Prolific WordPress Comments Writer Found Slain In Apartment

ugly woman

“GREAT POST!” Miss Bergman pictured getting on people’s nerves in happier times

A 46 year old single female, described as a “serial blog commentator”, was discovered dead in her East London flat last night. Initial reports claim that she had been shot, stabbed, poisoned, electrocuted, hanged and beaten over the head with a heavy object. Police on the scene also revealed that a huge iron weight with “1 TON” painted on the side had been dropped on top of the body.

Det Inspector Jock Birch, of The Metropolitan Police, told reporters “It looks like this poor woman may have made one comment too many. It certainly looks like there were a number of perpetrators and we have to consider the possibility that they jointly conspired to put an end to this lady’s constant stream of banal wittering on their WordPress blogs”

The deceased woman was named as Martha Bergman, unemployed, from Spitalfields East London.

A neighbour of the woman told us last night “She was a bit of a recluse to be honest. She’d stay in her flat for days on end, just commenting on people’s blogs from dawn till dusk, although I’d occasionally see her going out to get a few groceries at weekends. She would always have a tablet in her hand and be tapping away on the keyboard as she walked along. She told me once that she took it everywhere, even to the lavatory, in case one of the blogs she followed made a post that she could comment on. She did have a boyfriend a few years ago but it only lasted a couple of weeks. He told me that she made him tape a smart phone to his forehead so she could comment on WordPress while they had sex. She followed over 10,000 blogs apparently, some of them were in foreign languages too.”

We managed to contact the author of one of the blogs targeted by Mrs Bergman last night. Clivey Dee, 21, the publisher of the popular Soz Satire blog and occasional contributor to, the not so popular,  League Of Mental Men, told us

“Dead you say? Oh dear, how sad, never mind. I suppose I’ll just have to get used to being left in peace to write and publish my shit without this bastard woman making inane, unfunny, and teeth-jarringly irritating remarks, seemingly two seconds after a piece of copy has gone up on the poxy reader”

One of the people police are interested in contacting is Gary Hoadley, 97, of West Sussex, a former career criminal and now a student of quantum physics at Sussex University. We managed to track him down to his smallholding near Worthing where he told us, with what appeared to be enormous glee, “No comments. No more fucking comments!” before slamming the door in our faces.

This latest blog-related incident comes just two weeks after an elderly male blogger from the same area was attacked with an iron bar in the street by an unknown assailant. Police believe he may have upset a bereaved family by making the comment “Great Post!” in their blog tribute to their dead 93 year old mother.

Clivey

 

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A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Part 12 – The Escaped Effalent!

Woes12 01

Woes12 02Inchcocks, True Tales of Woe. Of utter failure, depression, frustration, and abject poverty. This episode relates a rather more frightening episode of his early experiences than the usual. He tells me he can still smell the aroma the emitted from the elephant when he opened his bedroom window, stuck out his head to find out what all noise and kerfuffle was, and found his head about five foot away from the elephants! This is no bull, records at the Evening Post will prove this, and Georges Stables were also used for the storing animals in advance of the Billy Smarts Circus coming to Nottingham

Inchcock will now take over and tell this true tale…

George’s horse stables were underneath the railway viaduct that supported Arkwright St Station, were at the end of our terrace of houses.

Under the arches, was where the big cats were quartered, and the actual stables were used to my knowledge over the years to pen, elephants, rhinos, horses, snakes, ponies and zebras.

As I lay in bed that fateful night, I was aroused by an indescribable noise, as I struggled to find the matches to light the candle, Dad came rushing into the room, and dragged me out, nearly knocking me out as he bashed my head against door-frame, rushed downstairs, stuffed me under the sink and shouted “Stay under there until I tell yer to move!”

He disappeared, and I knew something was amiss (I’ve always been sensitive to these things you know).

But curiosity got the better of me, and I sneaked back upstairs, and stuck my head out of the window in an effort to find out what all the commotion was… and found my head about 5ft away from the elephants head that was coming towards me!

Within about 15 seconds I was back under the sink! I can still remember the smell of that elephant!

