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Posts Tagged ‘UK’

Gingerfightback’s Hugh Pugh-Barney-McGrew was interviewing the heir apparent about his love of courgettes when Chas blurted into the microphone,

charles copy

Defender Of The Sausage

“I’m sick of these Jock arsewipes moaning about how hard done by they are.  Mama forces One to traipse around some God for-fuckin-saken heather moor singing like Moira Anderson’s castrated cousin about,”Weee misty ooop the skelter” or “dinnae na bricht ma panty liners” whilst me knackers are frozen. Kilts are for C*nts who eat deep fried Mars bars, drink deep fried Lager and wear deep fried Shellsuits.

Braveheart? One’s arse.

If I have to hear “500 Miles” by them speccy Proclaimer bastards again I’ll get Mama to fellate Gordon Brown in the fuckin’ Tower. Bathgate no more – thank fuck – Shitehole – Alex Salmond? Lying Jock wanker. Leave old slaphead Robinson alone! Nick may be an arse bandit and Establishment lickspittle but he’s my arse bandit and my lickspittle. Caber tossing bastards…..”

He then hopped over a fence to steal a pair of women’s knickers that were on a rotary dryer in the balmy Edinburgh air.

 

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“One’s Always Been A Thong Man!”

 

 

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Hi Kids,

It is your duty to take drugs!

cupboard crackhead copy

 

As the Government now includes proceeds from drugs and prostitution in official statistics I am proud that my Crack habit has helped pull the country out of recession. I’m not sure how statisticians arrived at these figures (exhaustive research must have been undertaken).

Prostitution should no longer be seen as drug addled women being pimped by scum to pay for their heroin addiction but as a bold, nay noble effort to get the country back on its feet, up against a wall or in a car or in a bus shelter…..

Makes ya proud to be British!

Beats me why would Scotland wish to become independent!

Uncle Crackhead

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Oily,

I am afraid of the dark. As a Vampire this causes issues regarding my work-life balance.

I’ve lost my torch.

Vlad, Bucharest

Oily Replies;

Vlad, I once shot a camp vamp romp in Voslovovitrichbitchstitchvitch.

Early 90’s. Wonderful part of the world. The rolling mountains like a fair maiden’s heaving bosoms. Except with goats on them.

The women were very hairy and manly. May well have been men now I think about it. The alleyway was dark, the local brew strong.

As she tenderly growled she picked me up and threw me over her shoulder assuring me that Igor was a girl’s name in that part of the world. And who was I to argue. Especially with two broken ribs.

As the song goes “Fang Heaven for little girls……..”

Oily

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As you know we are always being told to have 5 a day! I couldn’t agree more!

cupboard crackhead copy

 

I recommend a Marijuana, Vodka, Crack, Speed, Smack sandwich – on locally sourced Wholegrain naturally.

No butter as it is bad for the heart.

Peace and Love

Uncle Crackhead

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Sargent_Stench_MctavishHello,

As ex-special forces I can kill using trapped wind.

In my book – life behind enemy lines in Iraq – “It’s Not Invasion It’s Liberation,” – I recount a story of Death by Bloat.

Here is an extract…..

“The Lethal Force Action Group were struggling. Sweat rash had laid Fungus Thompson out and Sniffer Tomkins and Jellytits O’Loon were  beginning to wilt.

Food supplies were running low. We were forced to lick eachother’s Athlete’s Foot for sustenance. On a good day I would give the lads access to my Veruccas. They are laden with protein.

My field training allowed me to make a tasty Athlete’s Foot/Verucca soup. To add flavour I used the chicken stock cubes and herb garland (Tarragon, Rosemary and Bay Leaf) I carry in my Ammo Belt.

The lads lapped it up!.

……………………………..Finally, after days of searching we came across the enemy compound. The Bad Lad from Baghdad was singing along to a Justin Bieber DVD warbling, “Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby” only in Arabic. ‘Cos he was an Arab.

I could smell soup. Vegetable soup. In less hostile times I would have volunteered my stock cubes and a dunk of the herb bouquet.

But I was here to serve my country, kill foreigners and find the gold bullion.

Gurkha Tenpin-Bowling reccied the compound and our one legged Sioux Brave, Itchy Scalp performed a rain dance (Footloose meets Dirty Dancing via The Exorcist).  I inched my way in. The Bad Lad from Baghdad was one mean looking compadre but had engrained gravy stains running down his shirt which lessened his evil visage.

I had to think. Fast. On my feet. I disguised myself as a bowl of soup. Well, more of a broth actually – but you get the gist….

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The bowl containing me was placed on the table accompanied by lovely crusty bread rolls. Seeded.

I reconstituted myself and bamboozled the Bad Lad from Baghdad with cries of “Baby, baby, baby, baby” a la Bieber. He really was a Belieber judging by the posters on his walls.  I then used the trapped wind death grip on him.

The poor lad was a goner.

It turned out that he was not a Bad Lad from Baghdad, but Baghdad’s leading (only) Justin Bieber impressionist who recently had appeared on Iraqi TV’s “The Sunni and Shia Show” and was in town to sing at a local warlord’s surprise birthday party.

The bullion? No trace of it I’m afraid……….

beiber_sausage

 

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spermwithaperm

Hi Everyone!

Two words that strike fear into sperm.

Erectile Dysfunction.

Lately with him we’ve had more  chance of raising the Titanic. A diet of oily fish and Sandra Bullock films played havoc with his urgings.

Then it all changed yesterday – during a documentary about Giraffes.

Before you can say “what a load of codswallop” – his downstairs blood flow picks up – and she got more than that egg and tomato sandwich for tea!

I am one happy zygote!

Right……Ready Or Not…..Here I Come!

sperm_wiggle

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I had the morning off waiting for Curry’s to deliver the new flat screen TV. It’s got surround sound, radar, sonar and a missile launching system. Naturally they didn’t turn up.

The curly Kale diet was working its magic and I was on the pot reading The Sun.

The Yanks are going to start bombing Iraq again because although we “won” and “left a vibrant, pluralistic, democratic state” behind, it has all gone a bit tits up and some Angry Lads who think they are indestructible want to set up a Caliphate (whatever that is – thought it was a camping stove) – and suppress everything that lives there – even the wind if it blows too hastily.

Now a load of Ancient Christians are stuck up an Iraqi mountain (like Moses when he nipped up one to get a few do’s and dont’s – the one about not killing is always good for a laugh) – the Angry Lads want to kill them because their version of the same God is different – largely in choice of headwear it seems to me.

Then there’s the Israeli’s – same God – different head-gear again – slaughtering the innocents and creating more Angry Lads in the process.

Jesus was up a mountain – told us to be good – talk about stating the obvious! Then he was slaughtered – on a mountain.

Fuck it – going down the Stretched Testicle for a few pints.

At least me bowels are moving with aplomb.

But what is it with religion and mountains?

Go tell it my son!

I blame Buddhists. Bastards to a man.

Bob

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