Mind yr language boy, i’m ashamed to be your father. jeremy kyle
Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was 1850. Here, take this top hat, pop it on your fucking manners and send them the fuck off to boarding school. Don’t you dare condescend to me with your face like a constipated fucking heron. Do you want me to staple your cock to the table? Do you?
Another message. This time from someone styling themselves ‘Michael Barrymore’. Wow, that joke never gets old does it? Anyway, Michael says:
I’ll eat your nob with my arse. again.
I’m going to take a digression. A couple of years ago some kid in the street decided to comment on the fact I was wearing a pink shirt. My response in my imagination was,
I’m not taking fucking fashion tips from someone wearing a black fucking tracksuit. So you can take your advice, paint a target on its ass and send out to Afghanistan. And when it comes back shot full of holes I’ll use it to strain my fucking tea.
What I actually said was,
Fuck you!
Which I think makes up in brevity what it lacks in invention. My point being I’m not going to take advice on insults from a rank fucking novice. The only way your ass would ever get near my knob is if it was cleaned so hard it fucking shone. I mean they’d have to hose it down, shave it, wax it, hose it again, get liposuction, colonic irrigation, hose it again, cut it off you and graft it on to somebody hot. And then I might just think about it. You know, once the scars and shit had gone down. But otherwise no fucking deal.
A new comment! A new comment that isn’t advertising! A new comment that isn’t gibberish! Praise be,
alright mate, still up for tuesday?
Oh.
Is that it?
No, wait there’s more. It’s a bit more subtle than that. It’s signed by… get this… someone calling themselves Gary Glitter.
So use the name of a notorious pervert, suggest they’re familiar with me, thereby imply I might be a nonce too. Genius. Almost.
Except that if I ever fucking see you I’ll knock your teeth so far back down your fucking throat you’ll have to eat with your arse.
Big fucking difference, yeah? You eat like a chimps’ fucking teaparty anyway. Speaking of which, isn’t time you went back to sitting in the window wanking?
Well this is quite the most boring insult anyone’s ever posted.
This site is ass! I’ve got pubes half washed down the shower drain that could put a better site together. Nice premise though… Comment and Insult. A guy I worked with (that constantly got picked on) had the same idea. He’s was the kinda guy that swore he took regular showers, yet still had the pungent smell of spit and shitty drawers about him and his breath had the same shitty drawers smell, just not as strong thankfully. His nails were bitten down to the cuticle, yet he always managed to scrape the largest boogers you’ve ever seen away from the walls of his nostrils. His hair was greasy like he just finished washing it in a deep-fat fryer, yet he had massive dandruff…. HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN?! Anyway, his mother came to pick him up every day (he was only 34 afterall). She’d step out of the car in a ratty translucent night slip with curlers in her hair wearing a pair of trailer park slippers (The ones that cost $1.99 at K-Mart). Yeah… this guy got fucked with alot. Wait a minute… That you Fred? If so… Fuck you loser! And if not you’re still a douche!
You’ve got pubes half washed down the drain? Have you tried cleaning your shower you dirty fuck?
‘He was the kinda guy that swore he took regular showers … his breath had the same shitty drawers smell … not as strong thankfully.’ Wait, were you sleeping with this guy? You seem to care an awful lot about his grooming, and you’re pretty familiar with his breath. What’s up, you get dumped? Tell your fucking therapist, save it for the novel, whatever. Don’t bother me with your boo-hoo bullshit. I don’t care, I’m not Fred.
If you ever burden me with your personal shit again I’ll track you down, jam an umbrella up your cock, and open it whenever it rains. And it rains a lot in Manchester. Do you want an umbrella up your cock? Yeah, didn’t think so.
It’s been quiet here because the standards of insults has been so cocking awful. I have a nonagenarian moderate this shit you know, and he hasn’t bothered to look up from pissing himself and idly poking his flaccid cock in six months.
Adverts and shit that doesn’t make any sense. That’s all that’s come through since April. I thought he’d fucking died, but no, it’s just that no one can be bothered to compose a sentence anymore.
Eventually in desperation I’ve had to pull out this feeble effort from some white teenager pretending he’s tough through the medium of homophobia and misogyny. Sorry Tarquin, you don’t fool me. But, since I have space to fill you got lucky.
Hear me now.
Thanks for the share. ‘Tuppy Ragga vol6′ realy made my Oomahn open her eyes and look. Big it up batty rider.
Ease the pressure papa.
Yours Sincerely.
Cutty Ranks.
