Want a place to sound off, without a reply? post here.......

#82
Why the fcuk is it that if I am saddled with some retard who is incapable of eating quietly. Schlurp ..... munch ... crunch ... smack .... schlurp .... smack .... FFS shut the fcuk up - you want me to ram your plate into your face you ignorant tw4ts.

However, if I start to take the piss or, as some form of defence mechanism to calm my nerves, and make a noise when I eat, why the fcuk does the wife give me sh1t about my eating habits ....

AAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHH
 
#83
Some ****** has nicked my rum wheat and it ain't friggin funny.
No one will own up to it and I'm really really pissed about it. Give it fuckin back.
 
#84
Joggers?

What the flying-frigging-fanny-farting-f**k are they on? There's always some lycra clad lunatic
pounding the fu**ing pavement, sweating like a bas*ard...trying to drink Isotonic-Build-up-water
from one of them bleedin' plastic water bottles with the "special handle". It's either one solitary
galloping mong - man-boobs jiggling like f**k, hurtling along, looking like he's about to have a
fu**ing stroke, or it's one of the other numb-nut stereotypes. Them cruel twats that make their
DOG hurtle along with 'em should be immediately mown down by the first passing motorist, and
the sweaty 3 foot 2 inch tall female MUNTERS who gallop in groups - whipping pedestrians in the
face with their ginger pony tails, whilst valiantly attempting to keep their enormous tits inside
their Primark Sports Bras need to be dropped onto airport runways from the back of a specially
chartered Chinook. All joggers are bas*ards. Run round your own f*cking garden a few million
times at three in the morning if you must, but leave the pavements to us who wish to w-a-l-k
to where we are trying to get to, rather than you lot who want to run as far away from your
front door as is possible.....then run back to it. WTF???

The next f*cking jogger that flecks me with saliva and sweat, who is also dragging the family dog
behind him/her is going to get a pair of NHS crutches upside the head
 
#85
And another one - blokes in gym changing rooms who believe that they have to prove their machoness by grunting at every exertion as they get changed either in to or out of sports rig.

You sound like twats not hard men. Probably closet wooftahs and trying to deny the truth to themselves.
 
