Last Cunt Standing

Frederick Sewards Trueman had a special phrase for circumstances like these, when he fired in a ripsnorter from the Kirkstall Lane end, only for some poor sap to stand blinking as the ball whistled past his nose. “That wer wasted on thee, Lad”.

Amen. Anyone who thinks differently at this point I suspect has a rather rusty anti-BBC axe to grind. The size of the inevitable libel payout is already the talk of the locker rooms at the Inns of Court, though I suspect Old Rupe will consider it worth every penny if he keeps the BBC in the crosshairs. The possibility that commercial broadcasters might want to neuter the Beeb as the only resistance to their own pernicious news agenda seems to pass so many people by. I’m also astonished that so many people who spend so much time wrapping themselves in the flag seem to so keenly trash a source of considerable British soft power heard around the world. Those still waving their pitchforks whine about vulnerable teens and abuse of power. There is of course much we don’t know about how Huw met this young person. Doctors, teachers and other public servants are rightly in trouble if they abuse their position to solicit sex or sexual services from people they have professional contact with. But if a fiftysomething teacher in Dumfries strikes up an internet relationship on Grinder with an 18 year old man he doesn’t know in Truro, no crime has been committed. The regulators would soon be overwhelmed if every publicly funded employee who ever purchased internet porn from an adult provider was referred to them to be “struck off”. That indeed is the police’s view in this case. Once “no crime” was the outcome, the story surely died and it’s interesting to note The Sun’s editorial board have already called in a small army of KCs for insulation. The young person appears to have protested at his parentally-imposed victimhood, and it’s worth reminding ourselves he himself made no complaint of improper conduct. How this constitutes an abuse of power is a bit of a mystery to me. Pip Schofield had the additional problem of relations with a young employee. I’m not aware the BBC Newsroom is shared by the parties in the Edwards case. Some might be morally queasy at these events. They might be angry at the licence fee model or the salaries some people earn in the BBC. These are often long-standing grievances, and might well be driving some of the outrage. But those are surely entirely different debates which don’t need polluting with pearl-clutching “won’t someone think of the children!” bluster, which is as fatuous as it is transparent. If those still outraged want to turn their fire on the likes of Grinder, OnlyFans, Snapchat and TikTok, which are facilitating many relationships which would seem to mirror this one, good luck to you.

You shouldn’t, particularly. What you attend to and what you ignore is entirely up to you. But I’m not sure your plea for collective ignorance of American violence is entirely consistent with your previous utterances. I mean, say you’d piped up with commentary on another American murder some time ago, you might be a bit peeved if you met a wall of “why should we give a shit” type responses, no? Perhaps best to read it, grunt your disapproval, and click on to the next topic. Hypocrisy is such an ugly trait.

27 years puts us back to 1996. Is it Mel B’s cock and balls before he joined the Spice Girls?

For some time this little collection of unfortunates has been my favourite whodunnit, and I’m quite surprised that the Police have now made an arrest in the so-called LISK investigation. Rex Heuermann, an otherwise nondescript architect, has been charged with three of the murders, with the expectation more will follow. His perverted internet search history has been held up as evidence of deviancy, plus his use of burner phones, and crucially there appears to be a DNA link to the victims, his sample having been obtained from a discarded pizza box. Some say the killer might have topped 30 victims, impossible to know as the dumping area was inundated by the sea in Hurricane Sandy and some evidence is now with the fishes. The recent pattern of criminal geniuses being undone by pizza boxes - Rex, Andrew Tate, must be a PR nightmare for those twats at Dominoes who put a leaflet through my door approximately every eight seconds. Anyway, bit of a Cunt being exposed as a serial killer by a stray slice of Hawaiian is all I’m saying.

Why aye. I’ve got a feeling it’s the master copy of Money For Nothing, the one with the faggot lyrics in. Definitely verboten these days.

If it’s unlocked, can’t she just open the door and find out?

I’m still reeling from the sight of Annabelle Croft in a Laura Ashley frock. I thought she was dead, not picking up the crumbs from Sue Barkers’ table. Doing the there-there bit to Jabeur at the end you could see the Tunisian’s eyes narrow with the fleeting thought of “yeah? Don’t patronise me love, I could have beaten you if I was under general anaesthetic, fuck off world number two hundred and sixty”. La Croft then had the temerity to utter “we need to have a word about your box” to which the obvious rejoinder might have been “who the fuck are you, Clare Balding?”. Cut to HRH Katie tottering about like an anorexic giraffe to give out a gold dish to the Czech. You could almost see her shudder at the mention of the Venus Rose Water dish. That woman. That fucking woman and her strap on. They’ll cost me this gig one day. Look out for a White Fiat Uno on the drive home, love. And for Christ’s sake don’t be early. Wills is entertaining.

I can’t work out if La Price is channelling Adam Ant or Robbie Fowler, the addled sow. Roy Castle must be spinning in his grave. And coughing.

Fuck off.

Yes I do. I even have a special hat to keep the flies at bay.

