is a cunt

The Red Princess
Holidays in Ibeeza.
Or, Gobshite goes Abroad.

Phone rings…

Angie: Hi Donnah, it’s Angeh ‘ere.
How about we book a girls trip to Ibeeza – we’ll ‘av a right larrf.

Donna: Oh that’s a great idea Angeh.
We could relive our yoof and weren’t it Ibeeza where we all conceived our kids, ya know wiv them lads we met?

Angie: Yeah that’s right I remember now. We were all council estate gals then weren’t we?

Donna: OK, I’ll get on to Wendah and Salleh they’ll be mad for it. But wait a minute, wouldn’t it look a bit bad you ‘aving a late summer break an’ disco dancin’ an’ all that when your lot ‘av condemned millions of old age pensioners to a cold miserable winter?

Angie: Nah that’s just politics. I’m exhausted after a few weeks in government and need some fun. I’ll dress very subtly in me red dress so ‘ardly anyone will notice.

Donna: OK then luv, see you at manchestar airport, make sure you’re all tanked up for the flight.

Angie: You bet darlin’. An’ by the way I’ve got some Oasis tickets for next year!!! Only paid 300 knicker each.

Donna: But isn’t that the amount of the winter fuel allowance?

Angie: So wot kid it’s only moneh! I’m on 150 grand a year now. Mad for it!

Sky news

Nominated by Lord Helpus.

The wife and I have got a little game which some might find odd but we love; it involves delving into your wank bank, or rub hub as she calls it. It’s great fun.

You and your partner or friend each name five people from your wank bank, and then select one, without specifying your choice. You take it in turns to let your imagination run riot where your selection is concerned, while the other does the necessary for a ‘happy ending’. It’s stimulating and relaxing. I recommend anyone to give it a go.

There is an odd proviso however. The game can lead to the revealing of some seriously odd wank bank suggestions, particularly where the fair sex is concerned. Take the night before last. I named the following as my five; the Anderson twins (Gillian and Pamela), Julia H-B, Polly Walker, and Alex Kingston. A seriously mouth-watering collection to fantasise over I’d say. But what about the wife? Well get this; Sean Connery, Adam ‘Kylo Ren’ Driver, android Cmdr Data from ‘Star Trek’, Bill Murray (‘Groundhog Day’ version), and that inexplicable fanny magnet Monty Don.

Talking afterwards, I wondered about her selections (okay, I’ll give her Connery, even though he’s brown bread), and got these responses; ‘sooo intense, and that dreamy voice’ (Driver), ‘every girl’s ultimate toy’ (Data), ‘so charismatic’ (Murray), ‘oooooh, being pawed by those big, rough hands!’ (Don).

Now it’s not just the missus with some weirdo choices in the bank. I’ve got some dear female friends who’ve also owned up over the years. Take my friend Maggie. All the choices she once named were slapheads, such as Dwayne Johnson, Vin Diesel and Jason Statham (‘he’s a brute’ she says, shivering in anticipation). She wants to massage their heads with warm oil. Then you’ve got Elaine. On one occasion, after she’d sunk over a bottle of red, she named Jimmy Nail (‘a bit of rough in Armani’), John Malkovich (who knows?), and heaven forbid, Peter bloody Dinklage (‘I’m just curious that’s all, what’s wrong with that?’). Last but not least there’s Vicky, who fantasises about being Gordon Brown’s underpants. Straight up.

Maybe by coincidence I just know some strangely imaginative women with an unorthodox mindset, but there’s a small selection of weirdo female wank bank contenders and no mistake. Men are from Mars etc. Any of you cunters know somebody with some odd fantasy fixation?

Anyhow, here you go Elaine my dear, have this one on me;

ebay

Nominated by Ron Knee.

Starmer should have been a headmistress at a girls school. Look what the silly bugger has done now:

Starmer attacked for ‘petty’ removal of Thatcher portrait from No 10

He finds the picture “unsettling” – he is frightened of a woman who has been dead for over a decade. It seems to me Labour is a party of old women of both sexes. I never thought I’d say it, but Blair was a saint compared to this jerk. He probably wet the bed the night he moved into Downing Street if the picture upset him that much. Blair invited Mrs T round when he moved in. Poor Lady Victoria had piss stains – and worse – on her night dress, where the silly cunt messed himself, after waking up from a nightmare. This is the face and actions of an elderly and decrepit soy boy. A closet poof. When they circumcised him they threw the wrong end away.

