Last Cunt Standing

What the fuck has become of this place? When the history of The Corner is ultimately written, the originality and wit of a few years back won’t be remembered, diluted as it is by an ocean of this lazy reactionary shite that would shame your average Millwall fan. Politics aside, it is surely universally accepted how fucking boring it is to see every second nomination quickly degenerate into an ugly racist pile on. If Roops and her Junta spent a third of the effort culling utter dross that they do protecting fragile egos from nonce name-calling then The Corner might be in ruder health, rather than circling the fucking drain. Those that haven’t already fucked off in disgust find themselves voicing opinions they themselves would have mocked mercilessly just a year or two ago, and they know it. It’s not satire, or post-irony, or even edgy. It’s contemptible dogshit. No doubt I’ll be shouted down and told to put my tampon back in and fuck off back to Mumsnet, The Guardian comments section, or which ever straw man the mob currently have in their crosshairs, followed by a flurry of circle-jerk like-exchanging and much nodding agreement that “Libtards suck” or some other grunting adolescent conclusion. This place used to be funny.

That’s not Oxford. Red brick on Broad Street? Plus no bike in the shot, unless the lady at the counter...

(C) Steven Wright.

Is that little French sandwich shop still there, next to Blackwells music and art shop on Broad Street? If you are going to go postal that would be the place to begin. Le Bastard did me out of a fiver in the late 1990s.

Fret Ye not MC, I hear only this morning that 450 Romanians are en route to Stansted as we speak to pick the fruit and pull the turnips. Furloughed Brits all too busy counting their gold bullion and sipping mint juleps on the porch to do any actual work it seems. I do hope Big Nige is there to meet them off the plane and buy them all a welcome drink, perhaps Tim Martin could help out with some unused stock. What a fucking shitshow.

No.

Zinger! What a waste of skin you are.

I imagine you live rather closer to Islington than I do, hard man. Which predictable target for your ire is in the crosshairs today I wonder? We’re all on the edge of our seats.

You don’t seem to like living in the mean streets anymore Judy. Have you considered moving somewhere a little less dangerous and rural? Your spagchariot will be more than able to handle winding country lanes no doubt, the local shop will keep you stocked in Tizer and the Daily Mail, and you’ll get a nice Romanian district nurse to come and dress your leg ulcer for you. Sounds perfect, no?

Zorro and his rhetorical flourish rides again. Achingly bad. I miss Brony Keith.

Bollocks. I’d take Chef every time over that Springbok showpony. Pietersen is an utter embarrassment and I don’t care how good he was in ‘05.

I’m amazed your chain is long enough to let you reach the computer from Katie Hopkins’ dungeon, just as I’m amazed your bacofoil helmet doesn’t irritate Toby Youngs’ knackers when you’re tonguing his scrotum. But fuck all that whataboutery bollocks. You are currently operating in a very crowded marketplace of populist fantasy and shouty Daily Mail inspired outrage. It’s unoriginal cookie-cutter shite and it’s poisoning this site. Change the fucking record fast or fuck off, we’ve heard this act before.

Jesus Suffering Christ. And I thought Alistair Cooke was dead.

I loves my brick.

But you’re surely more used to police turning up in armoured land rovers asking why your kitchen is full of empty milk bottles, no?

I had a feeling you’d approve, you stupid fucking window licker.

You’d need to go in safely, Eric. Don’t forget she’s a self-confessed ex junkie. Who’s suddenly lost a lot of weight. Just saying. Of the two, I’d chose Ball for the apocalypse pavement fucking, requesting she screams “think of a number!” throughout.

Netflix content might be slightly out of sync here versus the UK, and accepting football is for Irons etc, but I quite enjoyed a binge on Sunderland Til I Die for 9 hours straight today as the wife is away. Only got out of my hammock to piss or fetch drinks. Proper cunts in every episode, and you should hear the victimhood theme tune. If you thought Scousers were dewy-eyed idiots, try the Mackems on for size. Jesus.

I’d love to see a Corner version of Mornington Crescent.

You forgot to mention the stench, Rev. I suspect she’d have feet like week old Dairylea, a cunt like Grimsby Docks in July, and a gorgeous band of moist fungus beneath her flabby tits with a distinct whiff of Marmite. Really stays in the nostrils that.

I’ll be sure to look out for Mrs MC when I get to the great beyond. Amy messages? (other than where did she hide your medication, and bear in mind I don’t speak Thai).

I can’t believe it’s not fisting butter.

Let me stop you there MC, I think I’ve spotted a pattern in your posts. Pandemic sweeps the world - foreigners fault PPE not available - foreigners fault Food shortages - foreigners fault Brexit not being “the easiest deal in history” - foreigners fault Ventilator shortage - foreigners fault If I didn’t know better I’d say you were a cheap xenophobe with a penchant for easy answers.

Portman Down isn’t run by Asian doctors, it’s run by Ewoks and Imperial Stormtroopers. Everyone knows that. Just like Alderaanmaston. Try harder, for fucks sake. You’ve got too much crackpot competition on here these days to go all soft on us now.

I did the black cab tour of Belfast a few years back Bill, and despite a thorough knowledge of the murals I was amazed that our driver wouldn’t get out of his car on one side of the line. Said something about it being “mutually agreed”, which made me think the balaclavas on both sides have probably divvied up the tourist pound as well. He also told my group that it’s well established now that the local youths come out and have a “little scrap for the cameras” once or twice a year “to keep the mystery going”, and that they are generally more interested in shagging each other than slitting throats and shooting kneecaps. West of Scotland is where you want to be for real sectarianism these days apparently. You can even buy Skag branded with the Red Hand or the Tricolour. Flegs, man.