Anyway, it transpires that the elephant was a young one that was missing his mater, so he bashed down the stable doors, walked up and down our terrace, then up Brookfield place, on the way head butting in Mrs Wing’s front door, then overturning a blokes Morgan sports car on Derwent Street, then bending a lamppost, then walked up to the Willoughby Street bridge and lifted a man up and put him on the bridge (severely injuring him in the process), turned back into Derwent Street, and charged into mother’s illegal bookies house front window, wedging himself firmly in that position! Whaling noises, and crumbling bricks indicated he was not happy being stuck where he was. Boy did he kick up a verbal commotion!

Woes12 03

Where the night-watchman got sozzled!

Billy Smart’s watchman who was supposed to be looking after the animals in the stables, was apparently in the Cricketers Rest, well sozzled!

The police fetched Mr Widdowson a man who lived on Kirkewhite Street to the scene. Mr Widdowson had worked with elephants during the war in India. Apparently he had been used before to help the police with escaped elephants, but I can only recall this one such event personally.

At this time, I had sneaked out from under the sink to have a proper look, and saw Mr Widdowson with the armed police officers.

Mr Widdowson took a quick look at it, and he said loudly over the nose of the beast; “Shoot it, it’s African” So he went with the marksmen, down the alley to the back of the house, and they broke in and he told them where to shoot it for optimum results.

Then the occupants of the house appeared from upstairs, totally oblivious of what had happened until the gun shots awoke them! (Talk about heavy sleepers?)

It seems that a neighbour saw me at the window earlier, so I got a further taste of the belt buckle and leather for disobeying daddy again by leaving the relative safety of under the sink!

Ah well…!

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A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Part 11

Woes11 police

The actual Station wot I wus ‘eld in!

Locked up in the Police Station Cells for the day

Dad thought it was a treat to take me on marathon walks occasionally. We’d take no food, just a bottle of tap water. We’d walk for miles and miles, always eventually stopping near an orchard in, Bingham, Plumtree, Ruddington, or Bunny, that sort of village-like place. Then him picking an apple or pear, then getting out his penknife and slowly, very slowly cutting off the skin, (which I got to eat) he’d slice up the apple, and I’d get my one slice… enough for a little un he’d say. Then on the way back, he’d call in the pub, bring me out a bag of crisps (with a little sachet of salt, always Smiths), open the bottle of tap water for me, then disappear back inside the pub for about three days… well it seemed like that to me. But at least he never forgot I was with him like Mother used to do. And; he always took me home – well someone had to do the housework! This trip out I went with me mate Jack – but it didn’t turn out how we’d planned it!

On one of the rare occasions that I was able to sneak out and have some fun (as I thought at the time), I joined a mate, and we walked out to Ruddington, to an orchard I’d spotted while out on one of Dad’s marathon walks earlier in the month – with the mischievous intention of scrumping some apples for ourselves.

I was up a tree, dropping the illicit apples down to Jack… when the owner appeared from nowhere…

Woes11 wallJack legged it through a small gate, but that escape route was then barred to me by the owners body by the time I’d got out and down from the tree – so I ran and jumped over a low wall of about 2ft in height, little thinking that the other side might be a drop of about 12ft into the deep mud of a field!

By the time the owner, and newly arrived police officer got down to me, the pain was slowly easing, and the bruising coming out on my face head, and shoulder.

I was unceremoniously handed up to the policeman – who told me I was to walk at the side of his push-bike back to Nottingham’s Queens Drive Police Station!

Telling me this he managed to skilfully and adeptly clip me around the head and ear-holes several times with his leather gloves, whilst pushing the bike with his other hand.

We arrived at the police station, and I was recorded by the desk sergeant, and unceremoniously placed in a bare wall station cell, with bars and door in the shape of a dome, with only concrete/brick slabs to sit on.

It reminded me of the Sheriff’s office cells in the Wells Fargo, Roy Rogers, and John Wayne cowboy films I’d seen at the flea-pit (The Grove Cinema).

But it still scared the hell out of me.

Eventually, some six hours or so later, a constable came in and removed me from the cell, telling me I was to go with Constable Merriman (and merry he certainly was not), to be taken home to Dad!

It seems somehow they knew when Dad would be arriving home.

Out of the station, then along Kirkwright Street. Again at the side of a constable and his push-bike. (A different constable this time) Who had the same excellently honed capability and skills of catching ones ankle with his pedals, clipping your ear-hole, and giving your chin a hefty accidental regular belt with the torch that hung on his tunic belt, painful, but I had to admire his skills even then as he drew blood.

