Youri McAnespie

Don’t you reside in a garage whilst some well-endowed successful black geezer is shacked up in the house? My skips are bought for and paid for and worth considerably more than your Horwich hovel.

He's a fat, scruffy, unfaithful, untrustworthy, lying, lazy buffoon cunt. With a child bride. He's also a whoremaster using our money, with obese American whores.

With about 200 SAS covering his fat arse, they also needed interpreters to explain Defeffal's waffling to Zelensky - who speaks concise English fluently. As an aside I also noticed most refugees offered refuge in homes here seemed to be tidy blonde girls in their twenties.

I've never understood why walk-up gippers, parents with kids etc. elect to go in crazy corner, during little sam, Megson, Coyle, Freedman, Lenny, Parky and Hill's respective reigns of horror I'd offer encouragement during the game, but aim a stream of expletives tourettes like toward the dug-out at the final whistle after another piss poor defeat - they'd look at me like I was Gary Glitter (real name: George O' Dowd) - well fuck off to the WSU if you don't like it. Can you do an accumulater on us drawing 1-1 every game to the end of the season?

I paid less than two hundred quid last month for utilities, insurance and council tax. But you can go swimming in a scummy lodge and get freebie tickets for Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and hobnob with Max Von Sydow's nephew. Whilst paying another bloke's mortgage to the tune of £4k a month whilst he lies in the pool of his Spanish Hacienda like a fat blob laughing at you and the other mugs he lets to.

Town is BL1.

They were on the till conveyor belt, I'd forgot Bran Flakes and went to get some, I saw some dirty gypsy putting them in his tinfoil bag. He was a shambles, dressed in filthy 'Tapout' and 'Lonsdale' rags. He had about six snot nosed undernourished kids and an obviously brutalised wife in tow. I didn't have the heart to deny them a decentish meal for once. I asked the checkout girl about him, she said he'd let slip he was taking his caravan down south, there was more opportunities for unchallenged burglaries, shoplifting and theft from building sites there.

Why would I mooch up to Astley Bridge when the houses I own are in BL1 and BL3? If you want to pay £15 for a tiny rat mithered box of diced pork, a stick of lemongrass, two shallots, three cloves of garlic and god knows what in plastic sachets - knock yourself out... I shop anywhere, wherever I'm passing. I don’t use apps wherever possible to stop data mining parasites.

I had a gander - the meals looked as appetising as a pool of vomit from a vagrant who'd not ate for a week then been bought a takeaway by a charitable soul, but the tramp's stomach rejected it. Fifteen quid for two, a box worth about a fiver, covered in rat urine and faeces from the unhygienic depot, then you still have to cook it.

That Helen Chamberlain did a shoot for a lad's mag when she was moderately attractive and didn't look like Zelda from Terrahawks. She had the Torquay crest tattooed on her arse. I bet she swallowed more Torquay players' jizz back then than Marc Almond did with sailors.

A phone, should it matter? Just purely shite coding, buggy as fuck.Whatsmore a Jar of pickles instore - 30p, a jar online - branded £1.19. Everything online is the branded dear stuff. Anyhow, fuck 'em, they never have Guinness Original instore so nailed on they'd have sent draught instead.

Guinness is £12 for 12, it's six quid for 4 at the corner shop.

Their website is utterly shite, you fuck around for half an hour buying overpriced shit then go to pay and it tells you your card which expires in 2025 and you used not but four hours ago in the corner shop is 'expired' - fucking twats, Nic will be elated they mined my data when I signed up, tossers.

Rats nest under them, knaw on the insulation and drink the water.

He did, he went to the 'Special School' on Highfield Road near Cherry Tree.

And gaudy Adidas trainers that favver carpet slippers that they kipped all night on the pavement outside Size? to buy for £800. Their monthly wage. The manufacturer made them for 69p a pair.

West End Shows = Bag o' Shite, I inadvertently put some reboot of 'Jesus Christ Superstar' on once recently, it was awful, my parents dragged me to the live original once as a nipper - I think I fell asleep five minutes in. My mate's mam (dunno, she wears baggy jumpers) has seen 'The Phantom ot Th'Opera' about twenty times and has loads of tat from the shows, thanks to your lot.

When I was a kid I'd ring random American numbers and claim, in a cod Russian accent to be Vladimir Scheronosky of 'The Communist Party of America' and ask them for their address and details to send literature and pamphlets on Communism. They universally rose to the bait.

I meant your average British bum who just wants to drive a cab, be a short order cook or simply sign on welfare the minute they get off the flight (and register for free cheese).

I thought Brits couldn't apply for green cards or has he kept an Indian passport of convenience? Or they (septics) hand them out like confetti to billionaires and their kept bogeyed midget husbands. I'm surprised he's not topped her in some inept way to be with his gay lover and to inherit her fortune, that's what they normally do.

You've had eighteen phones stolen at knifepoint this year alone, groups of youths pelt your girl hair with chips and heckle you on the night bus, and you look out the window and think happy thoughts about collating data from 'Jersey Boys' attendees - you daren't confront them as you know you'll be 'shanked' (by da yoot not the Jersey Boys attendees).

I've had a number one for about seventeen years, you piss off to Canvey Island and play walking football.

High on the left, he catches he doesn't bowl.

It is common knowledge - amongst idiots who mash their clumsy paws to post on social media. I know it's bollocks as I applied to have my house exempt, in a Joey Boswell style, claiming it was a Satanic Palo Mayombe Worship temple and they told me to fuck off.

"She plans to eventually return to India..." Send the bugger back, send the bugger back, she isn't the type we wanted so we should send her right back. Sunak teams up his £3000 'sliders' and white socks with 'shag tags' on his wrist - he probably yearns to have one ear pierced.