NHS gets best Birthday present ever as Jeremy Hunt fucks off

Earlier today Bojo the clown fucked off back to the circus, leaving a massive, gaping Foreign Secretary hole for Treeza May (not be Prime Minister by morning) to fill.

Her choices are numbered as she’s getting more resignations than a leaflet distribution centre after a new warehouse opens in town.

Like the fat kid in a school football team selection, only walking smirk and luxury bathroom enthusiast, Jeremy Hunt was left for her to pick.

His promotion from Health Secretary will give doctors and nurses accross the country a collective sign of relief.

As we speak there are reports of 6 doctors trashing an Ikea, and a nurse ruining an ambulance in celebration.

It hasn’t yet been announced who is next in line to fuck over the NHS yet but a decision is expected by morning.

Johnson resigns to focus on being eccentric and a twat

It’s glorious isn’t it? Like a really fucking dull Night of the Long Knives in reverse, where they all top themselves just to topple the Führer.

The Conservative party is collapsing quicker than a Thai football coach’s confidence in a wet cave.

It’s broken, kaput, fucked. Like a Python parrot, or a  Rolf Harris career, it is no more.

First Brexit Secretary David Davis, who probably spent more time negotiating his fucking gas bill with Npower than he ever did with Europe.

And now Boris the twat jawed gimp, the latest to step up and stab the hag. They’re dropping like E’s in a dorm.

There’s no hiding this one. Even if everyone in fucking Salisbury gets poisoned. Like Big Narstie on every fucking tv channel, this won’t go away.

Tick tock Mrs. May, tick tock.

David Davis successfully negotiates no pension or benefits for himself after shock resignation

George from Rainbow personified and Brexit Secretary, David Davis, has resigned from his role.

A position that centred around him not attending meetings with EU officials, or shrugging his shoulders and looking vacant on the rare occasions that he did.

It has been reported that he’s handed in his resignation because he disagrees with Theresa May’s softer approach to Brexit.

And as May’s Ikea bought cabinet looks poised to collapse like Sweden in a quarter final, Davis will be remembered as the man who not only paid full price in the DFS sale, but also didn’t get a second free pizza from Domino’s.

Goodbye you fucking walking squint.  You won’t be missed, and hopefully your fellow Britain breaking arse holes won’t be far behind you in next week’s shock general election.

Fuckity bye you useless cunt.

Thousands of men encouraged to go out drinking on Sundays unaware of Poldark

According to government figures, Poldark is the only thing keeping British pubs from closing en masse.

“Everytime there’s a new series profits increase tenfold.” Said Paul Bannister, a Wetherspoons Manager.

“Sunday’s we’re packed to the rafters with blokes unaware of why they’re even here. Some of them don’t even drink!”

“I haven’t got the heart to tell them their wives are frigging themselves off to Poldark.”

Bob Thornton, a Sunday regular said:

“My missus didn’t let me out for years, I missed stag do’s, work do’s, the lot. I lost all my friends over time but now she can’t wait to get rid of me, it’s bizarre.”

We tried contacting Mrs. Thornton for comment but her phone just rang and rang. According to Mr. Thornton she has it on vibrate on Sunday evenings.

Thousands of men encouraged to go out drinking on Sundays unaware of Poldark

According to government figures, Poldark is the only thing keeping British pubs from closing en masse.

“Everytime there’s a new series profits increase tenfold.” Said Paul Bannister, a Wetherspoons Manager.

“Sunday’s we’re packed to the rafters with blokes unaware of why they’re even here. Some of them don’t even drink!”

“I haven’t got the heart to tell them their wives are frigging themselves off to Poldark.”

Bob Thornton, a Sunday regular said:

“My missus didn’t let me out for years, I missed stag do’s, work do’s, the lot. I lost all my friends over time but now she can’t wait to get rid of me, it’s bizarre.”

We tried contacting Mrs. Thornton for comment but her phone just rang and rang. According to Mr. Thornton she has it on vibrate on Sunday evenings.

I don’t want it to come home if it just emboldens far right thugs

‘Humble in victory, gracious in defeat’ as the old saying goes, but invading an Ikea and smashing up an ambulance isn’t very humble  is it?

The England flag has long since been hijacked by scum like Paul Golding and Tommy Robinson. People, up until a couple of years ago, were just fringe nutters, like Nigel Farage.

Now, I’m not saying everyone who voted Brexit is a racist flag clad simpleton, although a lot of my musings allude to it I don’t actually believe it. I’m not that naive.

You have to admit though that England has changed and not for the better.

We’ve become more tribal and hostile, and I know that doesn’t apply to the majority of us, but a lot of the time it feels that way.

Sadly however, the media wants to speak for us all, and this is the image we’re projecting to the rest of the world, a collective small man syndrome.

Patriotism doesn’t exist in this climate anymore, in an age of populism and a rising far right, a time of ‘we’re alright Jack’ and ‘It’s their fault.’ We have Nationalism now and that’s it.

That’s why I think England winning The World Cup at this moment would be a toxic yet perfect storm.

After all, if you talk England down or read an expert’s report on the possible damage Brexit will cause you’re a traitor, an enemy of the people, and you hate your own country.

A win would give everyone a boost, granted, but if they’re wrecking shops over a quarter final then what will an actual outright win unleash?

I wouldn’t have a problem with it at any other point in history, but the way we’re heading as a nation it makes me very uncomfortable.