#86
The back roads of Devon and Cornwall, and the places they take you.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Are they all MAD down here at the end of the civilised world then? I have cause to have to drive me, the
wife and five Grandkids to various fun-filled locations dotted around these two counties and the f**ing
places are more often than not hidden up/down some back lane they call a ROAD that isn't fit
to push a wheelbarrow full of cow-shit along. Someone long ago must've given a gang of pastie scoffing,
straw chewing in-bred Oooooo-Arrrrrrrrrs a big bag full of shovels and pickaxes and told 'em to put
some roads in between all them-they villages. Well - off they went with their newly acquired tools, and
the first thing the simps did was dig STRAIGHT DOWN at least seven feet in between the fields and then
I am assuming they all started to get completely pissed on cider because they commenced to weave
about in a slap-dash manner - going back on themselves - making the "road" narrower and narrower
until you couldn't get an anorexic flock of sheep down the bloody thing.
"'ERE!!! OWWW FARRRRR 'TIS IT BETWEEN PEMBURTHY-CUM-TREHOOLICK AND PORT WRINKLE THEN???
"BOUT TWO MOILES AS THEM-THEY CROWS FLOY...."
"ROIGHT!! GET ZUM BENDS IN THIS ROAD THEN!! OI WANT IT TO BE AT LEAST TWENTY TWO MOILES AND DIG DOWN
FURTHER. OI DON'T WANT 'EM TO SEE WHAT'S CUMMIN' ROUND THEM-THEY FIFTY-THREE BENDS WE GOING TO PUT IN!"
The peasants basically dug trenches - very bendy - very narrow trenches with shed-loads of hairpin
bends in 'em and made f***ing certain that all the dead ends were clearly NOT marked. You can
forget doing a 3-point turn, or any other recognised manoeuvre if you end up bumper to bumper
with some f***ing yokel on a tractor, towing a liquid shit-sprayer, and as for ending up in a Mexican
Stand-off with a Volvo driving, caravan tugging retired couple from up North who have advanced
senile dementia...it's best just to abandon your car and walk out of the place leaving the old gits
to die, stranded in their Bailey Scorpio as they slowly run out of tea and digestive biscuits. Then
there's the local Cornish Chav (A "Chavnish"), who believes he "knows the roads loike the back of
his hand...."
These mono-browed people with oddly sloping foreheads scream along at a ridiculous speed and
as you see 'em approaching you start to mutter quietly under your breath;
"We are all going to die........we are all going to die.......he's going to HIT us......."
Now you know that the crap-track you are on goes directly to *Mister Pasties Adventure Park*,
and the kiddies want a nice day out. The f***er hurtling towards you is going to spoil their treat
by smacking into you and wiping you off the face of the planet. Just as your pucker closes up
really-really tight....the deranged lunatic zooms right past you, missing the wing mirror by about
three microns. F**k knows how they do it...but they f***ing do. DO NOT TRUST YOUR SATNAV
DOWN HERE EITHER! The smarmy electronic bastard will take you up lane and down dirt-track
until you wind up in a village called *TREVAN-CHEEZIE-AMMY-EGGIE", where the locals will
lynch you and sacrifice you in order to have a good crop of turnips next Summer. Ensure you've
got enough petrol or diesel for the mystery trip as well........all Devon and Cornwall back road
petrol staions are f***ing shut. They're covered in graffiti (pentagrams, large wicker men, and dead
chickens usually), and their forecourts are usually surrounded by tattered ribbons of blue and
white tape stating *POLICE - MURDER ENQUIRY - DO NOT CROSS*, which is a bit off-putting
to say the least. That's it really. When you have eventually found your way to wherever you and
your children wanted to get to, there will be no place to park (if it's near a beach), or it'll be a
tyre-shredding drive up the vertical side of a field that resembles the North face of K2 and
a three hour wait to actually get into *Mister Pasties Adventure Park* owing to the fact that
thousands and thousands of wasps are running riot in the place, stinging all the kids because
they're all f***ing covered in melted choc ices and f***ing Slush-Puppies. Stop for a refreshing
pint at some 500 year old local pub on the way home? I hope you are not more than three-and
-a-half foot tall because you'll be twatting your head off all the f***ing solid oak beams in the ceiling
if you're of normal height. So enjoy your day out! You'll come back home threaders, with a few boxes
of locally made fudge and all the time you will be praying to all the Gods in Heaven and Hell that
there's enough petrol/diesel fumes left in the tank to get you to some place that actually SELLS
petrol or diesel...and is not a Hand Car Wash or a one time Crime Scene that got five minutes footage
on *The South West Today* a while back. I realise that this'll probably upset you local yokels.....
but seein' as I'm originally from East Yorkshire (which is f***ing FLAT and most of the roads go
in a straight fu**ing line), it's in my DNA to be a tight, miserable twat.
Deal with it.
I'm off to *HENDRA touring caravan park* on Wednesday with the entire tribe. God help me.
* * * * * *
 
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#87
'Chillax'......I really hate the word and my wife knows it and keeps saying it....if she's not careful she's going to be 'Chillaxing' 6ft under the feckin veggie patch.
:)
 

wet_blobby

War Hero
Moderator
#89
Fcuking fcuktard fuckwit fcuking fcukwads who tottle about at 70kph then have the fcuking neck to call the log truck "we give a fcuk...honest" phone number on the back of our trucks when we overtake the fcuknobs.

Fcuking knobcheese fcukarrses need fcuking shooting.

I'll stop there before I get upset and fcuk my karma.
 
