Last Cunt Standing

The net effect of all this shite is that it will drive men to spend more and more time away from the office, to the pub/golf course/strip club/sports event where the big deals will be done and the women will be left behind. I’m yet to meet a woman who takes offence if two or more blokes talk sport for a few minutes waiting for the lift. The desire to make everyone the same will in the end only reinforce difference.

Jesus, if you can’t defeat that syphillitic old idiot on a matter of science, I imagine Mensa will be sending Vorderman and Sinclair round to rip off your epaulettes. You are arguing with a man who thinks gases eat each other and is incapable of what Piaget called Theory of Mind. Do something else.

Deviation, Neil. Sorry Deviant Neil. That’s a successful challenge, you have fourteen seconds left to discuss “the severed heads in my Bedford Rascal”. While you do that we’ll all think about that other Just A Minute stalwart and former Liberal MP Sir Clement Freud. Can anyone recall where his holiday home was? And now, The Shipping Forecast.

Perhaps. I know many men who think Tenko was fantastic pornography, mind. Louise Jameson would’ve been passed around like Panini stickers.

As I said in my post, happily married though I am, I’m not blind to merits of the lifestyle choice Rack has made. I just think he’ll end up lonely, or broke, or both. It’s obviously not very important what women think of you, other than a walking wallet who is done in five minutes of grunting and getting wheezier by the year. I imagine they pray for erectile dysfunction and hide your Cialis. But then you won’t give a shit, being a very different dinosaur. Oh and I love being told to “open my eyes to what others in the world do and say” by King Kipper of Stroud. You’ll be handing out 50p pieces with this sentiment on next.

My neighbour has had a string of Thais, so many that most of us refer to him as “Rack”. He tells me the attraction isn’t principally aesthetic, it’s attitudinal. Reckons things went south in the 90’s ladette phase when women started acting like blokes. His theory is that this started the blurring of gender roles, drove many wavering young men gay, and is responsible now for a whole tranche of Western women in their 40’s moaning that all the good men are gone. Personally, I think he just likes a woman to boss around and treat like staff, but it’s interesting to hear him justify his choices in the pub. Mind you, he has a new 20-odd year old every 12 months so who’s to say he is stupid? He’ll import a mad one one of these days though, who’ll slit his fat neck when he tells her “visa run out, you go home”. and here’s a thinker; https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2020/jan/27/tradwives-new-trend-submissive-women-dark-heart-history?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other

Katya or Karolina rather easier on the eye than Sharon or Tracey? And now freedom of movement is going the way of the dinosaur, you can wave your passport around the mean streets of Warsaw and save yourself the Thai airfare. I understand the power dynamic is attractive to some. Cheaper than a care home. I had a Czech girl once before the Berlin Wall came down. She was very keen on seeing London, but I went off her when she put a crease in my Levi’s. Different worlds, MC.

No, but I have been working my way through the obituary columns in the Cotswold local press, and can’t find any evidence for a dead Thai wife anywhere. What have you done with her?

Arm the Japanese, I say. Even though they are massively outnumbered these days, they know a thing or two about keeping Beijing in check.

Alas not. Throwing your Baht around the backstreets of Pattaya attracts more of the Farang-seeking little whoopsies to the big city, rather offsetting your efforts. And unless you’re going in raw (even you can’t be that stupid) the CO2 from your packet of Titan Ribbed is also likely to make you more Trump than Greta. I do admire your honesty having seen what the fuckers eat. An undigested locust leg in the Japs Eye is going to sting.

Ho Chi Minh was Vietnamese. They hate the Chinese almost as much as you. I for one welcome our new Ant overlords.

The bare feet beach culture thing seems a spreading curse too, SC. Even my wife, born in your State, says it seems far more prevalent here in WA than she remembers even five years ago. The filthy bogan Cunts pad about the aisles in Woolies with feet the colour of Vegemite. Are thongs just too restrictive for these dicks? And driving in bare feet? Really? Is it as bad in Victoria?

I wouldn’t argue MC. She’s in Mensa, don’t you know. She can curdle milk with a furrow of her brow. As for your position on global warming, let’s focus on what we agree on. We are in a post-truth society. Methane in the wrong amounts is dangerous. The sun warms the Earth. Erm.....that’s it. I’m sure you’ll do the decent thing and offset your carbon footprint next time you fancy a Full Moon Party and a new lady. Boy you’ll be ready.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-7920985/Coffin-Confessor-gets-paid-gatecrash-funerals-reveals-bizarre-turn-job-taken.html As a recently bereaved man, what’s your take on this MC? If this guy had turned up to tell the assembled mourners your wife thought you were a Cunt and had been knobbing about for years would it have distressed you? When’s your trip to Pattaya for some grief counselling?

