Last Cunt Standing

About time you showed up you tired old muff-flasher. Disgusting racism is by now well established on the Corner and meets little if any resistance from those who should know better. I realise you spend your Lockdown Sundays scrutinising the dogging section of the Mensa magazine, but if you could put some stick about from time to time, the place would be better for it. Just imagine the usual offenders are braying red-jacketed fox hunters on horseback, might help you summon up the blood.

I would but, y’know, fatwa and shit. A death warrant from an Ayatollah can really put a dent in your day. I don’t want my beach walk interrupted by anxious thoughts about booby-trapped Muffins and Sarin-infused flat whites. Quiet life please.

Too wordy etc. Oh, and a full stop wouldn’t kill you. It’s raining hard today here, or I would have many other things to do, but thanks for asking.

No, I imagine he’s pumping his arranged marriage wife as it’s Eid today. He didn’t mention Infidels last time I spoke to him, we just had a good laugh about some soft tart he’d treated with a bottle of Merlot up her chuff, then we got slightly merry arguing about whether Younis or Akram was the better bowler. No, it’s the TV I’m worried about. Sometimes at night, with volume turned down, I can hear it whispering all sorts of random shit to me. Last night a big map appeared and the thing told me it’d rain today and sure enough it is. It’s the CIA you know. David Icke says so.

Eid Mubarak to you Judy! I’m sure it’s only social distancing which has delayed your invite to Sadiq’s house for tea and diabetic buns. Maybe next year, eh?

Ishraf is only a Muslim when NHS Management are asking. He gets a room to go and have a lie down in a few times a day to get away from the scum he has to deal with. But believe me, he’s no stranger to a pint and a pork scratching at the Pub Quiz.

As long as you agree to take all 200 before you get to the Chip shop. And don’t call the ambulance this time, I’m sick of getting letters from nice Dr Ishraf in A&E saying you made a right cunt of yourself when they came at you with the nasogastric tube again. Something like the last one I have here; “Dear Dr LCS, that thick cunt Killer was back in the other night after a day on the sauce, telling us he’d took an huge overdose. After thrashing about in resus for a good twenty minutes, we got him cannulated only to discover according to his bloods he’d taken five tic tacs, a Simvastatin, and a Junior Disprin from 1985. The Psych on-call told us there was no way they were leaving a night in with the telly to come and talk to the boring prick again for the fifth time this year, so Big Sister Brenda fucked him off street-side and told him to come and bore you instead, for which I apologise. Maybe we can expand on his care over a pint sometime, Ciao, Ishraf”.

Too stupid. Say something noteworthy or get back to dwarf porn.

Thank you Mr Roadkill, but you’ve now exceeded your ten minutes telling me what a useless Cunt I am and how the Professor of Nephrology you saw at the James Cook last week didn’t know his olecranon from his gluteus. I can’t give your mother an ECG as I’m afraid the local PCT/CCG judged the £4.70 paid to the surgery for each one was rather over the market rate, and the blood test you’d like can be done between 720 and 725am Thursday week when the visiting phlebotomist drops by into the surgery. I’m obviously impressed with your medical skills, and if you wouldn’t mind dropping your GMC number in to my practice manager on your way out you’d be welcome to one of the six vacancies we currently have for this piece of piss overpaid lark spending 10 hours a day being told how useless you are. If you’re looking for a car to deface in the car park in some petty act of revenge, I’d avoid the BMW if I were you, it belongs to a local drug dealer who likes to park outside the methadone clinic about this time on a Tuesday. Incidentally, it’s certainly a point of relevance in evaluating her Chest Pain that she hasn’t seen her feet since the Major Goverment and the only time she sweats is climbing the three steps into the Job Centre to sign on. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’ve got three home visits to other idle pricks to fit in before I get home in time for Newsnight, so can we just agree we hate each other and call it a draw?

....oh and incidentally, interesting you should pick “allergic to penicillin” as an example of a knotty medical problem. It’s a well established principle that 95% of the time patients reporting themselves as allergic to penicillin have no serological evidence of an allergy, rather their exasperated mother once dragged their mewling infant self along to a 1970’s GP who gave amoxicillin out in his waiting room. The viral exanthem they then developed was attributed to the antibiotic for ever more, repeated by the mother, and remembered as the only important detail of their medical history the average punter can recall. My response to such a statement was usually a three step 1) are you sure? 2) you were given a penicillin -based antibiotic in A&E last year when your Doberman bit you, yet you’re still here, aren’t you? then 3) well alright then, let’s try some of that nice Augmentin you’ve had eight times in ten years, that’ll do the trick. Imagine that conversation a dozen times a week, and within a year you’ll be muttering “prick” into your coffee too, just like those mythical Asian doctors you appear to have taken against.

I had many talented colleagues from Pakistan. Many of them were treated appallingly by multimorbid land-whales with personality disorders who thought paying NI contributions for six months on their last minimum wage warehouse job ten years ago gave them the right to bark at any and every NHS worker they encountered. When I started my NHS career the public were a very different animal to the one I encountered when I left. And I say that as a white male educated in the UK. The last two years of my career in the UK were an exercise in self control akin to Sumo wrestlers’ fabled control of their testicles. How I didn’t tell six patients a day to get the fuck out of my office I don’t know. And no one snapped their fingers at me, or sneered, or called me a White Cunt when I wouldn’t give them their pregabalin. Keeping Clapping though, it’s the only exercise some of you get.

