Check the stats, I think you'll find that I'm right.

The jealous bleating of an impotent beta cuck. I'm top of the fucking pops, straddling the leaderboard like the colossus of Rhodes. What we do in life echoes in eternity. Fuck off.

Reading between the lines, you haven't become Norfolk's premier corpulent pervert by daintily nibbling kale, have you?

Two, one for him and the chinky delivery driver he kidnapped five years ago, and the other for his vast back catalogue collection of Lego House Monthly.