Bores

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are cunts.

We’ve all encountered them. Those individuals whose perpetual droning could send you to sleep. Those whose company you run away from as though they had a dose of the bubonic plague.

A couple of former workmates spring immediately to mind. One was a triathlon bore. He’d stun you into submission at the drop of a hat, going on about his personal timings, the cost of his gear, his gym training schedule or his strict diet. Another was a ‘real ale’ bore, and a twat with it; ‘you still drinking THAT piss? You should try Hopsworth and Trumpington’s “Olde Pisshead”, ABV 8.2. That’s a real man’s drink’ etc.

My own current pet bore is a guy who lives a few doors down. Now Ken’s a lovely bloke, but he could bore professionally. His pet obsession is golf, and he’s got the true bore’s capacity to turn any conversation to this topic in ten seconds flat eg;

Me; ‘Morning Ken, lousy day’
Ken; ‘Should’ve been golfing this morning, but some of the holes are waterlogged’
Me; ‘A waterlogged hole’s not a pleasant thing Ken’

Me; ‘Evening Ken, off out?’
Ken; ‘It’s the golf club agm and dance tonight…’.

Me; *straightening up*; ‘Alright Ken? This weeding’s doing my back in’
Ken; ‘I’m the same Ron, but the guys at the club say that they don’t know how I do it at my age. The 11th’s a par five, but on Saturday I was on the green a foot from the flag in two…’.

In fairness, I suppose we can all be a bit of a bore in our way. My specialist subject is the Villa**; ‘conceded another early goal against the tractor boys on Sunday, defence is fucking shite, should have sorted it in the summer blah’.

So how about you guys? Is there someone who makes you run and hide if you see them coming? Are you willing to concede that you can bore for England on some topic or other?

**My specialist subject would probably be tits, ass and fanny, but I’ve never met another bloke who gets remotely bored by this.

golf/cunt

Nominated by Ron Knee.

Seconded by Norman.

Seconded. Ron.

What I hate is boring cunts who can’t – or won’t – talk about anything.

When somebody asks what are you watching? They reply, ‘A film’.

What are you reading? ‘Book’.

Where are you going? ‘Out’.

Who are you going out with? ‘A bird’.

Dull as ditchwater cunts who can’t string two words together.

66 thoughts on “Bores”

  1. “So how about you guys? Is there someone who makes you run and hide if you see them coming?”

    Yes – Keir Starmer. A breeze block minus the charm. He could bore for England. His PM’s Questions are excruciating.

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    • If you think Rodney’s bad, what about the finance chief who can’t fill in a tax return?
      ‘£22 billion black hole, £22 billion black hole, £22 billion black hole’

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  2. I know a few people who are medical bores. A fatal mistake is to ask them how they have been and you will get a full rundown of their aches and pains, what pills they are taking and detailed medial history.

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    • There’s a bit of that about me and all my friends these days LL. I’ve not long had an op, ditto my pal Little Al (prostate), ditto my friend Jane (knee replacement). My friend Rachael’s just being diagnosed with diabetes. Roger’s had to get a stent fitted. Etc.

      When we meet up, we’re all ‘how’s the knee/waterworks whatever’. We’re just at that point in our lives where we can bore each other!

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  5. I used to be worried I was this person and then I worked with someone once who made me look like a laugh-a-minute, thrill seeking, devil may care, adventurer.

    I could bore the shit out of people about a couple of topics, but I’m painfully aware of this so I really say much. Most people’s conversation revolves around drinking, shit tv programmes and football, so I find myself not really talking to anyone apart from the dog and he probably thinks 🐶💭 I wish he’d shut up. I’m trying to lick my own balls here.
    😄

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  6. How an about travel bores?
    “Have a pleasant journey did you?”, you ask.

    “Yes, went very well. We were thinking of coming up the A33 for the last stretch, but decided to take the B4413 as it intersects with the A303 and thence to the B4408, where it’s often busy but we got lucky as Penelope’s pony club gala finished early so we saved over 4 minutes on our overall journey time etc etc etc……”
    Fuck off you boring cunt!

