Spawn of Wymondham space rapists, miner's Haiku, and a turkey drummer...

Oooooooh

Watching the Lizzy get lairy

Because she is drooling at Charlie

He thinks that she's looking quite scary

And offering chance at her beaver

She's hoping it's gonna get eaten

Best look t'other way at the B2

Would never have happened to Xymon

An old fat Aquarian

La-di-da-a-a, Tra-la lalla la

Oi predicts a riot, oi do!

Oooooooh

Look who's arrived in a taxi

It's only that bloke of the telly

He wasn't the Chief of a Kaiser

But he wants to be Chef of a Master!

A finalist who hadn't won one

Spent too little time in the oven

Now he's in a band with his cousin*

And not steaming vegetables

La-di-da-a-a, Tra-la lalla la

Oi predicts a riot, oi do!

* PROBABLY

( . Y . ) Currant buns for tea...

After the visual spectacle of Alec Hollandaise brethren on a hickey rampage, The Gathering Of Chumlies flicked through the tellybox to see what other visual treatage was in store...

Vacuous gormstresses and their airhead friends!

Jades, Chantelles and Vikki type scabbers, minging munters wanting mammoth mammaries whilst beingk as fick as shit, or sumfink.

Take pizza faced hag and her brainless "supportive mate", whose there to see how mammoth her puppydogs have become:
"Wotcha fink?"
"Oh My God! Your boobs are bigger!!"
Well, WTF did you expect them to be after an jugular augmentation!! She's had an enlargement - so of course they'll be bigger you ditzy ass troll!!

Then there's troutpout and her feckless tart of a mate:
"How'd it go, babe?"
"God, my boobs look bigger. I think it's the swelling from the operation."
No, you thick twat, they're bigger coz you've had waterbags shoved into 'em, you thick sod!

Mind you, you can't blame them for wanting to look pretty - especially if they thought they'd turn into that scarfaced troll harridan of a mother! Eurgh! 

Still, I blame the parents. Just as blank of thought as their daughters.
"I don't want her to have a boob job. She's too young. She needs time to develop. I mean, it's wrong, against nature, and it can all go wrong. So I'm going halves on paying the 5 grand for it".
And don't get me started on the glammuh muddul wannabe - only wants to be a glammuh muddle coz SHE'S TOO FICK TO DO ANYTHING ELSE...

Luckily, I only caught 15 mins of it before I was summarily ejected from my friends domicile, as the incessant parade of boobage had clearly left them "ready for bed", if you know what I mean (and I'm sure that you do!)...

Tired my ass - fired up into a sexual frenzy by leech orgies and jugfests more like!
      

I would like you on a long black leech...

Ah, the crystal clear waters of the Louisiana swamps!

Where rotund buffoons can marry and boff a purty yang thang (Anne Lids?) and use the rounded protuberance of his gut to file away her belly into a concave svelte figure through The Sex.

Even if she does forgo the bed to nob yer best mate in the evergladian forestry.

But, even when all the crocs, fish and other aquamarine life are no longer in the swamps, you can't use explosive to kill off mutated bloodsuckers, as that might kill off the crocs, fish and other aquamaine life that have already been killed off by the mutated bloodsuckery fiends.


Although it's OK to use explosives to cause mild cavern tremors to jiggle the captives into the water to a death of drownage.

The captives being tired and shagged out due to lakeside abductment followed by leecherous necking, rampant bumming, a quick mis, and a threesome with one Rhynchobdellæ sat on yer face and another Arhynchobdellid blowing the pink oboe like there's no tomorrow.

Isn't it nice...

...luring southern belles into a life of vice!

Gimme Big Mac, Highs to go...

No wonder Ronald has a great big dreamy smile on his scary clownish face!

Seems that a certain popular fast food chain-smoking is offering up a bit more than just hash browns for brekkie!

Drive-Thru druggery be the order of the day (hence why the gormsters are too lazy to spell Drive Through properly!), for Certain Employess have taking to the plum coloured apparrel and flogging it to the ganja diners. Mon.

Apparently, it's a simply sign of the times. Said sign being a certain emblem of a leafy plant oft plastered on cans of piss.

No wonder Jamie Oliver had worries about them chicken McNurgotics!

Hah! As if Jamie Oliver can lecture us on grub - being brought up on gruel and picking pockets or two in exchange for snacking on Fagin's sausage! 
"Please Sir, Can I Have Some More?"
"No, Young Oliver, your mum can shove chips through the Workhouse gates. With pukka pies and crisps."
"Wikkid! Hope she throws in some Bernard Turkeyfuckerwitt Twizzlers an' all!"

Better take a leak...

Rarebits, rarebits, rarebits!