Last Cunt Standing

Oh come now, Warner is many things, but hopelessly over-encouraged nepo-baby with friends in high places ain’t one them. BrAnderson will have his number again for sure, but he gets points for trying to sue Cricket Australia in my book, plus it seems he’s barely on speaking terms with half his team mates so he’s gotta be in the team for the sheer spectacle.

Some Foakes-related stats... England's three regular keepers in last 5 years: Foakes, 20 Tests, average 32.2, strike rate 49. Buttler, 22 Tests, ave 29.3, SR 49. Bairstow, 14 Tests, ave 21.8, SR 52. Bairstow in 10 Tests in 2022, all not as keeper, averaged 66, with 6 100s. Make it make sense.

In yet more proof that the Arseholes are in charge of bloody everything these days, the latest squad sheet issued by those idiots at the Exceptionally Cuntish Brigade is truly a sight to behold. We first have the news that Ben Foakes, the best keeper in England and possibly number one gloveman in the world the past 18 months, has been dropped not just from the team but the entire squad. Zak Crawley, who as early contributors note can barely find the crease much less the boundary, is assured of his place for another summer, in no way the result of taking Key’s old locker at Kent and whose father is Fatboy’s regular golf chum. Taking the gloves is the returning Jonny Bairstow, whose batting career has flourished since he gave up the dual role of wicketkeeper batsman, after all who wouldn’t want the YJB of 2017 rather than 2022? Archer is out with his elbow just for a change, but hope springs eternal that he might rise like Lazarus come the winter, when we all know he needs a metaphorical bolt through the forehead. Jimmy, rather than being preserved in aspic, gets the chance to pull his groin properly just in time for the Ashes by slamming down some seaming fizzers against the fucking Micks (no offence, @PANZER MURPHY). Leach, still dining out on his 2019 forward defensive, gets another go to see if he can spin the ball more than about four-fifths of a degree, and the less said about Dan fucking Lawrence the better. Rob Key wants the fucking blunt end of a stump forced roughly up his urethra for coming up with this shit, the drawling laconic Cunt. In entirely unrelated events I’ve had to put with Nathan Lyon all over my telly tonight saying the Aussies can win 5-0 and that these latest changes show England’s selection policy is “uncertain”. I nearly choked on my Tim Tam, the cheeky Cunt. @Stubby Pecker, what say you?

Not to forget the increased traffic on the A15, one of the most dangerous roads in England. Just ask Nigger.

Neil, it seems the powers that be are moving Nigger’s grave to make room for 2000 male asylum seekers, much to the delight of the locals. Thought you might fancy firing up the rascal to launch a dirty protest on the A15. https://www.forces.net/heritage/history/raf-seeks-permission-move-grave-dambusters-mascot

Mazel tov on your epiphany.

Buried in Lincolnshire?

I am a long way from Golders Green, but I’m sure I just heard the sound of a donner kebab hitting the wall of a bedsit in anger. A gentle splash too, like a menorah being tossed from an upstairs window into a nearby paddling pool. I wonder what that’s about?

Presumably this is the same desk groaning under the weight of unopened editions of Mensa magazine, ring-binders full of Immunology Today and a barely-thumbed edition of How To Win Friends and Influence People. Do you have a secure red phone to the IMF HQ, or do they simply shine a ginger mons pubis into the night sky whenever they need your fearsome brain to untangle some knotty fiscal problem? I’ve encountered some powerfully self-deluded types in my time, but you must be heading for a podium finish. I watched on for what felt like half a millennium as you sparred in that dialogue of the deaf with @King Billy on all things Covid, so I’ll be buggered if I’m going to be drawn into a similarly protracted exercise in futility. You will keep on believing those Unicorns will turn up any day, while those of us in the real world will acknowledge the undeniable harm your nutty cult have done. You’ll surely want the last word as per, but even you can’t obfuscate away reality, however hard you try. Of course, given you persist on conflating the roles of Corner referee and player, and are seemingly incapable of ever acknowledging even the possibility of error, this is all pretty pointless. I’m sure the Nobel Committee will be back on the phone imminently to get your view on solving the Taiwan problem, so I’ll get back to my Merlot while you save the world. I want a least one pie chart with my inevitable reply, too, or I’ll report you to the Guild of Polymath Gobshites or whoever it is you’re getting magazines from these days.

