Last Cunt Standing

Shite, even by your usual pub-bore standards. 1. You concede Huw Edwards hasn’t done anything legally wrong, but find his conduct morally dubious. So? Who died and made you witchfinder general? (What’s a decable, when it’s at home, anyway?). 2. You seem very aggrieved at the size of Huw’s wages, and somehow you conflate this with his behaviour. The more he is paid, the higher moral standards you apply, is that it? So a janitor at Bush House can do pretty much as she pleases and you’re not bothered? By all means make your case that BBC staff are overpaid, but to base your expectations for personal behaviour on the back of income is balls. To imply that people in receipt of public funds as salary devolve all personal agency to the public is mad, and leads to the sort of spectacle where ignorant string-vested tossers hammer on provincial Council reception desks bellowing “I pay your wages, pal”, an odious behaviour I suspect you aren’t unfamiliar with. 3. You patently know nothing about mental health either in general or in this case. You allege it’s used as cover for bad behaviour after the fact, and all I can say is I hope you aren’t a magistrate or serve on a jury. Huw has talked publicly about his depression since at least 2016. So he was just playing the long game, was he? In moments of psychological crisis, people make decisions they wouldn’t normally, which might not later stand up to scrutiny. This doesn’t ever excuse criminality, but provided no crimes are committed, I’d suggest a little more empathy and a little less spittle-flecked fury might be a better approach. Never done anything wrong you later regretted, you silly little man? No mental infirmity affecting the branches of the Lupine family tree? Perhaps not, as I suspect you’d have to shake hands with someone to form a synapse. 4. You’ve tried several times to obfuscate the age of the non-complaining image provider, using a vague 17-20 catch-all and the label “teenager” to conjure up in the reader images of a naive spotty youth. For all you know, this might be a razor-sharp young adult with zero shame about legally selling images of their naked body for cash. Like say, Samantha Fox, once enriched by the very paper you line up to defend, and at 16, rather younger than this young man who has done nothing illegal according to Police, and who’s conduct is literally fuck all to do with you. 5. This is a clear victory for The Sun, is it? Well I’ll be filing that away for the coming day Huw walks away with seven figures from the High Court for the most egregious career-ending libel. If he can’t read out the news of his inevitable victory himself, I hope he rubs some noses in it by writing a large cheque to The Terence Higgins Trust, then stomps off down Old Compton Street to party all night with a Twink army. 6. The BBC Cover-up angle is particularly nonsensical to me. To review, they supposedly had a parental complaint that a senior employee was in contact with their adult drug-using son over the internet eight weeks ago. Before they could investigate fully or act, a gutter rag broke what they thought was a great scoop, mostly because it fitted their owner’s jaundiced view of the BBC. Turns out to be not much of a story, with no clear “victim” other than a few butt-hurt Mary Whitehouse types. But the BBC, being so terrified of gobshite armchair HR experts post-Savile, ran wall-to-wall coverage of the feeding frenzy on their channels, rather than saying, entirely reasonably, “it’s an internal matter currently under investigation, fuck off”. Some cover up. Contrary to your purple-faced rage, the public has zero right to know if a public employee is being investigated for a non-criminal personal matter, and even then no right to know anything exists until the matter is concluded. What would you do, if some seedy allegation was made to the owners of your West Country Estate Agency (different! Not publicly funded! Tosser.) against you by the parents of a porn star you’d once happened across on the internet? Pull out a blade and disembowel yourself at your desk? Good to know. I mean, why bother with due process at all, eh? Just let the public scream nonce at anyone they dislike with no evidence and no investigation, then drag them onto TV for a forced ritual humiliation and thumbscrews. Sounds like a very healthy system. 7. The British public had and has every right to know who this person was, and to watch as the tabloids tear his arsehole to shreds. This sentence is disgusting. It’s about vengeance, not justice. Because you don’t like the politics of his employer, or how much he is paid, you’re effectively sanctioning the public lynching of someone on suspicion of their legal behavioural choices you happen to dislike, and before any proper inquiry occurs. You’re a thug, and a pretty shameful one at that. 8. Have you paused to reflect on why Huw? I can think of hundreds of UK targets more befitting a savaging by the tabloid press. Yet time after time, they get a pass, a soft-focus lifestyle piece in the Sunday supplement, or worse still, promotion of their ideology in the organ you so idolise. You might spend a little time trying to work out why that is, once you pull your head from your arse.

