Brexiters are thick as fuck

Brexiters are thick as fuck

22nd September 2017 Off By Tuckered

Brexit. I fucking hate that word. Ironically it sounds like a cheap imitation Kit Kat from a fucking European supermarket. I can see the Aldi ad now; ‘Have a rest, have a Brexit.’

I wish we would have a rest, I mean, who’s fucking bright idea was this? Oh yeah, that loaded fucking toadmimicker, ‘man of the people’ tweed clad cunt, Nigel Farage. Only he had no power did he? Apart from the Brexit hating BBC giving the twat rolling 24/7 news coverage for 5 years, like he’s a fucking dead royal.

He didn’t instigate it though did he? So we can’t dump all responsibility on the prick. No, that was the fault of the balding lipless pig fancier, who assumed that the public would blindly and automatically do what a man who fucked the UK like it was the star of Babe instructed them to.

So here we are now. 1 vs 27. More fucked than Marilyn Monroe in the 50’s.

Now I’m not getting all nationalistic and patriotic, that’s what got us into this fucking mess in the first place, we’re like the world’s shittest Nazis.

I will point out however, that we’ve gone from being the biggest empire on the globe to an annoying fucking piss head who’s just glassed the landlord, needs to leave, wants to stay friends with everyone, but won’t pay his fucking bar tab.

We’re an embarrassment. A petulant 5 year old with its fingers in its ears, running around the play ground screaming Brexit means Brexit over and over again. Ner ner na fucking ner ner.

All the other countries know we’re fucked, all the economists know we’re fucked, but we’re still lying on the bed, foggy headed, post Miss. World after party, looking up at a topless grinning Trump and wondering.

It’s going to be great though, think of all the new trade deals! We can swap queuing and a sense of irony with America for Type 2 diabetes and poor spelling.

What exactly are we going to fucking export by the way? We don’t fucking produce anything anymore apart from self doubt and small talk.

Our whole fucking economy is based on PPI claims. As soon as Irene in Peterborough realises she’s owed 8 grand from Barclays we’re fucked, the illusion will shatter quicker than an X-Factor finalist’s career.

Come on, you must regret your decision now that the novelty has worn off.

Is it depressing? Like being the last kid in class getting his eagerly awaited fidget spinner, only to realise it’s just fucking rotating metal and there is no money for the NHS or any sense of hope.

Yes, the majority have spoken! Well sorry but the majority are thick fucking cunts.

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