A return to pestilence
I have suddenly realised that, in recent weeks, I’ve been tempering my language on this site, mainly due to the fact that we’ve had posh visitors round from that there London *cough* Melissa from Boris Johnson’s office *cough* and I daren’t raise my voice.
Well, bollocks to that. As Oscar Wilde once commented: “Profanity is the literary crutch of the inarticulate motherfucker”, I reasoned it was about time that I made a full-on return to high-quality four-letter cussage, hang the consequences, and leave the still twitching corpse in a cage full of shagger monkies.
Handily, this coincides with reader requests for a full low-down – following last Friday’s tale of mirth and woe - on a certain fuck-stick who blighted my life going by the charming name of Cunt-Eye.
After in-depth discussions with my brother over how much of a cunt Cunt-Eye really was (Conclusion: “an utter, utter cunt”), the options for today’s Thursday vote-o are reduced to the following travesty of the democratic process:
* Cunt-Eye: “An utter, utter cunt”
Here’s a hint: vote the right way, or we nail your head to the coffee table.
Or, better still, a short “suggest-me-do” follows:
Excuses for going to work naked:
"Sorry, I thought it was Tits-Out Friday. I've got me quid for the charity collection and everything."
“Hulk SMASH! Oh. I appear to have recovered.”
“Naked is the new black. Ask Kate Moss.”
Spike Milligan: “Can anyone recommend a good tailor?” and “Ladies and Gentlemen - There appears to be a thief in this office.”