I saw a fascinating letter in the Continental Telegraph to Agatha Antigone asking for advice. There is something about it that makes me strongly suspect I know who the man of wealth and taste seeking wise counsel is… any ideas? 🤣😂😜
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More sage advice sought from Aunt Agatha…I saw a fascinating letter in the Continental Telegraph to Agatha Antigone asking for advice. There is something about it that makes me strongly suspect I know who the man of wealth and taste seeking wise counsel is… any ideas? 🤣😂😜 14 comments to More sage advice sought from Aunt Agatha… |
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Snarf! Yes, funny, and who is obvious to anyone who pays attention to the bobbing turds who populate UK politics. But the cunt in question is about as funny as having a cricket bat forced up your arse sideways. Actually, I’d pay good money to see that done to Bercow.
For sure, one of those things you need to be a Brit to understand. I agree with Bullldog, Berk-cow for sure, I’ve ground off most of my tooth enamel due to that trougher. And to think this crop of rubbish Tories is all that’s keeping the godawful Corbyn out of No.10!
Oh Amazon Amazon
The Krauts think it’s a Brabazon
The tit of Brussels thinks she can
O what a sight to see
Oh Amazon Amazon
EU may think it canazen
I think it might be also ran
I think it’s down the panezan
Brexit is Brexit
What a novel sort of exit
Remainiacs try to sexit
But cross the Bridge of Sighs
Brexit is Brexit
Whatever cometh nexit
Heraclitus suggests Grexit
Merkel’s eaten all the pies
Brexit is Brexit
Le Pen may writeth fecksit
Orbanistic orgasmestic
And wave their sad goodbyes
Exclamation!!!
Exclamation!!!
What ruin in a nation,
Literary altercation,
Sin of Onan he espies.
Exclamation!!!
Exclamation!!!
Pedantic agitation,
Poly-s’llabical oration
And who ate all the pies?
Exclamation!!!
Exclamation!!!
Socratic explanation,
Hemlockic immolation,
Will you have that with fries?
Fast and funny, smart and nimble,
is his mind, the poet thinks,
making what is complex simple,
mixing metaphors like drinks,
till becoming quite inebriate,
his speech begins to slur,
manic as a tom-cat mated,
his poems they fail to purr,
thoughts like lemming herds stampeded,
fearlessly they dash,
unrestrained by lousy software,
on pixeled screens they crash,
as slow as death and sadly humbled,
like cats that have been fixed,
static as statistics stumbled,
in metaphors he’s mixed.
A critic!
A critic!
I’d rather be syphilitic
Poetic nihilitic
Iconoclastic gitic
You can see it in their eyes.
Phoenix Park!
Phoenix Park!
Does it not have the relevance,
Of the old Aardvark,
Notastuffnotastuffnotastuffnotastuffwecannevernernernevernevernevergetenough,
But don’t think soever that Dublin can’t share,
Of Reading Gaol and Merrion Square.
Will the Brexit turn Irexit,
Ian Dury cannot tell,
But Ian Dury led to fury,
The toll asked not the bell.
Will the Brexit turn Irexit,
You’d best ask Dr Fell,
Ev’ry side will try to sexit,
And we can go to hell.
Accompanied by the Bodhrán and the Lambeg.
Isn’t it just a waiting game now?
I want some of what Terence is smoking! 😆
Isn’t this a bit like hoping Gollum will give up the Ring?
Quite so, Mr. Ed. Fat chance. Time for a bill of attainder 😉
There was a time when Speakers knew how to do their job. George Thomas, Bernard Wetherill, Betty Boothroyd were all fine. And then Blair got elected…
I think that Colonel Jeff Cooper had it right when he said that there are not many problems in the world that can’t be solved by a good man with an accurate rifle.
Though shooting the scrote through the head would likely miss his brains by about 5 foot.