Ahl si’thee.

Frederick Sewards Trueman had a special phrase for circumstances like these, when he fired in a ripsnorter from the Kirkstall Lane end, only for some poor sap to stand blinking as the ball whistled past his nose. “That wer wasted on thee, Lad”.

Amen. Anyone who thinks differently at this point I suspect has a rather rusty anti-BBC axe to grind. The size of the inevitable libel payout is already the talk of the locker rooms at the Inns of Court, though I suspect Old Rupe will consider it worth every penny if he keeps the BBC in the crosshairs. The possibility that commercial broadcasters might want to neuter the Beeb as the only resistance to their own pernicious news agenda seems to pass so many people by. I’m also astonished that so many people who spend so much time wrapping themselves in the flag seem to so keenly trash a source of considerable British soft power heard around the world. Those still waving their pitchforks whine about vulnerable teens and abuse of power. There is of course much we don’t know about how Huw met this young person. Doctors, teachers and other public servants are rightly in trouble if they abuse their position to solicit sex or sexual services from people they have professional contact with. But if a fiftysomething teacher in Dumfries strikes up an internet relationship on Grinder with an 18 year old man he doesn’t know in Truro, no crime has been committed. The regulators would soon be overwhelmed if every publicly funded employee who ever purchased internet porn from an adult provider was referred to them to be “struck off”. That indeed is the police’s view in this case. Once “no crime” was the outcome, the story surely died and it’s interesting to note The Sun’s editorial board have already called in a small army of KCs for insulation. The young person appears to have protested at his parentally-imposed victimhood, and it’s worth reminding ourselves he himself made no complaint of improper conduct. How this constitutes an abuse of power is a bit of a mystery to me. Pip Schofield had the additional problem of relations with a young employee. I’m not aware the BBC Newsroom is shared by the parties in the Edwards case. Some might be morally queasy at these events. They might be angry at the licence fee model or the salaries some people earn in the BBC. These are often long-standing grievances, and might well be driving some of the outrage. But those are surely entirely different debates which don’t need polluting with pearl-clutching “won’t someone think of the children!” bluster, which is as fatuous as it is transparent. If those still outraged want to turn their fire on the likes of Grinder, OnlyFans, Snapchat and TikTok, which are facilitating many relationships which would seem to mirror this one, good luck to you.

You shouldn’t, particularly. What you attend to and what you ignore is entirely up to you. But I’m not sure your plea for collective ignorance of American violence is entirely consistent with your previous utterances. I mean, say you’d piped up with commentary on another American murder some time ago, you might be a bit peeved if you met a wall of “why should we give a shit” type responses, no? Perhaps best to read it, grunt your disapproval, and click on to the next topic. Hypocrisy is such an ugly trait.

27 years puts us back to 1996. Is it Mel B’s cock and balls before he joined the Spice Girls?

For some time this little collection of unfortunates has been my favourite whodunnit, and I’m quite surprised that the Police have now made an arrest in the so-called LISK investigation. Rex Heuermann, an otherwise nondescript architect, has been charged with three of the murders, with the expectation more will follow. His perverted internet search history has been held up as evidence of deviancy, plus his use of burner phones, and crucially there appears to be a DNA link to the victims, his sample having been obtained from a discarded pizza box. Some say the killer might have topped 30 victims, impossible to know as the dumping area was inundated by the sea in Hurricane Sandy and some evidence is now with the fishes. The recent pattern of criminal geniuses being undone by pizza boxes - Rex, Andrew Tate, must be a PR nightmare for those twats at Dominoes who put a leaflet through my door approximately every eight seconds. Anyway, bit of a Cunt being exposed as a serial killer by a stray slice of Hawaiian is all I’m saying.

Why aye. I’ve got a feeling it’s the master copy of Money For Nothing, the one with the faggot lyrics in. Definitely verboten these days.

