Last Cunt Standing

When phoned for comment, This Morning chef Phil Vickery said “.....dead is he?....lucky bastard. Imagine spending 15 years pumping Fern Britton. I’d take death every time. Now if you don’t mind I’ve got my cock soaking in battery acid and it’ll be ready for another go over with the sander shortly”.

I see your Hokey Cokey, and raise you the kiddies disco classic, Superman.

Well indeed. Like “working class Tory”. You’d know more about that particular contortion than I would Judith. I hope you’ve charged up the Mobility scooter and ordered in extra tinfoil for the hats you’ll need in weeks to come. Blubber mountains like your good self will I’m sure be high on the list for a ventilator when the anaesthetist meets you off the ambulance. I just hope to God he’s Polish or Latvian. You’ll be straight off to the fridge for a final sing a long of Land of Hope and Glory. I imagine the car park at the John Radcliffe will soon be like arrivals at Birkenau. Hoards of confused elderly coughing up their guts being directed left and right by the thumb of a white-coated selection officer. Time to brush up on those essential skills.

Yeah, I too agree the time has come for mass extra-judicial slaughter and printing money so everyone can get paid in wheelbarrows and feel much better about their lives. The lame will walk, and the slovenly obese will happily troop to work camps to dig cabbages. If history tells us anything, it’s that these policies always improve the lot of the common man. Utopia beckons, no doubt. Dunderheid.

If I might interrupt your armchair theorising Dr Kahneman, but can I just check you are arguing for rampant wage inflation? If a porter gets £20/hr, what of the staff nurse on £18/hr? Does she jack it in and join the porters, or demand her own pay rise? It’s surely a fundamental that not only do I want more money, I want to know I’m paid more than him or her, given I spent four years training for my role whereas they did a fortnight’s correspondence course. You’ve also got to factor in the effect of setting yourself up as an island fortress with a £20 minimum wage just off said mass of cheap labour. Would it not make the people you want out even more determined to get in? The fake passport industry in Bethnal Green will be in clover. Back to to the fag packet, MC.

The Lion of Panjeer. Or is that a Watford Curry house?

I was always slightly suspicious that the “coded warnings” RTE used to receive in the day were in fact the pissed ramblings of some Galway drunk trying to call his bookie and get his bets on. “Newcastle, Tree Tirty, Blood on the Tracks. Nottingham, Four Fifty, Fair Warning”.

Point of order, Your Worship. How many Afro-Caribbean members did you bump into over the prawn sandwiches in the Swindon Travelodge for your Mensa meeting?

Latest cab off the rank in the world of pseudo-intellectual management speak bollocks is the desire to “understand things at a granular level”. My nephew was over last night shooting the breeze by the pool, and he told me some brylcreemed prick from McKinsey who’s been brought in to streamline a perfectly functional office keeps using this phrase, among all the usual blue sky thinking kite flying cliche bollocks. Is this nauseating verbiage the key skill you learn on an MBA course or what? As the booze flowed we moved on to action we could take to drive the granular cunt out of his corner office. I suggested depositing a hundredweight of builders sand on his desk and stick a magnifying glass out of it like some geeky cocktail umbrella. If any CC members can suggest alternates, Ill be sure to pass them on. The problem put me in mind of a newspaper piece I read this week where an older fella was bemoaning the fact younger workers are so meek and terrified that they never act in the face of provocation. He sees young waiters never once tempted to tip the soup over the invariably angry Boomer customer making his life hell, and young lickspittles so imbibed with The Apprentice school of sycophancy that “shove your job up your arse” is beyond them. Prior to my stethoscope years I told a couple of bosses in summer jobs to go fuck themselves, and a weeks earnings lost is well worth a lifetime of smiling reminiscence wondering if Bill ever got the smell of milk out of the carpet in his new Jag. What is the world coming too if we are all so terrified we can’t call some red-braced mongoloid a cunt? I’m glad my nephew is taking action, he might well get promoted.

Repeat bollocks. Specifically.

Funnily enough, Neil has a Bush top-loader too. His does not need programming though, just a cursory wipe on the curtains.

I’d say Putin’s plan is working beautifully. More Russian whores on their way to Ankara in payment. Neil is fuelling up the Bedford Rascal as we speak.

Here’s the New York POST (a very different organ) espousing, in a rather backhand “we heard this story, it’s probably false” way, the bullshit tinfoil-hat theory this was man-made (just like cancer, HIV, Ebola,); https://nypost.com/2020/02/22/dont-buy-chinas-story-the-coronavirus-may-have-leaked-from-a-lab/ And here’s Harvard Medical School denouncing the same shit three weeks ago; https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/be-careful-where-you-get-your-news-about-coronavirus-2020020118801 Please check your facts Eddie, or you look like an arse.

Loving your commitment to accuracy Stubbs. Pretty much middle of the bell curve for The Corner. Lipstick on the Glans is generally a good anti-spider device, as well as being the title of the best album ZZ Top never recorded. It’s snakes you have to watch for here. Dugites are nasty bastards, I squashed one on my bike the other day.

Do you mean the Shankill?

Fuck all that shit Mr President. What we all want to know is, can we have a go on Melania when you’re done? Those Eastern European types take anything and never complain.

No Neil, you really wouldn’t like flooding. There’s rare steak and then there’s raw meat. I’d give it a miss, make a right mess of your Bedford Rascal.

Not that you’d know you sad little whoopsie but “flooding” has a very different meaning to gynaecologists, so the phrase “flooded cunts” needs to be used very judiciously. Menorrhagia is every bit as serious as overflowing rivers, and it too will most likely require mop and bucket, if not the assistance 40 crack troops of the Royal Anglian Regiment.

Don’t be taken in by the act. Joey and his management have long twigged that being dumb is commercially successful. ITV will fund you to fly off to far flung places and pretend you don’t know what a rainforest is. The target demographic for these shows thus get to feel superior and forget their problems for 26 mins plus adverts. Personally I suspect Joey has a PhD in Astrophysics and when the camera is off debates existentialism with Stephen Fry. Sneaky cunt.

She has a hell of a convergent squint in some photos.

The tie of the previous round though had to be the overwhelming win for Coronavirus FC v Atletico Chinese Sweatshop Economy. The competition has been wide open since previous winners Amazonian Deforestation were hammered at home by Antarctic Heatwave, and newcomers Ocean Plastic held on for a much anticipated replay with Population Explosion.

Short answer; no one knows. Lots of speculation the Chinks are hiding the scale, shutting down factories etc, but current evidence is its 2.5x more deadly than the flu. I wouldn’t be flying for a bit but otherwise business as usual.

In this clip, Phil admits to having a “bum like a dragon’s nostril”. Just you wait pal, just you wait.

Even by his low standards, Farage’s sign off to the EU as graceless, boorish and unpleasant. He could have delivered a much more sober speech on the dangers of politicians forgetting their electorates. Instead he and his band of weirdos wave their little plastic flags and skulk out. It’s nauseating. The world is shaking its head at the spectacle. The BBC have decided the howls of protest must be answered by capitulation. It’s all very....unBritish.

I don’t care for these European imports either Neil. That North Utsire was a right dirty bastard. Cromarty was a much safer choice in the middle.