Month: November 2017

Did CERN fuck up and not tell anyone? Did we all step into the fucking Quantum Leap accelerator and vanish around about the time America chose to elect that shit haired cunt monkey, or Britain thought it would be a grand idea to live off fucking bread and dripping for the rest of eternity?

Come on. We need the truth. No black hole was created when they turned that Large Hadron Collider on, but we definitely seem to have entered a parallel universe, like in a shit version of Sliders devoid of comedy mishaps along the way, or the promise of something better. Nope, we jumped straight into the worst possible dimension. We’re in hell.

It takes a lot to shock me these days. I’m mentally prepared now for the most bizzare possible outcome.

If I’m a fan of someone I expect them to die imminently, if I see an amazing comedy on TV I savour every second because I know there will never be another series, just infinite fucking Mrs. Brown’s reruns.

I look for ‘Nuclear Bunkers’ on Amazon now instead of 50″ 4k TVs. We’ve turned into the lowest common denominator,  post truth, alt-fact and anti fucking sanity society imaginable.

The most powerful man in the world shared three dubious propaganda videos from a dangerous, far right, minority UK based fringe group to his MILLIONS of followers. Let that sink in.

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.

Has he actually listened to that toxic hawk browed hyper cunt? Has he seen her marching with giant white crucifixes and pissing people off outside mosques? If he has we should be very worried, and if I were Muslim and American I’d have a backup plan. This is 4th Reich shit.

To top it all off he chose to pick sides with fucking Jayda Fransen over the Prime Minister of the UK in a further Twitter spat, after he realised the real Theresa May had more than six fucking followers of course. You couldn’t make this shit up.

What a fucking time to be alive eh? It’s been nice knowing you all. Apart from you. You’re a cunt.

Let’s face it, it would probably be less offensive and easier to fucking read. ‘Mutual’ my arse, they dropped her quicker than an investigation into VIP paedos by the government.

How can you be too controversial for that fucking online shite rag anyway? What was the clincher, comparing immigrants to cockroaches, the final solution Tweet, or the gunships suggestion? I suppose we’ll never truly know, or care for that matter.

She’s a walking disaster, a fucking liability. 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.

Where will I get my weekly dose of ill informed hate now? I suppose I could just wipe my arse on a copy of The Sun, butterly it in half and slowly open it to reveal an excrement rorschach test. That way I could just interpret my own hate piece instead of that cunt being paid to write one.

We’ve put up with this foot faced Pez dispenser of bollocks for too long anyway. First LBC and now The Mail Online. All we need next is for Twitter to hammer the final nail into the coffin of her shit controversy mongering career, by removing her rabble rousing, hate spewing account so she can fuck off back into obscurity, shouting abuse at foreign looking pigeons, surrounded by mangy cats before maybe reappearing in another 30 years like a shit Pennywise the Clown.

For now though, she’s gone. We don’t fear IT anymore.

It’s not that he can’t say ‘Sister Act’ by the way, although that’s quite pertinent because he shares this feature with Whoopi Goldberg.

That’ right. He has no fucking eye brows and neither does Whoopi. Not one solitary eye complimenting hair.

Was it worth a click? Of course it fucking was because you never noticed did you?

Be honest. I only noticed because I read an article about Whoopi Goldberg having non the other day.

Then Boom!

I was scrolling through Louis Theroux documentaries on Netflix when I stumbled upon the above little beauty which hit me harder than a John Prescott egg retaliation.

Chris Eubank has no forehead buffer. He has verandaless eyes. He’s an expressionless wonder, a smooth operator.  He’s a fucking furless Terminator, the fucking legend.

How did we not notice? He doesn’t hide it with stick on ones. It’s there, plain as day!

You can go to bed now. Fuckity bye.

Keith Miller from Aldershot filed for divorce from his wife Maggie yesterday after 14 years of marriage because he lost his car keys.

The 48 year old Plumber claims to have ‘seen red’ after Mrs. Miller asked where he last had them after he’d ‘searched the house from top to bottom.’

The couple were due to go on their monthly date night, which they were apparently already running an hour late for when the incident happened.