It is good to see the ridiculous old cunt getting down to really serious matters – stopping adults smoking out of doors for example,, taking away a picture of a woman who was a fucking sight better t and more of a man than this four eyed arsehole will ever be.

Who cares about energy bills going through the roof, increasing violent crime, depriving pensioners of their allowances, allowing undocumented “asylum seekers” to enter this country illegally , by their thousands, and the possibility of World War 3, when you have really serious problems like these to deal with. Pictures that scare a spineless old , where he has clambered an

Yet another layer added to this sick bastards ambition to be the Fuehrer. I never thought I would say it, but Blair would be a better alternative to this old queen, who is scared of his own shadow.

How much longer is even the Labour party prepared to put up with this clown?. When you think of him, you automatically think of the smell of shit, where he has clambered up so many EU arseholes.

If Kweer is terrified of a dead leader, we are fucked if Putin ever comes after us.

Sky news

Nominated by W.C.Boggs.

A new low for humanity with this case; an evil sick cuuunt went up to a 9 month old baby in a park and drenched it with a thermos of hot coffee, causing horrific pain and burns, then ran away, leaving the mother utterly distraught.

The world seems an increasingly violent place. Stabbings, murders, stonings, beheadings, depending on where you live.

The rational part of me puts this increase down to increased population, therefore more bad apples in the gene pool. Another part wonders if Satan himself has let loose legions of demons, possessing people to commit random and deliberate heinous acts.

Soon The Daily Mail won’t have any space left for the sleb gossip column; it’ll just be stories about murders and stabbings with ads.

Daily Fail

Nominated by Cuntologist.

Mrs. Yank and I like to eat out occasionally. It’s often a mine field because many establishments cannot be fucking bothered to actually disclose what is in, on or to the side of their menu items.

Certain allergies aside, there are some things we just don’t like and will not eat. Let’s consider some examples.

Pizza (*).
The takeout variety is usually safe, but dine in Italian eateries are very fond of sprinkling parmesan cheese on everything. Parmesan cheese smells like vomit (be honest) and probably tastes similar. As such it will not pass my lips. Do they mention this crap on their menu or give you the choice of not having vomit sprinkled on your food? Nope.

Tex Mex.
We like queso which is sometimes described as a “3 cheese dip”. That’s great, but which 3 cheeses, FFS? In a Tex Mex place, it’s unlikely to include parmesan, but gouda is equally as revolting and needs to be banned. If ordered, it can sometimes show up as queso blanco which is not the same thing. Plus it might have other nasties in it (e.g. onion) which Mrs. Yank can’t touch. Were any of these surprises mentioned on the menu? Nope.

Burgers.
Yanks are in the habit of adding all manner of diabolical shite to burgers. It’s a known fact (recognised by international law) that mayonnaise comes from the devil’s arse crack having been fermented in herpes rich untreated sewage. If you add depleted uranium to it, you get salad cream (true story). Anyway, not everyone in the world likes mayonnaise and yet there is it on your burger, completely unmentioned on the menu. Another common practice is to serve a burger and fries with a fucking pickle (gerkin) on the plate. Pickles are of unknown origin, but are believed to be the decaying genitals of ancient civilisations from across the galaxy which somehow enter the Earth’s atmosphere and land on people’s plates at dinner time. Complete with some vinegar infused juice, probably some ancient lube used for ancient bumming. Does the menu mention the dangers of pickle and lube juice co-habiting your plate? Nope.

After the surprise and the resultant complaint, some dishes can be re-made. But then you’ve got awkwardness, the delay factor and possible ‘tude from your server. Other dishes can have the offending item(s) taken off and the plate of food returned to you. The problem here is, if your food were on the same plate as a dog turd, would taking the dog turd off the plate still make the food edible? I think not.

Sometimes it’s just not worth the hassle if you have to clarify or have removed 3 or more things. You know they’ll forget and get it wrong, so you might as well eat somewhere else. Home for example.

(*) I’ve spent a lot of time in Italy and what passes for pizza in the UK/US contravenes the trades description act. If you know, you know.

Nominated by Imitation Yank.