If it’s unlocked, can’t she just open the door and find out?

I’m still reeling from the sight of Annabelle Croft in a Laura Ashley frock. I thought she was dead, not picking up the crumbs from Sue Barkers’ table. Doing the there-there bit to Jabeur at the end you could see the Tunisian’s eyes narrow with the fleeting thought of “yeah? Don’t patronise me love, I could have beaten you if I was under general anaesthetic, fuck off world number two hundred and sixty”. La Croft then had the temerity to utter “we need to have a word about your box” to which the obvious rejoinder might have been “who the fuck are you, Clare Balding?”. Cut to HRH Katie tottering about like an anorexic giraffe to give out a gold dish to the Czech. You could almost see her shudder at the mention of the Venus Rose Water dish. That woman. That fucking woman and her strap on. They’ll cost me this gig one day. Look out for a White Fiat Uno on the drive home, love. And for Christ’s sake don’t be early. Wills is entertaining.

I can’t work out if La Price is channelling Adam Ant or Robbie Fowler, the addled sow. Roy Castle must be spinning in his grave. And coughing.

Fuck off.

Yes I do. I even have a special hat to keep the flies at bay.

I can assure you she’s no stranger to the billions of oriental nail emporiums we have Down Under. Problem is she’s such a faddy fucker that she likes to match them with the outfit, change them for a work theme day, or charity something or other, and if she didn’t set-to with the DIY kit from time to time she spend half her week in Chinese Alan’s Keratin Laboratory. She’s paying for it her bloody self so what do I care. I like a woman who invests in her appearance. She keeps threatening to dye the landing strip and I don’t think she’s planning to break into Perth Airport with a tanker full of cochineal.

I’d vote for a prepaid satellite phone. Maybe a few crank calls before you ring for pickup.

Straw Poll: if you could fit the fugly bint in a working microwave, would Katie Price a) Melt b) Explode or c) a then b ?

Outrageous. At least you didn’t suggest we’d sell it for a huge mark up. My wife’s heritage is European, so the only thing she paints is her nails.

In about 1998 I once got a right earful of a young man in a BTCellnet store (remember them?) after I called their parent company “British Telecom”. “It’s BT now, mate, we don’t use the British”. He was of course well ahead of his time and is probably now CEO, but he didn’t half go a funny colour when I pulled my dividend cheque out of my wallet and asked him how I’d go about getting it rebranded. I moved to Vodafone.

Thief? I’ll have you know I earned every pension day, thanks very much. I’m rather glad it’s paid in pounds at the moment too. When’s the next BoE Interest Rate meeting by the way, I’ve got a new sofa on order.

I’m only paying attention to these bits. No, not eternal enemies. You don’t qualify for my list. I had noticed the thawing of relations and that suits me fine. Let’s call it a working truce. I only queried your alignment with The Sun because it was quite a surprise, being usually indicative of learning difficulties, a diagnosis I doubt you have. It’s a shame you’ve doubled down on Rupert Murdochs’ wrinkly old organ. Your funeral.

So what’s on this missing mobile phone that Boris is running the risk of a Contempt charge for anyway? I’ll open the bidding at badly coded instructions from his FSB handler, and a muff shot of Nadine Dorries. Perhaps The Sun could turn their investigative spotlight on the situation?

So it was the BBC who drove Boris out of office, was it Bill? Not his entire Government resigning as one because the Cunt can’t lie straight in whichever bed he happens to be in? I think the prevailing view is that BBC have been rather too friendly to the government of late, nothing of course to do with the Chairman facilitating a loan for Bozza for a few hundred grand. Tinfoil’s a little on the tight side tonight Bill. Or perhaps you’re still pissed from Wednesdays Burn-A-Fenian day. You know there’s a vaccine for hangovers now, don’t you?

“But I don’t want bloody guitar lessons!”

Er, no. Huw has been a bloody idiot by the sounds of it. But no more than many others who aren’t put in the stocks for it. Thanks for playing, though.

Are you sure? Lining up with The Sun is an interesting, not to say revealing, position to adopt. I’m sure you only buy it for the crossword.