Baby sitter and eye witness, Sally Coates said;

“At first it was quite a jovial situation with Maggie saying he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed on. Even Robert (the Miller’s 10 year old son) jokingly asked Keith if he’d tried phoning them (the keys) which he appeared to see the funny side of.”

The mood in the house darkened though after Mr. Miller returned from the kitchen for the 20th time, for Mrs. Miller to ask innocently;

“Where did you have them last?”

According to Miss. Coates, Mr. Miller began shouting;

“Oh I don’t know! My fucking pocket? Do you think they’re in my pocket, I haven’t checked. Let’s have a fucking look shall we? Oh look. Not there! What a surpise. If I knew where they were I wouldn’t have spent the last hour tearing the fucking house apart would I, you stupid bitch!” Before demanding a divorce.

Mrs. Miller then reportedly removed her wedding ring before throwing it at her husbands face and shouting;

“I was only trying to help you useless bastard. You can’t find the sink or the rubbish bags most of time, or the fucking clitorus. Here, have your fucking ring back.”

 

The government have been concentrating on really important post Brexit issues this week, like voting that animals no longer feel pain or emotion, like cuddly fucking Terminators with broken kill chips.

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, because what’s the point in just watching animals get hurt eh?

The only things that sullied their day out was the silence of the foxes who no longer wimpered in pain on account of their new found lack of sentience, and the fact that they couldn’t vote to take our country back to pre science in fucking person.

They’re not savages though. They haven’t taken us all the way back to the bad old days when you could punch your dog in the face for shitting on the chesterfield, or for pissing  on the rug. That’s would just be barbaric.

You could probably get away with kicking a goat to death for shits and giggles though, or stoning a sheep until it’s catatonic because they’re thick as fuck aren’t they?

After the relative success of the vote they are now planning additional votes on homeless people being thrilled to bits with living on the streets, poverty not existing, the NHS being well over funded, no MP’s ever secually assaulting anyone,  and Brexit being a fucking all round brilliant idea.

It’s a fucking dear do this taking our country back malarkey. For £38 billion they can keep the cunt as far as I’m concerned.

Don’t we even get a Black Friday deal eh? After all it’s a strong British tradition isn’t it? Beating the fuck out of each other in a Tesco for a shit tele has been around forever, like tapas, or Elf on a Shelf.

So Merry Christmas! I’m sick to back teeth of writing about Btexit so here’s a little festive divorce bill poem instead to cheer you all up;

You can’t have any police or nurses or sprinklers for your flats,
You’ll lose all your rights except the one to torture cats.
We’ve decided that the homeless are not worthy of new homes,
But we’re doing up Buck palace and it’s being kitted with new thrones.
Don’t moan you whinging plebiscite you voted for this shit.
We don’t care it’s pennies to us and the poor are hardest hit.

It’s like he’s found Katie Hopkins’ fucking playbook under a pile of her discarded bollocks pellets.

Why bother working your arse off trotting around doing mundane promotional interviews with those cunts on The One Show, when you can just say something inflammatory to some obscure publication, light the touch paper, then bask in all the free publicity whilst the money rolls in?

It works like a charm every fucking time in our ultra sensitive, outrage consuming society.

It’s like he’s almost jealous of the attention Weinstein et al are receiving, but knows he’s duller than a copy of Geometry Weekly so jumps on the band wagon by defending them.

Look, even I’m doing it right now! It can’t be helped. 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.

Maybe he just resents time itself and he’s taking it out on everyone else. After all he looks like a Spitting Image self fulfilling prophercy or the bloated corpse of a depressed club land lookalike, recently pulled from the ocean.

He’s a fucking before picture to Quentin Tarantino’s after, the chubby pretentious cunt.

You know, just to make all the blokes who kick off on Twitter moaning that we should have our own one every fucking International Women’s day aware.

I’ve seen some stupid shit floating around in the internet gutter today about how we’re all labelled rapists and perverts etc. Come on lads, you know that’s half fucking right anyway. If it isn’t then why do you clear your browsing history?

