Last Cunt Standing

I’d like to push you through The Round Window you fucking dullard.

Did you know there’s a new issue of The Crimp/The Dodo in the works Baws?

What kind of pussyboy libtard cuckold Fifth columnist nonsense is this? You’ll put your KKK hood back on sharpish If you know what’s good for you. I mean you even spelt his name correctly! Down with this sort of thing!

1. I don’t know why you’d be loitering in baby clinic to piss on anyone and unless you are going to seek advice on barrier creams as an adult nappy wearer, it’s a bit of a conundrum. I’m sure you mean no harm. 2. Doxazosin might help your prostate, and possibly shave a few points off your terrifying BP. 3. I don’t “wannabe” a doctor anymore, so I’m not. Fuck off.

6/10.

How good is your ”Never!” in full-throated Ian Paisley? Did it terrify back in the day?

Did you encourage STI checks for your colleagues, or were you more at the “wipe it on the curtains” end of the slave trade?

Touch of class there Gyps. Surely the average Mother can tell adult Madras with a Cobra chaser from newly digested Aptamil?

No longer my problem. Baby clinic was always a joy unless you get pissed on during the Ortolani.

Ah, the old QALY celebrity death matches. I personally always liked IVF vs erectile dysfunction, or bariatric surgery vs eating disorder clinics. These were always humdingers when you got the debates up and running. Who weighs value for money and who decides what to fund? She who shouts loudest, in my experience.

Or shrunken, sullen and drab, as I said. Attention to detail; never a strength of the spittle-flecked Wetherspooner.

Why do I want or need to shut you up? I almost enjoy the consistency of your regular nonsense, and The Corner wouldn’t be the same without it. You attract all manner of derision for it and I have a sneaking suspicion that’s really why you do it. And for the umpteenth time I didn’t run away, I flew. I retired to the sunshine with my wife after a career dealing with 30 plus problems a day at ten minute intervals. You are an arch Brexiteer who champions the right to leave when you don’t like the way the wind is blowing. Which is exactly what I did, yet you clearly loathe me for it, or at least you seem to when you aren’t telling me it’s bullshit. I’m amazed you can’t see the huge, yawning contradiction. Oh, and it’s still “my” country even if I’m not physically in it, otherwise you’d be Spanish or French for two weeks of the year and presumably disappear up your own fundament in outrage and self-loathing.

He hasn’t run in twenty years mate, and as for lying in wait, there isn’t a trench big enough for the fella to hunker down in. Maybe the Mariana.

I’m pleased to say we have yet more in common, Judy; neither of us knows what the fuck you’re on about.

Try reading the policy on what happens when a GP patient wants to change gender and how their notes should be purged and relabelled. I guarantee litigation will follow when Kevin gets Cervical Cancer or Sandra gets Prostatism. The outrage that follows when Brian gets his mammogram recall is a sight to behold. Many healthcare professionals have been warning about the dangers of this situation for years, but no one listens. Teenagers deciding they want hormones and surgery would be bad enough, but being clapped on by gormless parents who want to be seen as cool, and threatened with complaints or litigation if you don’t agree to treat, is enough to drive people out of the job. Only “believers” are left.

That’s a bit uncharitable you fat Cunt.

I’d have asked John Smeaton to conduct the service.

Perhaps I’m alone in thinking it a bit of a Cunt that this week the world, or at least most of it, says goodbye to the 747. Other than the microchip, has any other piece of engineering so changed the world in the last 50 years? It was always a great start to a trip to see the Jumbo roar into the sky from a Heathrow car park, and it was a symbol of a different age, of energy and interconnectivity, and excellence. Far-off places were full of opportunity and promise. Now look at us. A shrunken, sullen and drab world where the modern flight experience is to shuffle onto a blue and yellow tube at Stansted, be crammed in to your rigid thin seat and be barked at by aggressive Czech Lesbians if you hesitate over paying £12 for a ham roll. Some joy has gone out of the world, as it always does when accountants run things. Farewell Old Girl. 🛫

The grave used to be a feature on the Heritage tour at RAF Scampton Neil, and pictures abound on the web, but some young Station Commander decided it was best removed to a more discrete location. He took a poll to ask where it should be moved to, with “up your arse” being the clear winner.

At your age though is likely less of a power shower and more of a warm dribble.

No convincing required. I only wish I’d done it earlier.

I see a distinction between a country and it’s government. Britain made me and gave me plenty. There are many things I miss about Blighty. Michael Gove and his unthinking drones aren’t one of them.

Who put 50p in the dickhead?

The potatoes used for McCanns have different coloured eyes.

Some next-level armchair economics here from the usual suspects. I’ll inform the Nobel committee. More shifting of blame and finger pointing than a nursery school playground. Amazed neither of you did the old “a weaker pound is good for exports” quickstep, or perhaps you’ve learned that’s horse shit too. A 40% collapse in value pre-Covid isn’t “volatility”, it’s a crash. A self-inflicted crash. Get real.