As we got nearer to home, the crowds gathered as the officer took the route there via the middle of the road, down the cobbles into Brookfield Place, by then we had a group of about 12 spectators following us, then of course he (the officer) had to shine his torch in all the house windows as he passed them, and even tried out his whistle – thus the neighbours added to this spectator sport of ‘ogling the downfall of young Inchcock! ‘

He then proceeded to knock hell out of the front door, (this commotion ensured neighbours from over the end wall would not miss any of the total embarrassment of young Inchcock and also join in the ever increasing number of spectators), the door was opened by an already irate Father, because his young un had not been there to get his meal ready and light the fire when he got home, changing his face colour from normal colour, to red, blue, and back to red, as the Constable loudly explained to him: ” I’ve bought ‘this’ home ‘arry, (twisting my ear-lobe as he pushed me toward my irate looking father), caught it scrumping at William’s orchard – will you deal with it Harry?”

Dear father had got his belt off and in his hand before he’d finished replying to the Constable: “Oh eye, yer can rest assured on that one Bert!”

Three days later, I could just about manage sit down again without too much pain from my rumps losing battle with Dads infamous belt and buckle battering!

That was my first and last attempt at scrumping.

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SERIAL KILLER’S EXPEDITION ACROSS THE PENNINES WEARING JUST A PAIR OF Y-FRONTS!

jack ripper

“Well Jack its Friday night, there’s a pea-souper from the Golden Age of smog out there and you’re still indoors. What’s it all about son? Aren’t you minded to pop out and about the impoverished areas of London’s East End on one of you usual rampages of throat slashing prior to abdominal mutilations and the removal of internal organs of young ladies of the night – you enjoy it so very much.”

“No Mum I’ve given all that up.”

“Given it all up! You’re having a laugh son, surely.”

“Mother, the truth is since all the girls now carry pepper sprays, rape alarms, switch blades and some even unlicensed tasers it just isn’t a level playing field anymore. There’s no fairness in it as far as I can tell. All the fun out of serial killing has left me. I thought I’d take up a new hobby, you know instead of being Jack the Ripper I want to be known as Jack the man who braved the elements and trod the path no others have dared tread.”

“And just how do you propose to do that?”

“I’ve long since had the desire to cross the Pennines – west to east mind – in mid-winter wearing just a pair of Y-Fronts. As I see it it’s the ultimate challenge for a former serial killer you see.”

“But son you don’t even know the language up there and remember when you were a kid you used to get a nose bleed if we ever travelled north of Luton.”

“Don’t worry Mum I’ll be OK. I intend to cross the Pennines taking the most remote route the Ordnance Survey maps afford and as for the language issue, in the unlikely event I meet a local I’ll simply say ‘Ecky Thump’ as I understand that’s pretty much all they say anyway.”

“What about nourishment son – you might starve to death.”

“That is a challenge I have to face. I will fill my ruck sack with a sufficiency of Kendal Mint cake as well as a few tins of baked beans….Heinz mind……the latter to ensure I stay regular for there is nothing worse than a man on an expedition who gets bunged up.”

“Well if you’re sure Jack – you know how I worry for your safety. Even though you’ve grown up you’ll always be my little boy – you know that.”

“Yes Mum I do know that but it is time I fledged and this expedition could be the making of me. Just think I’ll be sleeping rough in the snow wearing just my underpants and facing probably the only great adventure left on this planet. I may well end up a national hero. I shall set off early tomorrow as it happens but don’t worry I’ll bring you up a cup of cha in bed in the morning before I leave so you can give me a goodbye, best of luck type kiss.”

“No mother had a better son than you Jack. I’m so proud of you Jack boy.”

 

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Where You Will Find…

Ode1 01

This Ode was created by Inchcock this morning, as he was drinking a cup of tea, applying his permethrin salve, changing his bandages and taking his multiple medications… in between visits to the WC.

Where will we find people so very temperamental?

Those who consider fiddling as fundamental?

Nasty self bias people: cruel, vile and a little mental?

Scheming people being unscrupulous and instrumental?