It’s not because you’re shopping for wedding rings is it, it’s because you know deep down that searching for ‘granny amputee rimming’ is a tad fucking pervy.

Do you honestly believe all women think we’re monsters, or that we’re somehow oppressed? Woman are our mothers, sisters and partners, and the only blokes who forget that usually end up bitter, resentful and single.

Don’t confuse the current media outrage/exposure wave with actual public opinion, that’s how fucking Trump and Brexit happened.

Accept that there are cunts among us and just try your hardest not be one. I know that our role is being constantly redefined in an ever changing world and that things were simpler for previous generations, but that’s how we progress and move on.

I agree, 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.

So. Enjoy your day if you must and don’t be a cunt about it. It means nothing and will continue to until we get paid less than women and have to endure endless sexual assaults as par for the course.

Hunting fucking elephants for fun though, aren’t you the clever cunt. That requires less skill than a fucking Wetherspoons chef, open door, put food in, press button, wait for fucking ping.

Not only is elephant hunting patently stupid, it’s completely fucking pointless. I mean, how hard can it be taking aim at a massive lumbering three tonne target and squeezing the trigger? What do your other hobbies include, Kitten wrestling? Fucking bunny boxing? You fucking geriatric orange embarrassment.

Elephants are sophisticated, have long memories, communicate in ways we’ve yet to understand, live in loving family groups and mourn their dead, sort of like giant grey anti Trumps.

After the conservationist Anthony Laurence died two separate herds of the wild elephants he saved starting showing up at his house on the anniversary of his death every year. Don’t believe me? Google that shit.

How the fuck do they know he’s dead and how the hell do they know what day it is? Let’s not bother finding out, let’s just shoot them and hang their heads on the fucking wall like an imitation Picasso.

You’ll only remember the anniversary of your Presidency with fucking Facebook’s ‘On this day feature’ you fucking walnut faced chin smuggler.

What makes some dickhead standing on the Serengeti look at a majestic elephant kicking up dust in the Twilight think ‘quick, lets shoot it!’

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.

What’s next? Lift the ban on fucking children so your mate Epstein can get his end away?

I say legalise hunting, but make it fair. By all means kill an elephant but you have to do it naked with your bare hands.

I hope in a parallel universe somewhere there’s a fucking family of elephants admiring the wall mounted head of a dead president, with the perpetual bemused expression of a man who’s just seen the gleeful glint of revenge in a gun toting elephants eye before the fatal kill shot , you fucking melted hay mained cunt.

I fucking hate people who can’t do their jobs. It’s more people than you think. Some days I think the whole of London is stacked neck-high with nothing but blue-suited oxygen thieves jockeying for position near to an open wallet. They are the kind of un-flushable turd that simply reappears in a new position without having done what they were supposed to do in the last one. And that brings me nicely to these twats.

There has been something amusing about The Telegraph’s 20 year-long suicidal strangle-wank into obscurity. But now there is something dangerously wrong with those spunk-puffins and all the female-friendly lifestyle supplements in the World can’t hide it.

They did once serve a purpose. Good sports section; couple of crosswords; brilliant cartoonist; oh yes, and a letters page where middle-England could do indignation bukakke when anyone mentioned closing Grammar Schools. But when the fuck did they slip into the void left when The Sun stopped handing out free colouring pencils?

Do I have to be associated with this omni-directional spunk mortar? If I believe in the free market, the rights of the individual, small Government and the rule of law, does it automatically make me one of these shit-heads? Because yesterday they went too far.

These fucktards appointed themselves Block Captain for the right wing militia and did a 2 page, full colour, witch-hunt special. On page 4 there was a cut-out-and-keep Nazi arm band and directions to where you can shove your better judgement.

Apparently the “thoughts and prayers” that went to the family and friends of Jo Cox didn’t include a single fucking one about not turning individuals into scapegoats on a political, and real, knife-edge.

But just ask yourself a few questions. Who the fuck works there now? Why the fuck? And, do you think anyone would fucking own up to it if they did?

There are times when you wonder if the Tories and their rags could display worse judgement if they tried. Well it seems they are trying.

Sweet Jesus make it stop, you fucking bellends!