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    • Holiday travel bores can be horrendous.

      There seem to be two main types.

      There’s the bore who’ll let you know that wherever you’ve been or are going, they’ve been there, only to better spot on the island, a ritzier hotel, a better restaurant etc. ‘Where are you staying in Paris? Oh we were at the George V’ ( or Raffles in Singapore, Gleneagles in Scotland, Waldorf Astoria in NY etc).

      Secondly there’s the boring cunts who try to attach themselves to you when you’re away; ‘do you mind if we join you? Nice view isn’t it, although not as good as from the view the Hotel Pizza in Sorrento. We’ve been going there every year for the last hundred years, Giovanni the waiter loves us…’.

      Gaaaah.

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      • I suppose you could lump in cruise ship bores into that one too Ron. I can definitely see the appeal of cruises especially getting on/off the ship without airport style queuing but getting cornered by ‘professional’ cruisers must be a nightmare.

      • Indeed you’re right there LL.

        I’ve met a couple over the years. They’re always determined to give you the benefit of their vast experience on how to get the best cabin, what to pack etc

      • Cruise Wankers are excellent fun; I like to ask really dumb questions, all wide-eyed and innocent, but the prize goes to my B-i-L.

        He was dining with a bloke who had a Rolex, that’s a ROLEX, Rolex, Rolex, Rolex.

        He eventually asked ‘what time does you Rolex say?’ and when the bloke answered he said, surprised ‘Ooh, same time as my watch; got it from Tesco, £8.99’

        Meanwhile, our neighbour is an Elvenerifer; not only with holidays, but all possessions, anything medical, you name it she’s had it better/worse, as appropriate.

      • I think I mentioned recently that I can’t stand cyclists on trains ( or anywhere really) – today I got stuck again in a train lobby with a load of them, all blokes in their 30’s I would say. Their conversation was excruciatingly dull, all about their pulse readings, and beating their own time records going up a nearby hill. I really felt like I was going to have an aneurysm or attack them if it went on any longer. Then one of them changed the subject, and started talking about an unwanted birthday present he had received. I waited with baited breath for the fascinating tale of woe, but all it was was that he had been given a water bottle that was not “ergonomically correct”. The winter nights must fucking fly by in your house, I thought…

    • Arran Blonde pah!

      Hazy, wild fermentation sour chocolate blancmange and pineapple West Coast Black IPA aged in Old Sioux bourbon barrels from those cool hipster dudes at Up Their Own Arses Brewing is where it’s at these days CoP.

      £12 a pint.

      Bargain.

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      • There’s an acquaintance of mine who’s regularly in my local.
        Whatever I’m drinking, he sneers at.
        And god help me if I mention getting a takeaway on the way home.
        That’ll invariably be a shit choice too, along with the taxi firm I use.
        You can’t fucking win with people like that.

      • The ‘man down the pub’ bore is a bore is a bore indeed Field Marshall.

        He knows for a fact that Princess Di was done in by the security services at the behest of Prince Philip; got the true lowdown from a mate of his who knew a bloke whose wife was a cleaner for…

  8. It’s no surprise, all the interesting people have been threatened and cancelled by the woke cry-babies that infest the western world.

    So enjoy dullards like Rodney, regaling people about the day he was knighted at Buck House. Mum, Dad a big dog and a volvo.

    I always thought would there ever be a more accomplished orator than Kenneth Williams, and listening to Rodney I soon realised….. Nope.

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    • I always loved the Kenneth Williams anecdote about working with Dame Edith Evans (” a hannnd-baggg?”) at Brighton. They got back to the hotel after everyone had dined and they were waited at table by an old night watchman who took a fancy to Dame Edith. One night he offered her a glass of wine, and as he bent down to get it, he farted. Dame Edith twitched her nose and told KW loudly “this place has gorn orf terribly”.

      That was in the Brighton of the 1960s – she could have been talking about Britain as a whole in 2024.

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  9. There’s a very nice chap who drinks in our local, but fuck me, he’s boring. I’ll usually talk to anyone down the pub (see, “public house”), but if you ask him how he is, you get a one-sided rundown of his ailments, wife’s ailments, how the veg is going, the meals he’s cooked.

