White Cunt

I wouln't screw that cunt if you paid me. Blaaaaaaaaaaa.

Thank Christ. Can buy more seafood.

Victorian sensibilities would keep the rascals in check, allowing for an undisturbed piss up. Give them laudanum with coke and some heroin sherbets to chew on. In fact have some yourself, as it's Christmas.

Forget the plane. It will crash into the sea, all but Keith will die and Brony will screw all the shrimp. Shit.

These easy targets should be caught en masse, sold to Arab countries at discount, used and culled. Or exchanged for free oil.

I would let the Al Qaeda loose on those fucking krauts. In fact, in the spirit of not fucking good-will, buy a guillotine on EBay, then record for posterity.

Would you mind sharing your bird?

Perhaps you didn't get the irony, thicko. Years of fat and sugar excess have turned your brain to a big fucking pudding. Put yourself on a list for a transplant from a pig. You may gain some intelligence.

Rudolf Hess spent his time in a British jail, nobbling porridge. He was a useless cunt.

Sometimes getting home for Christmas means exactly that. Can't get a turkey on a plane, even with a full fare ticket. Unless it's Ryanair.

Where do I start? Probably in a crowded, dingy, smelly supermarket, fighting my way with a three-legged, fully disabled cunt trolley on December 24th. The following day half of the stuff has to be dismembered, gassed and burned on time. Makes the stress of moving house a minor inconvenience.

I think we are pointing the gun at the wrong person here. We should file for a divorce for NOT GETTING A FUCKING CAR. I need a new car and have to go out, earn the money and then buy the cunt myself. And PAY for it too. AND I am prepared to offer a lot of sex in return. Still no fucking luck. Now I am going to sit in the corner and sulk.

Yes, Your Highness. Now fuck off and talk to your biscuits cunt.

Accompanied by a canister of petrol and some matches.

I would place Rotheram Council, perhaps in the third place.

I think old John should meet Keith. They would make a lovely couple.

I though he drank himself to death.

But those must be applied to the face only. We don't want blood on the floor. And remember to apply anti-bacterial gel to your hands afterwards. You are still in a hospital.

I am envious. Mine is still fucking rolling about. So is her cunt of a husband. I have two cunts to get rid of of and the smell in the boot is not getting any nicer.

A night in a cell, followed by a hefty bill should be prescribed. Any wounds should be treated with 16th century medicine.

I am a nazi sympathiser.

Love is a combination of hormones with high addiction values.

What filth? This is a very respectable forum. Welcome.

Is anybody watching the forecast without a big-titted presenter?