Last Cunt Standing

Single Malt Whisky with sandwiches? You know the staff are laughing at you, don’t you?

Is there a bigger cunt in England right now? This little skid mark is single handedly responsible for forcing British political discourse into a post-truth anti-educationalist miasma so dense that a Cabinet minister can go on the news and claim that keeping nurses in their jobs is very much the same as adding new nurses. This little weasel smirks his way through questions and handles dissent with a faux politeness and breezy dismissiveness only found in Tory swamp creatures. A shame-free sociopath who has never missed a chance to be a slippery Machiavellian cunt. He knows he talks bollocks but does it anyway, for who will stop him? Numbers are meaningless. Facts are opinions. Truth is lies. Black is white. A former education Secretary who Invokes the mob against the expert. I’d like to see his head on a fucking spike, pronto.

I know a Latvian fellow who can do a whole kitchen for a grand Judith. One of the many benefits of freedom of movement, as you know. Those of us in the smug middle class need cheap labour like that to service our Islington lifestyles.

Repeat bollocks.

Holy fucking Jesus. This place used to be funny.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-7676813/Mother-slams-Russell-Howard-mocking-12-year-old-disabled-daughter.html I don’t know where to start with this shit, and apologies for posting a tabloid link. The idiot fucking council droids spending £40k on a concrete slalom in some shithole Cooncil Hoose garden so the local Neds can whizz about on skateboards between mainlining Skag and signing on. The precious mother who no doubt with the help of Facebook forced the defeated housing department into such a moronic piece of groupthink, then whines when people mock the outcome, pulling the required sad face photo. Russell Howard for being such a cross-eyed unfunny smeghead. Or the Daily Mail for, as ever, preying on the easy targets to create fury among the witless middle class about how fucked the world is to peddle misery and misdirection. Armageddon cannot come quickly enough.

I hope you’re right. I really do. Australia is treating me very well thanks.

Yeah, I’m positively suicidal sitting here by the pool as the sun sets. Get bent. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/11/04/how-brexit-will-end

I can’t be arsed to cross swords with you madam. Are you a ref or a player? No doubt a business genius like yourself is hedging your bets and hoarding the Ortho-Gynest already; given your legendary dullness I imagine your labia see less moisture than a Queensland bushfire.

Don’t get involved Panz, and for pity’s sake don’t look at her eyes, she’ll bore you rigid.

How’s the prostate these days you daft old cunt? Does it glow in the dark from the brachytherapy yet? Do you need a Casio to work out your PSA? Here’s hoping the Geese turn on you one of these days and save your neighbours from pitchforking you to death.

Well now you’re a spectacular freak, aren’t you? Every bit as simple as I’d expect for a drooling redneck product of the Shitkicker, Idaho public school system. I have no idea from under which stone you crawled, but you’d be advised to retreat back to your mother’s basement and work on your Warcraft skills in preparation for the inevitable spree of gun violence you lot are World leaders in. When your cultural highlights include spray-on cheese and Adam Sandler it is truly an act of bravery to contribute to a site like this one. Fuck off and drink Drano.

Even by your standards this is cretinous shite, Judith. I left the UK for many reasons, not least that loudmouth gobshites like yourself, once only encountered from behind the beaded seat cover of an Essex minicab were suddenly to be entrusted with the future of the country. Dunderheaded pink pricks who think the Wogs start at Calais and that foreign waiters just needed to be barked at until they understood you wanted vinegar for your patatas bravas. Indolent slobs too lazy to pick their own cabbages or nurse their own elderly, but all too quick to yelp about identity theft when a Polish Deli appears next to their flat roofed pub of choice. It’s not a class thing either before you go full Wolfie Smith again, it’s that you should be wilfully hand-clappingly ignorant of how conned you have been while wrapping yourself in the flag. Look around you at the hateful mess you live in (and I don’t mean the bedsit festooned with Chicken Shish wrappers and discarded copies of Metro). I despise what you and your angry band of ignoramuses have done to the country of my birth and can only hope I’m there to see it when the roof caves in on your nasty little dream and an England shorn of the other Nations is forced to accept the Euro and French language Road signs as a condition of re-entry to the EU in 2040. In fact scratch that, I hope Turkey fucking vetoes it a few times first after pressure from their version of Nick Ferrari. I did not run away, I flew business class. I weighed evidence for a living, so don’t swallow the BBC output anymore than I do any other news source. I do happen to believe that turning yourself into an inward-looking backwater just as globalism goes next level is probably not very wise, and the idea that Johnson, Farage, Gove and Rees Mogg are anti-establishment heroes acting without any self interest is risible. You’d be wise to get fitter, for you may find yourself shunted into a sweatshop for 70 hours a week making blue passport covers sooner than you think. I am embarrassed that my generation have inflicted this fate on our children. I’d invite you over for a straightener, but I’m afraid the inevitable rampant fungal infection found in the rolls of your corpulent wheezing torso would not make it pass Australian Customs, which is a real shame as We Will Rock You is in town, and there’s a lovely Greek Taverna you and Mrs Judge would have been welcome at....I know you are fond of such offers.

I suppose you are far more comfortable with the delightful Claire Fox, are you Judy? Such a gorgeous specimen of modern femininity, her 40-a-day gravel voice is almost guaranteed to get Colonel Hufton-Tufton of Tunbridge Wells tumescent for the first time since November 1990, aside from the annual front page fruity girl on A Level results day. The fact Fox is a swivel-eyed lunatic who has in the past defended Gary Glitter and the Provisional IRA shouldn’t trouble your average spittle-flecked Brexit Ultra much, they are after all quite used to holding their nose and embracing unsavoury types in the name of their all-embracing insanity project. Make sure the mobility scooter is fully charged, you’re in for a busy few weeks.

Can’t you just send him your DVD collection? Then in addition to twatting on about the NFL you can indulge in many more rounds of back-to-bag tugging about the good old days sipping mint juleps on the plantation. While I live in hope of your perpetual outrage causing a dense cerebellar stroke between now and Election Day, you’d be advised to stay out of A&E departments for a while, as I read there’s something of a fashion for kicking out old drunken middle aged bigots right now. Fuck off etcetera.

I appreciate the clarification Judy, but to paraphrase Blackadder I’d say your answer started badly, tailed off in the middle and the less said about the ending the better.

You live in Brent? Jesus.

For the sake of clarity Judith, could you inform us whether the people to whom you refer were music producers who were Irish (John Gibbons, for example), or producers of “Irish music” which might include Foster & Allen, that Cunt from Riverdance, or Daniel O’ Fucking Donnell. World of difference and it’s not like you to be so imprecise.

It’s not a dimple, it’s a friction groove from the Mars bars.

I caught a bit of PMQs on Sky News earlier. Fuck me the UK is in trouble. Kids are only in school 4 days a week now?

Which makes St Mirren the arsehole? Does that explain the smell in Paisley?

I’m sure I heard this at a Patrick Thistle game once. The vagaries of Scottish football were a total fucking mystery to me during my brief stay up there 25 years ago, except that Sportscene with Dougie Donnelly seemed to be filmed in someone’s garden shed. I liked “We’ll be comin down the road” more; the implied threat being much more in keeping with the average Aberdeen fan.

You missed; Gary Jules (Mad World), Gary Lightbody (Snow Patrol) and Gary Kemp (Spandau Ballet), all cunts to a man and worthy of nothing but cold disdain and a shrug of the shoulders.

Meant to ask you Billy, why do you have a fat John Aldridge as your Avatar?

Joyce is still my favourite Grenfell.