Only in the paranoid mind of the Gammon could the last few months be considered anything other than an unmitigated disaster. The figures speak for themselves. Britain is truly fucked, and given what else is heading in your direction soon, I’ll take my chances with the spiders and snakes, if you don’t mind. British exceptionalism has been shown up for the pack of bullshit it always was. Boris is unfit for office. Gove’s chicanery has finally turned into a dead end. Nige is bobbing about in the Channel like the most determined of turds. What a shitshow. Best of luck to you all.

Paki doctors. A new low. I do hope you run into a Urologist from Lahore when your prostate is the size of a bowling ball and your ickle winkle is just leaking hot pink drips. You’ll offer to suck his cock for a catheter, and personally I hope he uses a rusty fucking coat hanger to make you feel better. I’m sure it’ll make him feel rather good too. You’re a truly despicable twat, MC. I don’t tell you that enough. Watch your blood pressure.

Ladies and Gentleman, I give you the future of Britain. No degree, but thinks five minutes over a sandwich and he’ll get by. Bizarrely militaristic, gun obsessed, and prone to flag-clutching defence of “our boys”, which is frankly so homoerotic it would give Julian Clary nightmares. Universally angry at a presynaptic level. Immigrants, the EU, Blacks, Scots, trade unions and lefties of all shades, all wrong, all sucking at the teet of Mother England. Academics and intellectuals, all useless pricks. Prone to bullshit conspiracy revelations because, of course, the hated mainstream media can’t be trusted. And naturally, a stunning personal commercial success with all the trappings of wealth, which only serves as validation for a reactionary world view. Like I said, you’ll fit right in round here until Wetherspoons is back open and you’re back with the only people you like. Pitiful. If you’d been around for more than five fucking minutes you’d know there are several gaping holes in your line of ad hominem shite, but there you go. I can’t be arsed anymore. Enjoy the “crime ridden shithole” pal, I’m off for a sundowner to prepare for these hard years ahead you mention. Wanker.

Right you are. Nothing much else to be said. If you can just throw some crumbs down from your table occasionally, I’m sure they’d be grateful for the milk of human kindness with which you are so clearly well stocked. I’m quite surprised you need private healthcare at all really, could you not have just hung about the Doctor’s Mess for five months or so and done a medical degree by osmosis, as is your usual learning method? You’ll no doubt thrive on the Brave New Corner, you seem to have a full compliment of the required views and rhetorical weapons at your disposal. Like I said, not much else to say. I miss Brony Keith. Gone to the Dogs etc.

I imagine he woke the next day with a sore arse, too.

Absolutely. I mean, knot theory. What a waste of time that is.

Well good for you. When the Covid eventually gets you, why not kick and scream at the ambulance crew that you’re private, see where it gets you. In the UK, private healthcare is an excellent way for orthopaedic surgeons to pay their kids’ school fees, nothing more. It won’t save you. Instead you’ll end your days propped up in a Victorian 4 bed bay, your call bell just out of reach, yelling for an exasperated Nurse to fetch you an Earl Grey because you’ve paid your taxes. Bitter, entitled cunts like you -who all seem to know Matt Hancock personally - quickly get labelled as trouble by all and sundry, and if the other patients don’t beat you to death in the night then the C. diff slipped into in the semolina will get you. Otherwise highly skilled Junior doctors will, mystifyingly, take four or five attempts to get a grey cannula into you, apologising profusely, perhaps considering the dorsal vein of your penis as a last resort, before announcing loudly that a butterfly needle would be tight for room. Really not sensible to openly despise Nurses. I suggest you shut up and pay your no doubt massive taxes. Standby for a big tax rise to give them a pay rise, while you’re at it. There’s a good chap. Maybe we can clap for you one day.

I’m praying for a nice dense stroke for you my friend. Staring lifelessly at the ceiling in a bleak side room, with a seconded cleaner alternating between spoon feeding you Reddy Brek and giggling at your shrivelled catheterised cock would be a fitting end for such a valuable member of the human race with all the charisma of amniotic fluid. Fuck off.

Correct. I well remember trying not to lamp some spotty youth they sent out to tell me that from now on I needed to notify the CCG whenever I prescribed Ciprofloxacin, as my practice was 14% above what the algorithm said we should be prescribing. My reply, that he could stick his spreadsheet up his arse, didn’t go down well and no doubt was added to ze file. No such problems here in Oz, the place is knee deep in UK Docs and Nurses who do what they are trained to and sleep soundly.

I take it she took one look at you, shuffling around the stands in your stained vest and MAGA hat, heckling the experts as know-nothing tools of the EU/China, and looked the other way sharpish. Your frustration that your usual killer move, lobbing 500 Baht in her general direction and licking your lips, didn’t work I’m sure boiled over, and no doubt you were dragged back to your Skoda Yeti whining about the unfairness of the licence fee and told never to show your stupid face again. No wonder you’ve taken against her. She’d scrape you off her shoe.

I’m surprised you two don’t get on.

I can’t really be arsed to engage seriously with this utter shite, but I must just point out how odd it is that you see conspiracy and deliberate act in the spread of coronavirus itself, but completely absolve state actors from involvement in the failed provision of PPE, where it’s apparently a matter of lefties producing poor performance at lower pay scales. I’m not sure this is a very consistent line of bollocks. Less generous contributors might conclude you have a pick and mix approach to current affairs to suit your toxic reactionary ignorance and dickhead world view. I’ll let you get back to your masterbating (sic). Thick, thick Cunt.

I do hope you included this charming story in her eulogy.

Oh goody. Another armchair general polishing his medals. We were getting a bit low on them.