Last Cunt Standing

It’s all a bit geriatric for my tastes, but the old ducks that host used to run a winery and I’m determined to put a big dent in their cellar. Superficial musings on the characterisation in some supermarket potboiler is a small price to pay. With this crowd all you really need to do is make some dodgy reference to a classical text or a Booker winner and they’ll nod away long enough not to notice you necking a half bottle of good stuff. Also guarantees me a reward nosh from the wife who thinks it’s great I engage with her mates.

Much debate around the book club dinner table tonight surrounding the funniest Jewish comic, triggered of course by the death of Jackie Mason. The funny bastard made it to 93, but it’s a bit of a cunt I won’t hear him again. Mel Brooks was of course mentioned, Larry David, Joan Rivers, Garry Shandling, Jerry Seinfeld and Billy Crystal were all given plaudits. A few purists suggested Phil Silvers and Gene Wilder, while the woman proposing Roseanne Barr I suspect won’t be invited again. I learned however that Jerry Sadowitz is criminally unknown in this part of the world, and with no video clips to support my case I am afraid the top-hatted misanthrope was ranked lower than Ben Fucking Stiller. Philistine Cunts. The book we had all read was passable, but quickly forgotten. Unlike Jackie.

Close enough.

Couldn’t give less of a fuck, Bill. I’m 3000 miles away from the NSW outbreak, caused largely because Gladys was too terrified to act in the face of rising numbers in case Alan Jones called her a cunt. I can still wander about freely, unmasked and shop where I like. Oh, and I’ve got plenty of peace and quiet. Sorry.

A fair cop. I was surprised to not see it on The Corner is all.

Everton’s pre-season training camp traditionally begins with a five a side contest. I gather this years’ winning team was Sigurdsson-Fuchs-Young-Boyes-Dailly. Eyethangyou, try the fish.

Er, no. Australia has several states and territories which have locked down for varying lengths of time, but any comparison of “avoidable deaths” doesn’t hold up I’m afraid. As of right now, Australia has 912 deaths from COVID in total in now 18 months of the plague, which equates to roughly 0.7% of the UK death total. Most experts conclude that closing the international border last April was the key decision. Even allowing for various whatabouteries and conspiracy theories, I’m afraid Bozo looks like an utter wanker from Down here, just as he does everywhere else. And Down here government corruption might mean the bowls club in your constituency now has gold plated taps, not that the health minister bungs his landlord a hundred million quid for PPE. Sorry to provide some alternate facts, Bill. No doubt you’ll chicane around them.

Testosterone deficiency must be on the differential. Have you developed norks, too?

Colin n Justin. Big in Canada. And yes, something disconcerting about them. Alan Cumming too, whose shit-eating grin always sets my teeth on edge, the cunt.

Is DOG SHIT ever “in” date? Seems redundant to me, and I suspect you know about that.

I imagine there was no fun allowed on your ward Matron, before you scurried off to primary care for such luxuries as a padded office chair and weekends off. No, I imagine you ran a very tight ship indeed with all those brave boys from the Light Brigade needing vigorous hand relief between bed baths and leeches. And given your family connections there’d be no lead on the roof, either. Give your colleagues a break, will you?

Your observant prose takes me straight back to the heady days of the Bigg Market circa 1996, Killer. An aroma of Kebab and grown men declaring their love for Faustino Asprilla. Have a like, man.

I’m glad you’re enjoying your sunlit uplands.

I stayed up to watch the match for the first time in years and was impressed. But it really does set my teeth on edge when all these fucking hoorays, whose relationship with football is limited to pointing out the Emirates from a Kings Cross train, start banging on about “the lads”. The Aussie News seems to have found a reach seam of tipsy toffs to do vox pop pieces with this morning, perhaps from some sockless wine emporium on the Fulham Rd. Yuk.