    I didn’t used to like him – esp when I was having a right bastard of a day, and was sat drinking my pints with my headphones in (the universal sign of “fuck off and leave me alone!”) – and he grabbed a chair without asking and started yapping at me. However, I’ve come to learn he’s pretty lonely, so it doesn’t hurt to indulge people like this to make their day a bit brighter.

    I can bore the arse off people about cars, motorsport, and Soviet/Russian politics. I’ve noticed that people just don’t ask me these things anymore! 😄

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  10. Whisky is the cure to this question.

    Don’t get me started on chill filtering,caramel colourants and the insipid rise of single malts all at 40% proof.

    Cask strength is the way to go.

    Anyway I’m boring myself so I need a drink.

    Reply ↓

    • Flood the market with 40 percent crap n charge more for anything else.
      You missed out non age statement surprises there though.

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    • Fuck me Minge they’re everywhere.

      I just went for a look at the papers, only to be reminded of all those cunts who can bore from a distance; Price and Holden, Ant and CuntinDec, The Murkles, Willoughby, Schofield, the Fuckhams… all turds who resist every attempt to flush.

      The wife (reading over my shoulder again) wants me add health food bores, the veggie and vegan ‘meat is murder’ crew, those who’ll only drink water if it’s in a sealed bottle and comes with a certification that it was sourced only from a certain spring in the Pyrennees. Yep, I can cunt them for you dear.

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      • And aren’t pop stars boring these days?

        Ed Sheercunt, Lardarse Capaldi, Taylor Swift, William Eilish, Lana Del Twat, Justin Biebummed, Ariana Grande, Little Mix, and that premium cunt Chappel Roan.

        Dull as dishwater, boring as fuck. Every single one.

  13. Cunts who don’t “go on holiday”, they “travel.”

    Don’t be such a fucking ponce. Grow up and insult the locals with some pissed-by-midday gallivanting.

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    • ‘Travellers’ are monumentally boring cunts C_C.

      Want to regale you with stories about eating goat curds around a yak dung fire in Mongolia, camping out under the stars in the Atacama Desert, or going walkabout for six months with an Aboriginal spirit guide, living off beetles.

      Worst of all is their arrogance; Joe and Jane Holidaymaker should be kept away, so that places can be kept pristine for those who can truly appreciate them, namely themselves.

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  14. Luckily I’m interesting as fuck and everyone enjoys my 30 minute monologues in the pub.

    But there’s this bloke.
    Nice bloke.
    Friendly.
    No harm in the lad.

    But fuck me he’s like a soul sapping, monotone, boring bastard.

    Easily must be in the top 10 boring fuckers ever born.

    I’d rather eat salad with Jeremy Corbyn.
    Go yoga with Kier Starmer
    Have root canal surgery
    Anything than have a conversation with this cunt.

    I thought, ” I’m a grumpy cunt,
    Maybe it’s your impatient?”

    I mentioned him to the lad in the pet shop.

    ” God, he’s a boring twat!”

    So not just me!😂

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  15. When that pile of totally staged pre-recorded shite that is Jools Holland’s Cuntenanny comes on again, we will get oodles of woke celebrity gobshites and luvvie cunts. All getting pissed on BBC freebies, while boring us to death. Telling us how to vote, what to eat, how anyone who doesn’t like trannies shouldn’t exist (fuck off and die Tennant), how to welcome diversity, and how great Taylor Swift is.

    Fuck em all.

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  16. And don’t start me on footballers.

    Once there were loads of characters.Alan Hudson, Charlie George, Frankie Worthington, Tony Currie, Stan Bowles, Rodney Marsh, George Best.

    Now, it’s machines like Haaland, boring cunts like Whale Tongue and Rashford, hired soulless foreign mercenaries,and loads of other dull cunts.

    And managers are no better. Once it was Cloughie, The Doc, Shanks, Revie, Big Mal. Now they are all foreign tosspots. All with the personality of wet mop and content to bore us to death with tiki taka blackboard tactics shite.

