nocti

I know a few pretentious bastards like this; turning their noses up at bands that don't release their latest EP on limited cock-shaped wax cylinder. Good tunes is good tunes you fucking shit eating cunts. If I want to listen to Enya whilst crying with my cock out, then who are you to say I can't do it on the train? It's fucking madness. This country, honestly. I digress somewhat, but I've made my point I think.

Fuck me, I missed all this. Last thing I saw was that he posted a tale of his escapades down under and then nothing. I had no idea about all that. I suppose it's a possibility he's another member, but if he has passed away that's a fucking shame.

Does anyone know what happened to Grumpy n'all?

Not that you can put a price on one of your limbs or anything, but that girl is set to get millions from this.

Mrs Nocti put the tennis on the other day, and the noises this grotesque monster makes are fucking unbelievable. If I didn't glance up from what I was reading to see tennis on the TV, I could've swore the missus was watching a grizzly bear trying to squeeze out a rather painful shit.

The only drug I can imagine him taking is ipecac, the bulimic looking fucker. I wince when I watch him running 'cos the cunt looks like he's gonna snap any minute.

Black Beauty is a cunt.

"The next time you're at the checkout and you hear the beep, think of the fun you could be having with a nice shaven fanny!" - Dale Winton

I don't understand why they exist. Sort of like punkape. The funniest clown act I've ever seen is on comedic par with my last migraine. Water shot out of your flower badge. Brilliant. Oh look, your wheels fell off your car again. Excellent. The only time I could see myself chuckling along with them, is if they do a stint where one is at the GP getting diagnosed with bollock cancer. Sort of like punkape.

Colour me intrigued.

The forums request that you log in over there, son.

Never heard of her. And I fucking mean that, Spot.

"Well they're cunts aren't they? To be honest, they should be gathered up, fingered, then fucked with barbed dildos. And that's just the blokes, the women should be fu.. oh is this thing on? Oh yeah peace to all beings and all that, big time..." - His Holiness the Dalai Lama

"No worries, take your time..." - HMRC

All that before you've even left the office!

Did he not mean a football that had gotten a little dirty? The cunt surely can't mean the game itself; fucking snail eating Maradonna-like semen farming fuckwit.

Yet Robbie Williams has just the one. The world feels out of balance all of a sudden.

Fucking hell Dec, the fact that you have even attempted sleep after a dream like that warrants reward beyond measure. I once opened a newspaper that had a picture of her on page two and I'm still having palpitations, and to this day haven't managed to get the shit stains out of the boxer shorts I was wearing.

Ask to see his 3.5" floppy.

At first glance, I misread the title as "Bloatwear" and instantly assumed it was a nom concerning Keith's soiled XXXXL tracksuits.

Some airhead cuntwit I work with has recently developed the rather fucking annoying habit of constantly updating us on his new-found obsession with the gym, deciding the rest of us care greatly about what routines he has been doing and how much weight he has lost. He was an irritating cuntrash before this, but now my teeth are being ground away by holding in urges to thump the cunt with the power and majestic force of a thousand supernovas. Last week he even went as far as to suddenly drop into a David Brent style push-up session whilst discussing work issues. I cringed so hard my forehead wrinkles could've rolled up a ciggie. If I ever decide to up sticks and fuck off to greener work pastures, one of my parting acts will be to staple this twat's lips together then flatten the cunt.

Didn't he "invent" an instrument that looks suspiciously like a plastic box?

There'll be a few sore heads, and arses, over there this morning. Poofters love a bit of Eurovision at the best of times, so last night's escapades must've forced the ticker over on the Elton John Scale (TM) of bottery.

A tranny building a fucking castle. No wonder I rarely watch the telly.

My Dad went to see this shoal of shite recorded live a few weeks when, apparently, the "special guest" was Jasper fucking Carrott, with a musical performance by someone who is famous for not winning X Factor. In his defense he's getting on a bit and genuinely doesn't know any better. Personally, I find the cunt about as funny as getting a parking ticket. His voice could scrape the paint off any car. Infuriatingly talentless hack. That's O'Grady by the way, not my Dad, who in fairness can tell the odd funny joke.