Last Cunt Standing

No. Just the annual safety inspection by a nice fella from the Council called Jim.

Yes, indeed, the pound is almost back to the levels of summer 2016, to the delight of red faced iconoclasts everywhere. Sunlit uplands are clearly inevitable. One of my neighbours came home from his latest trip to Pattaya last week with a new young wife, who’s already been seen staring out to sea while walking the dog. Maybe when she inevitably flips and knifes the fat Cunt to death before citing self defence, I’ll pass her your details, as I know you are partial to the Asian type and given the outlook for Britain you outline, you’ll be a Billionaire by then.

I’d have had you down as a fan of The Golden Shot, Neil. Surely all those housewives giving it “down a bit, down a bit, that’s it, shoot!” had you pitching a tent in your nappy, and still makes you smile as you load the Hypnodart in the crossbow from the back of the Bedford Rascal. Freud’s mother was a Cunt.

It appears then that the intervening 2 years have not killed off these talentless harridans and they are shoved on the Royal Variety Show, which has, like a distant metastasis made it’s way on to Australian TV at 9pm on Christmas Day. I was peacefully sleeping off my trifle when I awoke to find these two staring down at me in UHD from the Telly. The blond one has gotten fat. They’ve gotten even less funny and doubled-down on the “woke”, which makes me want to waterboard the pair of them until their sinuses bleed. How the fuck have they got a career?

Topped only by the people who stick a D on his name, when they should stick a knitting needle in his eye.

You forgot “Merry Christmas”, which is most uncouth of you. Punky will be furious.

Whitey not so hot in the 100m final if memory serves. Cue much hilarity about Jamaican men tearing through Brixton with a pensioner’s handbag, no doubt. I miss big Keith and his Katana/My Little Pony stories. Much less of a Wigan Wetherspoons on a Wednesday feel to the place back then. As you were.

If so he’s spent all prior winning on gastric bands and liposuction. I’m just waiting for the big reveal when Barry and Eddie Hearn can monetise the first Trans world champion. Probably be in the ring with Joshua next year.

If you haven’t seen Paula Jacklin’s Walk On, Eric, I highly recommend it. Proper Bo I tell thee.

Was I talking to you, you stupid Cunt?

Bit warm for a Coat, love, but point taken. Jet lagged.

I thought my version was neater. Jet lagged to fuck though. Sorry..

Or “A Till-er, The Hun”.

I suspect you are mistaken. It wasn’t the Sea, it was the view you had from being face down in the urinal trough and the iridescent blue colour you saw through your addled haze comes in highly perfumed little cubes. I feel compelled to remind you for the umpteenth time what a spectacularly retarded and insignificant little skid mark you are. Kill yourself etc.

New data today shows we have getting on for 10,000,000 cases of measles globally and 140,000 deaths from measles. Entirely preventable. Humanity needs flushing down the celestial toilet. Evolution in reverse.

Surprisingly tricky in a hammock, as you form a natural V shape with your groin rather confined. Plus any repetitive movement risks resonance, collapse, and rather difficult to explain entanglement. Sex in a hammock on the other hand, is highly recommended.

Ricky Gervais’ is clearly a wannabe CC member. His line “Outrageous that a Gyno won’t check a woman’s cock for Ovarian cancer, I mean what if her Balls were pregnant, she could lose the baby!” Might be the funniest thing I’ve seen since August.

This Cunt has been on my radar a while and I just spent a good half hour in my hammock trying to summon the invective to do a nomination justice. In the end, I can’t do any better than direct collective attention to the reams already written about her. Needless to say in a few short months Ms Yaniv has tried to sue a beautician for not waxing her saggy man purse (discrimination), and most recently tried to report a Gynaecologist who declined to see her on account of her having a cock and balls, the obvious rejoinder of a speculum up the Japs and a wipe about with a cytobrush having passed the doctor by. As others have said elsewhere, if I take my car to the Vet and he refuses to look under the bonnet, can I sue the bastard? The world has gone utterly fucking bonkers and we are in dire need of a speeding meteor so we can start again. https://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/real-life/news-life/ricky-gervais-unloads-on-transgender-activist-jessica-yaniv/news-story/d7a7d2f7fd29d4b27c530b1a47107ff8

Very much not my fight, your Worship, but just as a matter of interest, what happens if a mod breaks one of the much-vaunted rules? A spot of self flagellation or bugger all? I suspect all animals are equal but some are more equal than others.

Doesn’t bother me, China by the Sea seems like a perfectly fine place to retire to unless you’re an Uighur. Of course if I do object I could always use my other passport (currently red but might be blue by then) and return to the land of my birth, assuming Putin hasn’t turned the place into a smoking cinder, or Trump hasn’t asset-stripped the country like a new young arrival on E wing. Enjoy your future, Mongoloid.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this you soft-boiled Cunt. I’m not sure it’s possible to be both irrelevant and 35 square kilometres, unless you’re counting Gemma Collins. If I read the Guardian website at all it is by the pool with a cold beer, trying not to LOL! at the Mariella Frostrup advice column which is always a highlight. I wonder what she’d make of you? I certainly have nothing to add to a discussion about importing cars and whether one might if inclined legally lower them; it’s all 4x4s here as far as I’ve noticed. This is probably due to petrol being a laughable 70p a litre. I won’t keep you any longer, as I see from other posts you have plenty in your inbox, but if you wouldn’t mind taking five minutes to lick the Wotsit crumbs from your single palmar crease before you form a rudimentary fist and smash your own nose, I’d be grateful. Kill yourself etcetera.

No tip for the bin men this year, sorry Love. I’m identifying as a tight Cunt. Besides, no walking bin men here in the Antipodean sunshine, just a one man van with a robotic arm which empties your bin without any Union-inspired tutting about the lid being 3/8s of an inch open or Yoghurt pots needing to be rinsed out.

I’m pleased that you’ve at last found the confidence to admit your natural level in life, fraudulently begging strangers for money so you can finally move on from licking the glass at your local Dacia dealership. I’m prepared to lob a pound in your metaphorical crusty pavement beanie on condition you never post such shit on here ever again, you drink the years’ supply of petrol, and that you acknowledge publicly your sob story isn’t fictitious, you really do spend your free time wandering the streets for unfinished tab ends to suck on between appointments to have your leg ulcer dressed. You are a waste of fucking skin, you Poundshop Tiff Needell. Fuck off immediately.

Christ alive I knew there was a deep wormhole outside King’s Lynn on the A148 but I never did find anywhere that served mead. Plenty of buxom wenches and black-toothed simpletons with tertiary syphillis though, with cursory rags covering their withered genitals. I recall an odd mustard residue on the bar at UEA and locals offering visitors fellatio for a sip of clean water. Is it right they filmed Trisha in Norwich to save on audience transport costs?

I see Prince Charles has been over in the Solomon Islands doing his bit for The Empire by doing a speech in Pidgin, referring to himself as, and I paraphrase “number one picannini belong am Quin”. I was desperately hoping he’d veer into some Pidgin remarks about the antics of his brother and Nice Mr Epstein. As I can only manage pidgin Pidgin, I wonder if fellow contributors might suggest what to listen out for?