For Christ’s sake man get your tongue out of her colon. I was more wounded the last time I had a deep tissue massage.

Pisspoor. I can see why you two get on.

You haven’t got the tits to be Hot Lips, Eric. Sorry.

And I’m rattled, am I? Like I said, get back to fellating your Lupine mate and stop stalking me like some two-bob Jeffrey Dahmer. For the record, your old factory/olfactory pun was the sort of shit that would have embarrassed Tom O’Connor in his peak Dictionary Corner days. Do better, or fuck off. Or both.

Olfactory hallucinations may indicate a brain tumour. I would recommend an urgent appointment with your primary health care AI robot.

Shouldn’t you be getting back to sucking Lupine cock? Don’t leave him disappointed.

It was obviously quite a typically forgettable exchange, if it happened at all. Besides, it’s all the rage to change your mind these days. Just ask 63% of the UK population.

Well, quite. I’m afraid I once used some unprofessional language in a meeting when I was asked to defend the rate of oral ciprofloxacin use in a group of GP clinics to a Clinical Director who in her time as a Hospital Consultant gave every bugger IV Tazocin at the front door of A&E.

Were you ever a combat medic, Eric? The combination of an intimate knowledge of the SA80 and the difference between Hartmann’s and normal saline is quite intriguing. I might even start calling you Hawkeye.

“Hello Meester….you want dick like Egyptian obelisk? I give you good price..” Did they work then?

I think most of us have had good reason to despise these arseholes for years. Weird, bespectacled vitamin pushers with a hugely inflated sense of self worth. They lurk away behind their racks of mysterious boxes, pushing fearsome middle aged witches out front to huff loudly when you ask whether it’s really necessary to wait an hour for someone to find omeprazole off the shelf and wrap it in a bag for you. They will delight in lingering an extra ten minutes in their fortified lair waiting for the anxious hypochondriacs stalking their aisles to load up on supplements, protein shakes and moisturiser, thus keeping their BMW in petrol another week. Always ready with a suck of the teeth if you want more than six paracetamol or recommending an urgent GP appointment if you think your new blood pressure medicine might be giving you itchy teeth. Happy of course to branch out into travel medicine (“have you bought some of this DEET spray, only £30”) or health checks (have you noticed our range of slimming shakes, fatty?), they’ll be content to milk the public for evermore whilst taking zero clinical responsibility. The added pleasure of torturing the spotty youth who wants some Durex or the morning after pill is a huge rush for these power hungry maniacs. Now, noted son of pharmacist Rishi Sunak wants to give them free reign to solve the UK GP access crisis. In so doing, antibiotic stewardship goes out the fucking window and the coming multi-resistant superbug gets moved forward a decade. Fuck them and their dispensing-fee fuelled bullshit. It’s about time Amazon moved into prescription meds and consigned these dinosaurs to the days of fucking leeches. Cunts.

Was she called Betty, perchance?

If I may tear you away from critiquing a PhD thesis, I wonder if you’re any happier with the economic commentary on offer from the in-house magazine of the Tory party? I’m sure it regularly accompanies you fingering your morning kipper. Of course, by 2030 you might still be proclaiming the green shoots of the Brexit bonanza are just over the next hill, just as Britain becomes a net exporter of young labour to the booming suburbs of Warsaw. Your project is a disaster. All the chicanery in the world can’t save it now. Own it. https://www.telegraph.co.uk/business/2023/05/07/poland-europe-superpower-communism-putin-military/

What’s your view on Rose Hanbury, Neil? William’s rather fond by all accounts and she is supposedly skilled at the Dark Arts. Would she be on your list?

Look! Over there! Squirrels! Mensa my arse.

It seems any dissent within your country is dealt with pretty severely too, so in writing this bilge you’re surprisingly instep with the prevailing mood of the nation. If this is your modern Britain, I want no part of it. There is none so blind as those who will not see. https://www.reuters.com/world/uk/police-arrest-anti-monarchy-protesters-ahead-king-charles-coronation-2023-05-06/