Slippery, deceitful, cheating, and lying elemental?

Folk who seem inhuman, arrogant and ornamental?

Where will we find them, along with nothing sentimental?

Members who find lying, and criminality just incidental?

Where will we find dangerous people, who to us are detrimental?

Those who cheat and get off scot-free, being so inscrutable,

Scum who find self interest and nepotism so ingestible,

The cream of the vain, narcissistic and pure egotistical

We’ll find them all in anything that’s Governmental!

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Letters To LOMM

josef

Dear League Of Mental Men

Invalids. Prevent yourself from “going rapidly downhill” by moving to a flat area of the world such as Holland or East Anglia.

Staff Sergeant Mildred Bastard-Cat

Mount Rushmore.

Clivey 

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A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Part Ten

Woes10 001

Dad insisted that I came home from school, cleaned out the fire grate, chopped some wood, and laid the fire in readiness for his arrival home from work, after doing my evening paper round of course.

He considered it a waste of money if I lit the fire before he got in.

Also I was to ready a meal for him – getting the money out of him was harder than climbing Mount Everest with two broken legs, being blind, and using an unfed camel as a guide-dog!

Yes, I spent many an hour at the doorstep awaiting his arrival home, looking down the row of terraced houses past the open sewers that time had forgotten about.

It could be anything from 1800hrs to 2230hrs when he would round the corner, ambling in his unrushed manner, sometimes after stopping off at the pub on the way home.

So if he’d eaten in the bar or chippie, and did not want his dinner – no, I couldn’t eat it, it had to be saved until the next night – and believe me, even in summer, and bear in mind we had no luxuries like a fridge (actually we had no luxuries at all that I can recall), he did always eat it on the next night!

Woes10 02A Penny for the Pain

Dad, being Dad, he spent nothing if it could be avoided, he even used to pull my teeth with his cobbling pliers. Lifting me above the sink to catch the blood, gritting his teeth, taking a mega-firm grip, and yanking out the offending tooth (and often the wrong one), he’d rinse out my mouth, and… and for anyone who knew him might find this hard to believe, he’d give me a ‘penny for the pain’.

Mother Returns, I do a Bunk!

Woes10 01When dear mater returned to the fold this time, the gloom returned, and I was most despondent and sorrowful. So much so, that on the first night she returned, I decided to run away!

Not exactly the best planned escape you’ve will have ever heard of.

I took a bag of crisps and a bottle of Redgate’s ‘pop’ in a Marsden’s carrier bag, and legged it out of the back door while Mother and Father were in the front room arguing as usual.

The time being around 2030hrs, I had no idea where I was going, but seem to remember having set out with great determination that I was never going to return to the violence and anger at home again.

I ended up walking down Wilford Road to Castle Boulevard from Trent Bridge, and turned onto Abbey Bridge, which was where the fear and realisation of my situation suddenly gripped me, that I was not sure why or where I was!

I Return

I changed my mind about absconding, and started to walk back to No. 4 Brookfield Place (my home), as I turned into Wilford Street, and it began to get dark, I started to panic, and began running.

That was when a black Triumph Standard car pulled up beside me, and a man shouted something I couldn’t hear properly, and I got the energy through fright, to run even faster… I turned down Traffic Street, and could hear the car following as it revved and suddenly the brakes squealed!

I shot up an entry, only to find it was a dead end, as I realised this, I felt myself being lifted into the air by a chap, and carried back out of the entry, then being slapped up against the wall by the very tall man… who said in a dominating, intimidating gruff voice, “Furse’s had been robbed earlier tonight, what have you got in that carrier bag!”

It gleaned as another man joined him from the car, that they were CID Police Officers.

I came clean, and told them I’d run away from home, but had got scared and was on my way back home, told him my address, and (as was the case in them days) he said he knew Harry (my Dad), and would take me home to prove if I was lying or not.

By now it must have been getting on for midnight.

They threw me in the back of the car, and we drove home, to find the neighbours curtains twitched, and lights coming on in the Terrace.

One police officer rattled on the door, it took a while to wake mummy and daddy up, but it seemed the rest of the occupants of the Terrace had turned out to find out what was happening!

The door opened, before anyone appeared I knew it was mother, as I saw the cigarette smoke curling around the doorframe… it appears that no one had missed me anyway!

