Saturday, 18 January 2014

A gynaecology lesson (Please let me explete)

Dear reader, if you are offended by bad language, please stop reading now. If you decide to read on but are subsequently mortified, you will have no option but to report me to either the Archbishop, the Daily Sport, or both. I want to be entirely candid in my blogs.
Today's lesson is all about cunts. There is a rare and very annoying species of person that frequents my favourite pub, namely the Common or Garden Cunt. Their characteristics are as follows: hyper-loquaciousness, boring and inane subject matters, the inability to come to a point, the inability to detect when the listener is drifting into a coma, complete unawareness of the fact that one is totally hacked off with the monologue, and they have delusions of intellectual greatness, having achieved at least one cse, the 25 yard certificate, or having no qualifications at all. They only speak one sentence all night, and sentences range from twenty minutes (Novice Cunts) to eight hours (1st Magnitude Cunts). In appearance they are slovenly and uninspiring. In fact they generally look like they have been knitted. They have a sallow complexion coupled with a fixed and manic gaze.
Cunt the First (Magnitude 1): I have come to dread this cunt. He always latches onto my new brother and I. My brother and I spend time both talking and being quiet. We are comfortable and content being autistic together. Well this cunt always sits himself where we are. He talks over us (he is very loud) and doesn't even stop for breath. He is atrocious. His favourite subjects are toy train sets and railway timetables. He has sometimes left my brother and I feeling quite traumatised, one example of which is when he started talking at 6pm and still hadn't finished at 2am. He even followed my brother to the toilet to carry on talking; my brother was in the cubicle and the cunt stood outside. YUGH. I lost my temper with this cunt. I said "You are a cunt". Do you know what, he just carried on talking.
Cunt the Second (Magitude 1-2): He is not such an advanced cunt as Cunt the First, despite many decades' experience. Don't be deceived, though, as he is quite pernicious. He arrives in a terrible state, having got himself completely wankered on cider at another establishment. He stands in the middle of whoever is present, just to make sure he has a captive audience. He draws everyone who is present into his conversation. I don't make any eye contact and don't respond to him, even when he keeps addressing me. He gets so drunk that he pisses himself without knowing it. The other day the landlord and I had to mop up after him. His monologues are so strange and hare-brained that we generally have a good laugh. On one occasion I heard this cunt taking the mickey out of my younger friend from the Odd Bunch, and I completely lost it. I gave him a right mouthful.
Cunt the Third (Novice): I saw this person yesterday for the first time. He's obviously just started out on the path to cuntdom, as he only lectured me for twenty minutes before leaving. He went on and on for over twenty minutes about things I wasn't even remotely interested in. In fact I wasn't even listening. My foot was tapping and I remember looking at the floor. He just wouldn't shut up.
The cunts always latch onto my brother and I. They are like psychological vampires and completely sap your energy and confidence. You feel like you have been psychologically raped. I made a suggestion to my brother that we both found amusing. Why don't I make two placards to wear round our necks with the words "If you are a cunt, please come and talk to me".
Here endeth the gospel according to St Cunt.



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