Calamitous day at the pub

I have the most dreadful news to tell you. The small infestation by the Common or Garden Cunt (Mingicus Sativus Hortense) has now reached epidemic proportions. We had all believed that the outbreak was well under control, so I feel shattered to have to tell you the following:
When I went to the pub yesterday Cunt the Sixth was there. What was even worse is that there was also a completely new cunt, Cunt the Seventh (magnitude 2-3). This cunt is comparatively new to the area. He has a gormless expression, nosy eyes, and nothing to talk about. That doesn't seem to bother him at all, the cunt. He talks in short sentences with an acceptable pause in between utterances. By this he hopes that you will respond to him. Well I don't respond, when all he can talk about with appalling monotony is bollocks, shite or both. He is also inventive in what he presents as real experiences. I'm sure my friends' six-year-old son with aspergers wouldn't tell such stupid fibs, after all he wouldn't feel the need to. I must try and pretend to be foreign one day, so that he won't talk to me. The cunt is so stupid he'll probably believe that I have become foreign, although his chances of learning Malayalam are probably slim, since he seems to struggle so terribly with English. .
I am getting sick and tired of cunts. I wish the seven that use our pub would all fuck off together and annoy the tits off each other, instead of us.