Mummy in her own caring way belted me around the head with her slipper for getting the police involved, and then it was upstairs where I found Daddy peeling his belt from around his trousers on the chair… a couple of good clouts around the legs, preceded a good four more on the bottom.

That night I went to bed in pain and even more confused than before!

Mother Does another Bunk

The next day Mummy dear disappeared again. It seemed the policemen calling had unnerved her usual steely resolve

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I met this older woman…

Mam

I met this older woman yesterday in a café.

She looked pretty good for a 60 year old, in fact she wasn’t too bad at all.

We got on so well, we moved to a pub and drank a little more than we should have. This loosened out inhibitions somewhat.

She asked me “If I had ever had a sportsman’s double? “

I asked her what one was, and she said: “It’s a mother and daughter threesome!”

I showed my willingness to try one – wondering what her daughter might be like.

We went back to her place, and boy was I getting excited!

As we walked in, she put the light on and shouted upstairs: “Mum, are you still awake?…”

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The Magical Mysteries of Auntie Mabel – Part9

Woe901Currently a short portly-but-wobbly 67 year-old made redundant four times, dedicated NHS patient, with his new heart, arthritis, angina, prostate cancer, haemorrhoids, two hearing-aids wearing, bald, minuscule wedding tackle, knock-knees, hernia, bad eyesight, blood disorder and dizzy spells, oh… and depressed. The disasters, disappointments, successes (both of them), his failures, shattered dreams, false arrest, romantic frustrations, the rejections, inefficacious incidents, lack of education, along with the misfits misconceptions, misunderstandings, misadventures, misanalysis’, miscalculations, misinterpretations, misestimations, misfeasances, misperceptions, and miscellaneous miserable moments and occasions throughout his pathetically  unsuccessful life will be revealed. Starting at his birth intothe cruel world; that event alone was singularly distressing for all. Starting at his birth into this cruel world, that event alone singularly distressing for all.

Note I originally intended to leave this emprise out of my Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe, but decided even writing about it for the first time, brought a warm, comforting glow back to my lonely soul, so I put it in, despite the recent events in the news!

 One Friday night, mother dear gently blew her fag smoke over me, as she cleared away my dinner things, (the enamel basin, mouldy crusts of the bread, and the empty Oxo cube foil) and spoke to me for the first time in two days, asking: “Would you like to go and stay with Auntie Mabel for a few days? She’s got a shed and garden you can play in?”

Perplexed by this magnificent offer, as I wasn’t aware of having an Auntie Mabel, I thought about the proposal, and thought it might be about time I spread my wings beyond the end of the terrace – so I gingerly accepted the invite, (unsure if it was actually an invite or an order to go) with reservations lingering about who the hell ‘Auntie Mabel’ was. (I’ve certainly never heard of her before or after this wonderful escapade).

So, that night, Mummy put a tea shirt, socks and undies into a ‘Marsden’s carrier bag, and off we went on a number 24 West Bridgford Urban District Council bus into the grand ‘Bread & Lard’ island of West Bridford.

We dropped off somewhere near the canal. Then I was marched more than walked towards somewhere at Trent Lane end, and into the massive gardens of a foreboding big dark gardened house.

As mummy dear knocked on the door, it was opened immediately, with the ‘welcoming’ smiling robustly built woman (Auntie Mable), ushering us in, and down the steps to the downstairs kitchen. As we arrived in this kitchen, I knew something was very different to what I was used to… I thought for a while, and realised what it was, it had food in it!

I waited for the woman and precious mummy to conduct some business that involved the woman opening her purse and handing mater some cash. (This was not unusual, it’s the other way around that I cannot recall ever seeing happening).

So, with a quickly shouted: “Now you behave yerself for Auntie Mabel, she’ll bring yer back on Monday”, off she went, leaving little me sat on a stool sucking my thumb.

This heavily scented ‘Auntie Mabel approached, and offered me food the likes as I had never seen before, as she rubbed her hand up and down my young skinny legs.

* I liked that, but didn’t know why, but I liked it!

I was given a knife and fork to use, but didn’t know how to – this didn’t disturb ‘Auntie Mabel’ at all, as she produced some cake and ice-cream – again food I was unused to, but relished.