A written contract, two forms of ID, and a witness required for sexual intercourse

Long gone are the days of getting shit faced  before selecting a 4 minute mate at a 2am cattle market.

In a time before Tinder, smart phones, and social justice, even the most repulsive of us could get a guaranteed fuck.

Back then taxi drivers made all their money at 6:30am on a Saturday, as millions of us woke up next to a fully grown Babe, a sight which, unless you were destined to be a future Prime Minister, would turn your stomach.

There was no Uber, no GPS, and subsequently no way to silently type for a  rescue vehicle, or magically know where you even were.

You had to wake the fucker up, engage in pleasantries and try and piece together what got you both into this mess, before having a brew, pretending to exchange numbers and finally phoning a taxi then waiting in uncomfortable silence for it.

You both knew the score, it wasn’t nefarious. It wasn’t non-consensual, and it certainly wasn’t rape.

You both, with your respective mates, went out to get fucked up in more ways than one.

We called it youth and it was fun.

Times have changed though, lots. We were more innocent back then, maybe to the point of naivety.

It’s just not the same now. I’m sure one night stands still happen, at least I hope they do, but the whole dating game is unrecognisable.

Well it is to me anyway, I’ve not played it since people started deciding whether you’re fuck worthy in 1.5 seconds, before swiping you into obscurity. I don’t stand a chance.

The point is that those hot sweaty hormone bunkers aren’t here anymore, well they are, but you don’t have to all be out by 2am.

Everyone is on a different level, they haven’t all been drinking since 7pm knowing there’s a definite end to the night, some bought a litre bottle of Aldi vodka and smashed it at 11pm before going clubbing. The communal code is dead.

As a result, times are harder. I genuinely feel sorry for young people.

I’m not suggesting that all young men are confused predators mis-reading signals, or that all young women will cry rape if they wake up next to a munter, but it does seem that we’re headed to a place where proof is king.

I hope it doesn’t come to that, to contracts, or covert audio recordings to engage in sex, but just be careful, employ some common sense, and look after each other.

Massive orange blimp offended by Trump balloon

It’s been announced that President shit for brains is going to avoid London on his £30 million visit to the UK next week.

The twin chinned, thin skinned, MAGA twat is scared of a floating effigy of himself, and now, apparently, massive crowds.

Which is strange because the cunt is always fucking imagining them in his tiny dementia ridden shit ideas haggis.

Instead he’ll be driven around in secret, before demanding that the queen bend the knee.

Obviously he’ll then head off to Scotland to finish his trip off with a three day round of fucking golf.

Nigel Farage leapt to his defence of course, with all the passion and relish that you’d expect from that  arse rimming sycophant.

He called the balloon and insult to Trump, which is rich coming from a Geppetto’s wet dream: A real life stringless Thinderbird puppet.

The NHS is 70 but don’t let the Tories bury her yet

She’s a spritely old gal our NHS, she may be using a walking frame now and drowning in her own emphysemic mucus, but like your dear old nan, she’ll glass anyone who chats shit about you.

If the NHS were truly a poorly old lady needing medical attention the Tories would be her Doctor, Harold Shipman, flicking a syringe and asking her to sign on the dotted line.

They just can’t wait to see her gasping her last wheezy breaths, clutching her throat and pleading to a smiling, indifferent Almighty, as the final lungful of air is slowly exhaled, evaporating the remnants of true British spirit as it leaves.

They’ll fucking dance and cheer and quaff                                                           Snort and jeer and laugh
Then clink and grin and drink
As they sell her corpse for cash

This is OUR NHS that fixed your nan’s hip
Bandaged your 10 year old finger after a trip

OUR NHS always waiting wide awake
To unfuck you and unfuck your likely fate

OUR NHS that delivered you to your mum
So don’t delivery it back to gleeful Tory scum.

Don’t worry, the poems is over and done, but this government’s vendetta is far from it.

They won’t rest until a doctor is checking your fucking wallet before your pulse.

If we want to keep one scrap of national identity, one shred of pride, and one thing we can be proud of leaving our kids then we need to fight for it.

Happy Birthday NHS. Here’s to another 70 years.

The only people who want National Service back are the ones too old to do it

Following on from France’s decision to bring back National Service, albeit a watered down version of Macron’s election pledge (youths can continue to do charity work or civic duty rather than enlisting in defence).

There’s been a massive outpouring from the first generation in a while to not only avoid conflict, but to have never done any kind of military service themselves.

They say things like:

“We need national service back to learn them youngens some respect like what we got.”

Aye, because the current generation are known for their violent thuggery arent they?

Are they fuck, they’re too busy crying, eating avocados and changing their fucking sex to disrespect a pensioner on a bus.

This has to be the most passive and well behaved generation since the dawn of fucking time.

Their idea of rebelling is not drying the fucking dishes after voluntarily washing them.

We don’t need yet another generation of flag waving, knee bending, hyper gammon, doing their bit for ‘Kween and Cuntry.’

If you really want to help Britain’s youth, give them national service behind a bar for a year, it will give them confidence, wit, and prepare them in conflict resolution far better than climbing ropes whilst being shouted by a cunt.

Introduce real life skills classes in the final years of school, like managing money, living on a budget, or making fucking eye contact when talking to people.

Fuck national service, if you want it so bad join the reserves.