“How ‘bout a hundred?” “You don’t have a ticket? Then get the fuck outta my store” ”You wanna talk with the owner, go ahead, that’s me” “Ashley/Seth, what the fuck have you done now?” There you go, saved you hours of viewing. The rest is just black paupers screaming about their money being escorted out of the store by big black mercenaries.

Or Bacterial Vaginosis, which can really linger in the nostrils on a hot day. Ladies and those so identifying: if your clinician dons a surgical mask for your cervical smear, it’s either a) because they are licking their lips trying to adjust the focus on their hidden iPhone, or b) because they have a jar of Vaseline up each nostril because your cunt smells like Billingsgate in July. The retained tampon is also an utter delight. When the antibiotics run out, we are fucked. I always found a Fisherman’s Friend was a good choice to get you through a Midsummer Pelvic exam, the irony of course being that Fisherman’s Friend was most likely the Rugby Club nickname of the malodorous whale with her legs in the stirrups. She no doubt gave you a burning red tongue, too.

The thumb stump has its own equity card, can be booked for weddings and bar mitzvahs, and is rumoured to be lined up for Question of Sport when old Ma Barker hangs up her V necked pullover. Bring back Suzanne Charlton I say. You’d never get through a forecast without wondering if one day she’d end up with her Dad’s hair.

I used to really like the News Quiz on Radio 4. Barry Took, Sandi Toksvig and Miles Jupp always used to give me a good chuckle on the drive home and it was the cradle of some pretty good writers and comedians in years gone by. The miracle of the internet podcast means even I am now on foreign soil I can listen along with a morning coffee, risking odd looks from some as I giggle into my scrambled eggs. I have no wish to be unduly unkind to the poor girl in the latest edition, but fuck me. How can she be expected to deliver comedy with no control of her bottom jaw? The audience titter nervously, clearly embarrassed. You can imagine the edgy glances from even the most woke of fellow panellists. What is wrong with saying people sadly just can’t do certain things? I’ll never make the FA Cup Final because I’m differently abled at sport. Who do I complain to? It’s like this mass exercise in self delusion that we mustn’t erect barriers to anyone or anything, and that if Little Molly Flidspack wants to be an Astronaut she bloody well can be. Either way it made bloody awful listening and put me right off my flat white this morning. Which is a right cunt. https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m000d7kg

My views on the Teeside homunculus are a matter of record. I’m bloody glad this latest televisual shite will never make its way over here, the drawling accent and prominent chin would confuse the Australian viewer hugely, who would conclude not unreasonably that some sort of chromosome issue was at play. Fuck knows what the nipper will look like. I haven’t given up on the IBS diagnosis myself, and look forward to the Hello photoshoot of a gurning Steph clutching a swaddled eight-pound turd.

Fancy Smith. My mum loved him.

He also denies being in Panto with Barrymore, and certainly not being invited to the Pool Party where everyone drank GBH cocktails in his honour. Even Michael Watson thinks Frank is a bit slow on the uptake. Rumour has it he was still answering the picture round on Question of Sport while he was being driven home. Imagine Bletchley Park populated by Big Frank, Ian Wright, Nigel Benn and Linford Christie. You’d need to bring Big Ron Atkinson in to get them beyond arguing how you spell “Enigma” without being racist.

Did he not fight Joe Bugner as well? Looked like a Chicken Shop hood relieving a pensioner of his wedge at a Brixton ATM as I remember it.

Don’t forget Frank Bruno, who’s been doing the Uncle Tom two-step for 30 odd years, to the delight of the English middle class who regard him as safe enough to live in their street, if not date their daughter. How they applauded him in Panto and guffawed at his forelock-tugging act straight from the Plantation. Course this was before he started clucking like a chicken and needing Olanzapine to get through the day. Opinion may have shifted since then. Know what I mean, Harry, you Cunt?

It’s possible her full name is Beau T. McBoatface. Certainly has the displacement.

Ah yes but it’s also famously a horrendously corrupt country, Wolfie. A few Billion Rupiah in the right palm from his wealthy parents and he’s free as a bird to perhaps haunt the streets of Bali looking for drunk Western arseholes. He’d be in luck, place is chock full of them. I’d rather they forgot to lock the door of the segregation unit one night, personally. Or alternatively let Abu Hamza check the cunts’ prostate. On Sky Sports.