I can assure you she’s no stranger to the billions of oriental nail emporiums we have Down Under. Problem is she’s such a faddy fucker that she likes to match them with the outfit, change them for a work theme day, or charity something or other, and if she didn’t set-to with the DIY kit from time to time she spend half her week in Chinese Alan’s Keratin Laboratory. She’s paying for it her bloody self so what do I care. I like a woman who invests in her appearance. She keeps threatening to dye the landing strip and I don’t think she’s planning to break into Perth Airport with a tanker full of cochineal.

I’d vote for a prepaid satellite phone. Maybe a few crank calls before you ring for pickup.

Straw Poll: if you could fit the fugly bint in a working microwave, would Katie Price a) Melt b) Explode or c) a then b ?

Outrageous. At least you didn’t suggest we’d sell it for a huge mark up. My wife’s heritage is European, so the only thing she paints is her nails.

In about 1998 I once got a right earful of a young man in a BTCellnet store (remember them?) after I called their parent company “British Telecom”. “It’s BT now, mate, we don’t use the British”. He was of course well ahead of his time and is probably now CEO, but he didn’t half go a funny colour when I pulled my dividend cheque out of my wallet and asked him how I’d go about getting it rebranded. I moved to Vodafone.

Thief? I’ll have you know I earned every pension day, thanks very much. I’m rather glad it’s paid in pounds at the moment too. When’s the next BoE Interest Rate meeting by the way, I’ve got a new sofa on order.

I’m only paying attention to these bits. No, not eternal enemies. You don’t qualify for my list. I had noticed the thawing of relations and that suits me fine. Let’s call it a working truce. I only queried your alignment with The Sun because it was quite a surprise, being usually indicative of learning difficulties, a diagnosis I doubt you have. It’s a shame you’ve doubled down on Rupert Murdochs’ wrinkly old organ. Your funeral.

So what’s on this missing mobile phone that Boris is running the risk of a Contempt charge for anyway? I’ll open the bidding at badly coded instructions from his FSB handler, and a muff shot of Nadine Dorries. Perhaps The Sun could turn their investigative spotlight on the situation?

So it was the BBC who drove Boris out of office, was it Bill? Not his entire Government resigning as one because the Cunt can’t lie straight in whichever bed he happens to be in? I think the prevailing view is that BBC have been rather too friendly to the government of late, nothing of course to do with the Chairman facilitating a loan for Bozza for a few hundred grand. Tinfoil’s a little on the tight side tonight Bill. Or perhaps you’re still pissed from Wednesdays Burn-A-Fenian day. You know there’s a vaccine for hangovers now, don’t you?

“But I don’t want bloody guitar lessons!”

Er, no. Huw has been a bloody idiot by the sounds of it. But no more than many others who aren’t put in the stocks for it. Thanks for playing, though.

Are you sure? Lining up with The Sun is an interesting, not to say revealing, position to adopt. I’m sure you only buy it for the crossword.

I am some distance away, but this story has me confused now. Huw appears to have been caught paying for sexual services on the internet. The police say he has no case to answer, currently at least. The young unnamed provider of said sexual services says there’s no case to answer. The mob cry cover up and wave their pitchforks as they were asked, of course. Opportunistic colleagues with an axe to grind pile in with “he sent me a late night text and signed off with an X!” - please. The Sun, serving as some Orwellian moral guardian, seem to have based their story on the outrage of parents appalled by their offspring’s life choices, and are now in full reverse-ferret claiming no criminality was alleged, while screengrabs suggesting otherwise are preserved in internet aspic. A middle aged man, otherwise respectable, lies in a psychiatric hospital dealing with the fallout of thinking with his cock as his poor wife picks up the pieces. Thirty five grand will soon look like chicken feed. Being stupid on the internet and thinking with your cock. Something hundreds of thousands of men do every day, including some here I shouldn’t wonder. It’s stupid, grubby, and isn’t for the dinner table, but I wouldn’t fancy a British tabloid giving someone I love a public enema much either, thanks. No laws appear to have been broken thus far. Yet the usual suspects line up with Murdoch to denounce the BBC as paedo central and want it scrapped/defunded/turned over to private capital. These people would perhaps do well to reflect on the company they keep and the standards The Sun has championed down the years. The disgusting creature that is Kelvin McKenzie perhaps as exhibit A. What frustrates me is the targets these people pick for the full pack of hounds treatment. Meanwhile, Boris gets to ennoble his intern, withhold his phone from a public enquiry, and cavort with the KGB while Foreign Secretary. Gets a soft focus new dad piece in The Mail. George Osbourne might have done something unspeakable, says a mysterious email. Michelle Mone gets a nine figure sum for not much and spunks it on a yacht, while public servants are told to try a little harder if they want a cost of living rise. All with not a murmur from the Nations favourite comic. They’re laughing at you. And you love them for it.

Have you had Rabies? The vaccine, not the condition, before you accuse me of being unsavoury.