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    • People can babble on about Wokegate’s ‘success’🤣.
      But has there ever been an England team as boring and as unexciting as the one from the Southgate era?

      And I can’t see it changing any time soon. Kraut or no Kraut.

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      • We need another Roy Keane with Littlewoods Catalogues for shin pads, who got stuck in to make sure the tackled didn’t get up.

    • Aye up chaps.

      Three points each in the bag for our lads yesterday Norman.

      Is that a welcome relief for the Reds, or does it just extend the ten Hag misery?

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      • I just see it as that boring bald Edam eating twat getting out of jail again, Ron.

        The odd win every now and again will not change a thing. Yesterday against Brentford is not turning a corner, This United team has no fight, no leader. And a win keeps the idiots in our fan base giddy just enough to keep them siding with Ten Hag.

        I would rather see the old United of Docherty or even Atkinson. Just decent attacking football with guts, with the odd cup long the way. That’d do me. But there’s no chance of it wth the cunts we have got, on and off the pitch.

        I hope the Villa actually win the league title, Ron. I would rather they won it than Pep and his Gorton Globetrotters.

    • Ten Hag is never going to work out. But also, I can’t believe that cunt Rashford is probably going to see off another managerr. That shower of shit aren’t United by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, they are the unmanageables

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  19. I remember when John Lennon got shot in 1980.

    The news people (then just a now unrecognisable BBC and ITV) looked for tributes in the days after the murder.

    Obviously, his three Beatles bandmates were sought out and asked. All three came up with something. But they were all brief but to the point tributes. Short and simple. And none of the Beatles said that they were ‘heartbroken’ or went overboard.

    Fast forward to that Liam Thingy from One Direction.

    Everyone has stuck their oar in and paid tribute. And, of course, every person is ‘heartbroken’ ’emoty’ and in ‘devastating pain’ amongst other hand wringing ‘look at me’ cliches.

    Almost very tribute to him has been over the top, florid and more about the celebrity cunt doing it than the dead lad himself. Even the tributes fom his bandmates are overlong and mawkish. Where they give their ‘heartfelt wishes’ to his family, his kid, his ex-girlfriends, his dog, his window cleaner. Keep it simple and dignified, but nobodys knows the meaning of those words nowadays. And that is very boring indeed.

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    • One ‘fan’ at a Liam Payne ‘vigil’ blubbed ‘It’s like I’ve lost someone from my family’

      What? Someone you never knew, who probably wouldn’t give you the time of day? Like losing a close relative or loved one?

      That really makes me puke. Bore off and fuck off.

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    • Still, it could ahve been worse. One can only imagine the media mushroom cloud and griefacking tornado if Styles had snuffed it instead.

      Payne wasn’t even the main one. He was the Mickey Finn of One Direction. The one out of the Osmonds that nobody knows. As Den Dennis says in ‘More Bad News’, ‘I’ll be the one who stands there, and nobody knows who he is’.

      If a rank and file boyband member gets this sort of coverage. God help us when Jagger, Fat Reg or Macca finally shuffle off.

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  20. Cunts who are waiting in the doctors waiting room.

    You ask how they are, and they say ‘Fine’ Not bad’ ‘OK’.

    So, what the fuck are they there for?

    Mind you, most cunts in my local practice just say

    ‘But But But But. No engerlish.’

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  21. I recall when Life On Mars hit our TV screens. Where 2006 copper Sam Tyler ends up in 1973.

    Now, I loved it. A great series, a great idea, and delightfully pre-woke.

    But, where I worked at the time, this cunt went on and on.
    He claimed he could tell it wasn’t Manchester in 1973 . Like it actually mattered. It was a fictional TV series after all. But this dickhead insisted that it was a big deal.

    You know why? He said he ‘looked for mistakes’ and he ‘spotted ‘double glazing on one of the ‘1973’ teraaced houses Sam Tyler was visiting. He actually spent his time looking for things like that and pointing them out, seriously. And that wasn’t the only thing he did it with. As boring and as sad a person you could ever have misfortune to work with.

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