Really? Is that the best you can do? You’ve had fucking months and the best insult that atrophied testicle you use for a brain can come up with is batty rider? It’s not the 19-fucking-80s anymore. I’m going to come round your house with two fax machines and a stack of paper and I’m going to stuff one fax machine so far up your arse it’ll puncture a lung. Then I’m going to staple a message to your bollocks and use the other fax machine to send it to your colon. And it’s going to say ‘Don’t try to fuck with me, because if you do I’m going to fuck you back. I’m going to fucking fuck you back so fucking hard it’ll break your fucking spine. Now fuck off back to kindergarten. Go on, off you fuck, down the yellow prick road, you cowardly cock-end piece of shit.’
An almost certainly fictitious person whose irritating website will probably fuck your computer beyond use writes:
Hello, I can’t understand how to add your blog in my rss reader
Yeah, right. Visiting from the ’90s are you? How are you finding the modern world? A bit confusing? Penis. No, make that dribbling penis. No, make that TINY shrivelled dribbling penis. I don’t want you to add my RSS. I want you to go back to your dial-up prehistory and stop bothering me.
Don’t you have pornography to be downloading? Go on, fuck off, and get a decent browser while you’re at it.
What does it say at the top of the page?
Well, I’m waiting.
That’s right, it says, You leave a comment. I insult you. Simple. Cockend.
So where are all the bastard comments? I have a life. I’m a reasonable man. I’m actually kind of chilled… Well until something annoys me, like some dick-swinging arsewipe driving past on a quad bike without a helmet, Ooh look at me making a noise. Yeah whatever. Your bike’s got four wheels, what’s up with that? Can’t manage two wheels? Think you might fall off? Dick. Why don’t you go have a fatal accident you obnoxious turd?
Like I was saying, I’m a reasonable man. Mostly. It’s not easy for me to get irritated over nothing you know. Especially since I chucked my TV out. But anyway this isn’t about me, it’s about you. You write something inane here – or even better something clever – and I come and give your teeth a virtual kicking.
Well?
Ooh, look at me I can type. I’m so fucking clever. Look, I can swear: wank shit fuck bollocks arse-gravy dick cock knob shit for brains fuckwit etc.
I mean I could have friends and a social life and leave the house from time to time and learn a real skill and maybe get a job that used my brain and didn’t encourage me to start up a new site every five minutes… but then I might actually have to make an effort.
Thank you internet, for bringing me unfunny viral comedy, phishing scams, and constant fucking spam for weird pornography I never want to hear about much less see. I’m so fulfilled by staring at a screen all day I barely notice the myriad musculoskeletal disorders that mean I have to be propped against a wall like a bundle of sticks in order to sleep.
I hate you all.
Homeopathy. Always good for a laugh. Remedies i.e. magic water made from stones, scorpions and shipwrecks to name my favourite examples. By made from I mean you sample your stone, scorpion or shipwreck, and alternately shake the liquid then dilute it until not a trace of the stone, scorpion or shipwreck remains. The water apparently remembers the health-giving properties of the stone, scorpion or shipwreck at the same time as it’s forgetting the much greater quantities of salt, shit and fish that have bobbed around in it. Now this is all very amusing and fills a badly needed niche for remedies made from stones, scorpions and shipwrecks that mainstream medicine and pharmaceutical company have unaccountably failed to investigate. It is, as they say, all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Unfortunately some homeopaths have a tendency to act like a sharpened stick running through an eye factory.
They may for instance decide to carry out unethical trials to see whether their magic water derived from a stone, scorpion or shipwreck can treat HIV more effectively than Antiretroviral drugs (clue: it can’t, it’s water you fucking cretin). Or they may encourage people to believe that their magic water is more effective than vaccination (clue: it isn’t, it’s water you fucking cretin). The trouble with this sort of behaviour is that it can harm people. Like harm them to death.
Gnnaah. Fucking charlatans.
Snow in February in the Northern Hemisphere. What a fucking surprise, hey? I mean it’s not like that ever happened before is it? But no, according to the news media it’s the end of the world, an absolutely unpredictable affront to decent people everywhere.
You rotting stumps of tortured idiocy, you unutterable buffoons. You do realise that if the Northern Drift stops or moves as a result of climate change then Britain will probably have a climate more in keeping with its latitude don’t you? Idiots.
Sometimes the unadulterated stupidity of the news forces me to stick a coat hanger in my ear and remove a little more brain. At the current rate I’ll be roughly as backwards as a member of the Royal Family by Christmas.
