King Billy

At a guess I’d bet every time he saunters up, skinny jeans around his ankles, drooling like Philip Schofield in the gents at the ‘Young ITV Cameraman’ awards towards Franks dripping, butchered, gaping arsehole he’s thinking ‘fillet’.

Live AIDS

Where the fuck is The Vulcan? It’s been two weeks since all her fellow lizard people slithered back into their private jets at Davos with this years instructions from Klaus Schwab safely packed away in their official WEF briefcases, then hurtling upwards towards the clouds through a peasoup of CO2 and headed back to every corner of the Earth to implement the latest set of tyrannical restrictions on the everyday lives of us 99.9% of humanity who they rely on to pay for their heroic leadership. I genuinely hope she hasn’t succumbed to the inevitable side effects from her latest booster dose of the lifesaving and ‘totally safe and totally effective’ mRNA miracle jab, because if that were to be the case, then not only would she be dead but she’d also be unable to apologise to me for these last several years that I’ve tried to stop her making any more of a fool of herself than she already was. I do hope she’s OK. (sort of).

I bet you say that to all the boys.

Erling Haarland?

Anita Dobson?

Bohomoan Rhapsodomy.

Arselona

I think Brian may.

‘Another one bites the pillow’

The Tiddlywinks don’t need to send a balloon halfway across the world to learn all the USAs top secrets. They’d just message Hunter on tik tok and he’d pop down to his dads garage and send them picture messages of everything they’re after. The slanty eyed little mongs would have their former I Phone factories churning out millions of replica Biden crack pipes quicker than Sleepy Joe could say….well anything really, the senile old paedo cunt.

Idiot.

Fatty Morecurry.

Fatty Mercury.

No but I do have a selection of Alaskan penguin beaks somewhere.

Congratulations for not setting the bar too high at least.

Fuck off DC. She’s not quite dead yet. She’s mine and I haven’t wasted all this time toying with the insufferable cunt to let her off the hook and slip away, now that there’s just about no fight left in her. I want her mounted angry snarling ginger growler on my oak panelled dining room wall, alongside my oil on canvas portrait of the Rev Ian in his heyday, the black marlin, the Siberian white tigers head and the Giant Panda (all of which put up a hell of a lot more fight than her before succumbing to the inevitable tbh).

Ernie’s brother?

Probably something to do with Fray Bentos being in Uruguay.

Who unlike you never pretended he was a woman.

I’ll quite happily run you down in my white van Man.

‘Boom bang a bang!’

I’m hoping Eddie reads about this and immediately gets to work on an exit strategy from his own uncannily similar (but massively worse) romantic situation.

If he didn’t wake up every day in a rage over the British withdrawal from Spudland a hundred years ago and then as if that wasn’t enough daring to leave the EU aswell, he might have something a bit more interesting to contribute. Only a bogtrotter could get themselves so angry about the absence of the enemy that consumes their every waking hour. I guess he’s been having nightmares about his future as a no trick donkey.

🎶There’s that cunt called Panzy Finnegan. He's got spunk stains on his chin again 🎶