Last Cunt Standing

Bag Of Shite As I said, if you two need to hump and get it over with, don’t let me stop you.

If you two need us all to leave, just say so. It’s nice you have each other.

Kanye fucking West has taken a moment out from running for President to tell everyone that vaccination is actually “a plan to put chips inside us and make it impossible for us to cross into the Kingdom of Heaven”. There are no words. Except perhaps “imbecile” or “wanker”.

The local dealer where I used to live and work used to park his blacked-out Audi SUV outside the Methadone clinic at the same time every day. Everyone knew it. The bobbies did fuck all, rumour had it several were on the take, and it used to depress the shit out of me to see the gentlemen leaning out of the front windows chatting up all the young mums with pushchairs at school pick up time. It would have saved time and effort just to video it for a while and send the tape to Social Services. Any more obvious and they’d have needed an ice cream siren. Then one day the Audi was gone. No one knew what had happened. Turns out he’d found religion and decided Syria was the place to be. Silly cunt.

...and of course the Republican Party is completely without sin, would never seek to gerrymander polling districts or porkbarrel their way to a Statehouse. Stop believing everything you hear spill from the mad harpie on Justice with Judge Jeanine, she’ll lead you even further astray than you are. Politicians are self-serving wankers the world over, full stop, the end.

Have you seen “Wentworth”, the modern version? You’ll need a cold shower.....

I have a vague memory of her telling a story about Anne Haddy (Helen Daniels) that would have made Chubby Brown blush.

Make sure you give them a knock in a few weeks when Rishi tells Simon Stevens to go and get fucked. No Turkey for you this year Gyps, but the memory of your neighbours clapping will suffice. It’s a vocation after all. No?

I’m sure there’s an atomic clock somewhere keeping us in check Bill, but it does seem amazing to me how much I can get done in a day these days, without all those pesky interruptions every ten minutes. Channel Seven’s Home and Away is for retards. Nobody I know here watches it and it’s generally regarded as a parody. Especially Alf, who pops up on the ads occasionally banging out a vibration plate supposed to help your circulation. A poor man’s Ken Barlow, he gets two fingers rampant in our house.

Building up to that Eric. I’m still at the rolled-ball stage but have my viva for folding into pairs later in the week. The 60 minute multiple-choice paper on changing a king size duvet unaided is frankly a bit daunting and I keep putting that off.

I’d tell her, but she’s currently enthralled by a middle aged woman in a floral print waxing lyrical about a coffee table. It’s ghastly. £1500 though. I only let her watch as she’ll be out to work tomorrow while I devote a good hour to arranging my socks.

I thought he’d be your cup of tea Judge, especially that bit about him leading expeditions to help Ethiopian street kids. If they let you on the appointments panel, and if there’s any justice they will, I hope it’s televised. There’s quite a few ex UK plod here in Oz, very few with much nice to say about the job of policing UK streets. You do sometimes look around the expats here and wonder who is left to run things over there.

That silver tongue of yours would possibly be worth a few quid on the Antiques Roadshow, currently invading my living room via the ABC. The current Mrs LCS is oddly addicted to Eric Knowles, but he’s the only Eric allowed in our house. Pickles, Morecambe, Cantona and Clapton are all on the banned list and sadly now so are you. But thanks anyway.

Really? I heard Ian Hopkins had been tapped up for it as an external appointment and he’s keen to top up his pension for a couple of years. I’m sure you’ll thoroughly approve of his CV. These people aren’t Coppers any more, they are administrators. https://www.gmp.police.uk/police-forces/greater-manchester-police/areas/greater

So join the Royal Engineers, you pussy.

Bitch.

So as we have by now established that both your father and grandfather sported The Queen’s Uniform, I’m curious to know why you never signed up for a few years of square bashing? You’re clearly in awe of all things khaki and armour-plated, and would no doubt love a run at the fuzzy-wuzzies with your bayonet, so why have we not heard epic highlights of your illustrious years adjusting your woggle in the Sea Scouts? Perhaps you did make it as far as the Army Recruiting office, only to be told your club foot and double digit IQ would not pass muster, even these days. No doubt this came as a crushing disappointment to you, if only because it robbed you of the opportunity to loiter round the Mess hall and pick up all manner of trivia to bore your long-suffering father with, when he wasn’t hiding from you in t’Legion.

I thought I was safe from many things over here, but I’m broken-hearted to discover this fucker invading Australian screens now. The Steph Show, live from Yorkshire, with everyone’s favourite, La McGovern. What the fuck is going on over there if this is the best on offer? Nothing much has changed with her act it seems to me, tortured vowels and Why-aye fraudulent accentry mixed with chummy banter and winks to camera, though that could be a facial tic for all I know. The content of her magazine show is the usual One Show inspired dross. She could at least have the good grace to do a show with her strap-on displayed in the background like The Angel of The North. Cunt then, cunt now, cunt forever.

pRick Stein popped up in Australia a short while ago from his palatial beach house in New South Wales. He was on the morning news flogging his latest Mexican cookbook despite not knowing a refried bean from a jalapeño, and gurning into camera making fucking omelettes with the weatherman. I almost broke my TV with a hurled Nike. If anyone has nicked a living it’s this cunt. A mediocre and very forgettable cook, he did the classic public schoolboy thing in the 60’s and 70’s of drifting about trying to find himself before he washed up like driftwood in Cornwall with his mate Jonny opening a nightclub. He traded off the stupidity of rich tossers out west from their dreary Home Counties lives for many years. Then after the incomparable Floyd gave him a moment’s fame, he proceeded to nick his master’s act and knock out 30 years of pisspoor travelogues bolted together with some perfectly ordinary grub. Floyd was joyous, steeped in his medium, and taught much to many. Stein has a PhD in moaning and misanthropy, I well remember him moaning he couldn’t get a good meal off room service at midnight in Carlisle or somewhere. He must be worth eight figures easily, all without any discernible talent other than commercialising middle class aspiration via the BBC and Daily Mail. Right place right time his whole life, he should be the happiest man alive not a dreary sack of shit. And of course his fucking idiot son Jack is now getting in on the act, proving that nepotism beats talent every fucking time. One day the Kernow Mafia will get them, and I’ll laugh my bollocks off.

You and I see the world differently Judge, fair do’s, but I wouldn’t wish Fournier’s on anyone. I’d smell it from here if you caught a dose. The case I saw still sticks in my mind 20 odd years on. Good luck to you.

Well before you waft a cheesy digit in my general direction, it had nothing to do with me. I vaguely recall the post in question and I’m not sure why it’s fallen foul of she who must be obeyed, other than it being the usual word salad of reactionary toss. If that’s a deletion offence these days then you are more fucked than your shrivelled pancreas. How’s your Cantonese coming along anyway? Once your Polish carer gets deported come December you’d better know the Chinese for bedbath or it’s Fournier’s for you.

Tommy gets no signal on his gunboat off Dover. So I’d message Rees-Mogg, who can arrange an F35 to take the fucker out. Good news for you Bill, as an Ulsterman you can apply for an Eire passport. I imagine your form was in a while ago, no? Wrapped round a device of some sort, perhaps?

Too many letters to be a racehorse Eric, but I like the idea.