I was then taken upstairs, by the red faced, heavily lipsticked, nice smelling, plump, polite, slightly scary ‘Auntie Mabel’, who thought I could do with a bath. A real luxury here, and I didn’t have to bath myself – she saw to that.

*I liked that too, but didn’t know why!

I became aware that certain areas of my anatomy were receiving a lot more attention than the rest of my puny underfed, scrawny body was.

* Again I liked that, but didn’t know why!

The drying off was with real towels too! Again certain areas got dried off with more attention than other areas.

* I liked that too, but still didn’t know why!

‘Auntie Mabel decided as she was drying me off, that she’d like to take some photographs to remember me by, and this took about 2½ hours, what with all the “Must get you in the best position and lighting ‘my dear’!

* I liked that, but didn’t know why!

Time for bed she decreed, “Do you sleep with your mummy at home?” No chance I thought, but just squeaked a mild “No”. She replied: “Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”

* I liked that idea, but hadn’t the vaguest idea why!

“Please” I muttered. I found out that the reason she was on her own, was that her husband was away on business, so we had to keep ourselves company so we don’t get lonely! She said. No chance of that, I think we must have spent about 24 hours in bed! Still, I’ve always been up for getting educated.

* I liked that, and was beginning to understand why! Oh happy memories!

When we eventually rose up from bed, me being very sore, confused, but absolutely ecstatic, it was into the bathroom for another two hours.

* I loved that, but now I was still beginning to learn why.

Then into the kitchen, for more food, (I must have eaten the equivalent to a months supply at home in three days) The whole stay at ‘Auntie Mabel’s” consisted of the same and similar treatment.

* I liked that, but didn’t know why, but have been eternally grateful ever since!

I just hated it when it was all over and Auntie Mabel returned me home on Monday, offering one last concealed gentle caress and a couple of well aimed gropes as I entered the house.

How I begged to be taken back to see ‘Auntie Mabel’ again – but as mysteriously as she appeared in my life, she had heart-breakingly gone from it.

I spent the next two weekends searching to see if I could find her house again, but to no avail.

Dad said had never heard of any Auntie Mabel either.

I still have my young memories of ‘Auntie Mabel’.

* I liked that, and now I do know why!

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Today’s Weather For Facebookers

weather man

“There’s an area of heavy irony moving in from East London babes. Wuff oo!” xoxoxoxoxo.

 

There will be widespread LOLs across the entire region this morning followed by intermittent ((((((HUGS))))) and a few scattered cat pictures.

In the afternoon a deep depression will settle over most parts with a number of boxes containing plagiarised words of wisdom and earnest political dogma, these may bring occasional blurred pictures of hideous looking offspring becoming widespread in some areas.

Towards evening there could be varying amounts of private messages, some of which could be quite heavy, with prolonged attachments containing small amounts of male genitalia bringing long spells of dryness in the female gusset region. Testosterone levels will be particularly low in this area.

Overnight there will be periods of light to heavy vomiting with occasional heavy bursts of incontinence as an area of lager, combined with fizzy white wine, settles over the entire region. These could be interspersed with the odd outbreak of cyber bullying, coupled with intermittent gay threats of violence from blokes with biceps like squashed Jaffa Cakes, and with occasional bursts of light female crying in low IQ areas.

Tomorrow will see another deep depression moving into the region with occasional bed sheet changing which in turn will give way to some thundery outbreaks and high winds in the south resulting in brief periods of furtive underwear hiding.

The outlook for the week ahead is for more of the same but with occasional bursts of yawn-inducing birthday messages combined with the odd crass spelling error and attention-seeking suicide threat.

And now here’s the outlook for the week ahead in WordPress:

It’s a particularly gloomy picture here, with widespread, fawning, “likes” and “follows” moving in, followed by a  deep area of low intelligence and zero self-esteem. Right from the word go there will long outbreaks of truly appalling copy and absolutely risible poetry, bringing heavy gales of laughter, coupled with sporadic periods of taking the piss, particularly in the London area.

And now on Channel 5, it’s time for Big Brother, a programme about a number of beetle-browed, limp dick cretins and surgically “enhanced”, desperate prostitutes, all cooped up together in a house that should really be bombed by the American Air Force with them in it.

Clivey

 

 

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