Britain First are nothing more than an annoyance if ignored, in fact, I’ve had bigger movements with my morning shit, but now Trump has just given them a platform the likes of which they could only dream of.
“She’s your dementia ridden grandad having a flashback in a German market. She wouldn’t just cause a scene, it would be a flying fucking wurst fest. Everyone would be scraping macaroon from their hair for the next three weeks and the floors would be stained claret red with fucking mulled wine.”
And it’s staring you right in the face.
“If I knew where they were I wouldn’t have spent the last hour tearing the fucking house apart would I, you stupid bitch!”
Straight after the vote, 157 foxes from around the country sighed with relief as they were being torn apart by packs of ravenous dogs, to guffaws and jeers from chinless inbred plumb throated turbo cunts, who were wielding little whips to twat the horses they were riding on.
£40 billion to leave the EU? You could buy 40 DUPs for that or some fucking cinema pick ‘n mix
When the fucking inspiration for The Head from Art Attack opens his Jackie Stallone bile slit to spew out yet more arse gravy, you’re compelled to comment, like your fucking nan who’s come up to visit from the south coast and has seen her first brown person.
It can be a bit shit at times working out what it means to be a man right now, but we need to let those parameters keep changing until we get it right. This is the only instance where sons should pay the price for the father’s sins.
Admit it, you only lifted Obama’s elephant trophy ban so your fuckwitted son can bring home a tusk and make a fucking ivory dildo out of it.
I fucking hate people who can’t do their jobs. It’s more people than you think. Some days I think the… Continue reading
