Well folks, for obvious reasons I’ve been hanging on to the stick this week in a bid to tactically outwit my growing horde of enemies and give them a good old bum sticking, but I’ll be the bigger man for now and I will instead keep it employed in the public domain.
Traitorous, foul, lying politician cunts of the former government, you know who you are.
Well known for your superior spin politics and ability to lie to and mislead the very electorate who first enabled you to take up public office on the misunderstanding that you had the publics’ best interest at heart, you have truly surpassed yourselves this time. No weapons of mass destruction in Iraq? No problem we’ll lie…Massive financial deficits about to explode in our faces? No problem lets just cook up a fib…Want to release a terrorist responsible for the deaths of 270 innocent people? Lets just invent a fucked up bullshit story and blame it on the Scots, everybody hates those alcoholic ginger cunts anyway.
‘Woah, Woah, Woah’ says an ex-foreign office minister shocked that the media spotlight has centred in on the part he played in this duplicity, ‘Fuck me’, he pleads desperately, ‘It was the fucking Scots not me!’ Hang on you duplicitous shitbag, who schooled the Libyans in the first fucking place? Who warned them of the upcoming medical report that would allow the murdering Allah loving maniac to go free? Who pointed out the legal loopholes that would become the result of it?… You did you cunt.
But just like everything that that Regime of compulsive liars touched it went fucking wrong for you didn’t it? The cunt didn’t die as you expected and he’s currently living the fucking high life on his home soil, spitting in the eyes of the families of the loved ones left behind and laughing at us for the Nation of Fools that you and your cunty bosses have painted us as.
As you are trying to answers your questions on a topical debate show, in that horrible stuttery manner that all politicians who have been caught in the act adopt, I will sneak up behind you, smash your lie filled cranium against the desk an enlist the help of Jeremy Paxman to whip off your Marks and Spencer trousers… Pass me the stick Jeremy…Yes I’m going to bum him with it…Yes, bum the two faced, deceitful fuckpig with a MASSIVE stick.
The stick has been resting over the festive season, but I have been giving it a good old varnish and I even polished it with a touch of grapeseed oil to make sure that the years bumming starts smoothly.
Nameless, faceless, bullying policefucks of Grimsby, you know who you are.
You sit patiently, silently stalking your prey with your camera speed capture system of authority. You eagerly anticipate catching your first speeding motorists, with the intention of fucking their day right up. If an elderly gentleman takes it upon himself to warn off your intended victims, you’ll pounce like a cougar. If he dares to answer back you’ll make sure all your law abiding buddies fuck him over. That’ll teach him eh?
It will teach him that the police are a set of hapless cunts who despite the heroic actions of the many are constantly judged by the actions of the jobsworth, small minded minority.
You have cost the country, not just in cold hard cash but we have also lost a little more faith in justice, all so you could prove a point you stupid, ballless fucksacks. I don’t give a fuck if you’re wearing your uniform, I will still smash you about your helmeted head with your own police ‘beat stick’. I will then pull down your standard issue police pants and use your own cuffs to hogtie you so that your wobbly flabby arse cheeks are dimpling in the cold winter air. I am going to take a run up because I think you all need this really badly. Wince in anticipation as I prepare to bum you. With a stick. Bum you with a MASSIVE STICK.
When I first conceived the idea of a weekly bumming stick, I swore to myself that I would never use the stick to further my own petty desires, I vowed that I would only ever use it in the name of justice and honour, well that’s flown right out of the cunting window.
Stood at the front of the queue for the train ticket machine man, you know who you are.
You’ve got a briefcase in one hand, your I-phone in the other, you’re bleating away to some cunt about how you’ve never used one of these machines before and how you don’t know what to do. You look like an intelligent man, you’ve got a briefcase for starters, your suit is a classy looking number and you clearly speak English, so just read the fucking screen you mind bogglingly annoying briefcase wanker!
Some folk are desperately pleading to a higher being to strike you the fuck down with a bolt of lightning so we can catch the fucking train, but no wait!
I’d much rather smash your fucking head into that screen, before kicking your legs out from underneath you. Whilst on the floor I will grab your silken Armani enwrapped bollocks and squeeze until you squeal. With a practiced flourish I will de-keg you and force you to use those metrosexually manicured fingers to hold open your arsehole. Then I will bum you. With a stick. Bum you with a MASSIVE STICK.