#91
Since they refurbished the school behind my house a year or so ago - the road outside at the front
gets festooned with mummies'n'their'motors at about 15:00 every day - Monday to Friday. The Main
exit from the school is only three doors up, so I guess it's easier for all the yapping mammas to be
able to park as close to the exit that their brats will come hurtling through in order to retrieve them
and sod off home. I do not have a problem with them ensuring that their offspring are safe, don't
even mind too much that I may have to park a wee bit further away from the house for half an
hour or so if I'm coming home.
What gets me, is that EVERY one of the mummies that shows up in whatever motor vehicle they
be driving, is a God-awful munter from beyond the grave and they all resemble something thats
been force-fed chicken nuggets since the age of six. I mean......where's all the yummy-mummies
at?? Certainly not parked up outside my house. I've got to endure a procession of Swamp-dogs
in summer shorts or cheesecloth skirts and it 'aint a pretty site. Surely there must be some reasonable
flange about...........but none of 'em registered their f***ing kids at this new school, and I feel
thoroughly seen off. There's nowt nice to peruse through the living room windows except gi-naggerous
women, who, when wobbling past the window manage to duplicate a total eclipse of the sun because
of their incredible bulk, thereby plunging my lounge into darkness. Unfair! Unfair!
I'd like to look at something nice before I piss of on Night-shift but all I get is a stampede of warthogs
chain-smoking roll ups. The term "yummy-mummies" does NOT apply to my area, but I'm hopeful that
a new term will bring some better eye-candy for my perusal. I can only hope.

B.N.M.
 
#92
To end with, I fu**ing hate working for a living. Been up since 13:00 yesterday afternoon.
Knackered, topped up with tea and £1.99 TESCO microwave meals. Feel like two ton of
shit shoved into a a one ton bag. You bastards are all snoring your manky heads off and
I've got to drive home without killing myself...or any other sad ball-sack on their way to
work as I'm motoring home. There HAS to be a fu**ing better life than this...ohh and
the morning movie on Sky Movies is *The 300 Spartans* which is 100% Hollywood 1960's
dogs vomit. Please feel free to offer me your sympathy.

Luv'n'Shiftwork,

B.N.M.

X X X
 
#93
Find a yummie mummie in Sunny Saffway ? You might as well look for 3 virgins in Swilly or 3 wise men in Efford. Been in this shithole since '79 and still looking !!!!
 
#94
BNM...Sympathy can be found between syphyllis and syncophancy, you deserve neither acolade, you are by your own definition "between a rock and a hard place" which equates to Pompey rating. Not only that but you and your tribe have ruined Hendra holiday park, in Newquay, drank all of our soft clear water and polluted the seas around our coastline. The entire holiday probably cost you no more than £2.50p and was of no benefit to the local community who strive to give septics, like yourself a "good time". You and your family amble up and down the streets without any idea why we put pavements on each side of the road, and look suprised when locals want to pass by your putreant half naked obese sweating bodies in our cars.
You clearly choose shiftwork because the roads will be less crowded and there will be less chance of hitting the occasional pedestrian due to your inadequate driving experience and lack of attention to detail. Also doing shiftwork will suit your obvious lack of personal skills.
On reflection Billy, I'm not really having a go at you, or your kin. But it does go somewhat towards easing the pain I now feel having FORGOTTEN MY WIFES BIRTHDAY TODAY.:sign3:
 
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#95
BNM...Sympathy can be found between syphyllis and syncophancy, you deserve neither acolade, you are by your own definition "between a rock and a hard place" which equates to Pompey rating. Not only that but you and your tribe have ruined Hendra holiday park, in Newquay, drank all of our soft clear water and polluted the seas around our coastline. The entire holiday probably cost you no more than £2.50p and was of no benefit to the local community who strive to give septics, like yourself a "good time". You and your family amble up and down the streets without any idea why we put pavements on each side of the road, and look suprised when locals want to pass by your putreant half naked obese sweating bodies in our cars.
You clearly choose shiftwork because the roads will be less crowded and there will be less chance of hitting the occasional pedestrian due to your inadequate driving experience and lack of attention to detail. Also doing shiftwork will suit your obvious lack of personal skills.
On reflection Billy, I'm not really having a go at you, or your kin. But it does go somewhat towards easing the pain I now feel having FORGOTTEN MY WIFES BIRTHDAY TODAY.:sign3:


Show her this, the first of your surprises.


Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday Mrs Buck,
Happy Birthday to you.

:eek:ccasion9::party::eek:ccasion8::eek:ccasion7::eek:ccasion6::eek:ccasion4:
And then later a promise of this:sex:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MRS BUCK
 
To end with, I fu**ing hate working for a living. Been up since 13:00 yesterday afternoon.
Knackered, topped up with tea and £1.99 TESCO microwave meals. Feel like two ton of
shit shoved into a a one ton bag. You bastards are all snoring your manky heads off and
I've got to drive home without killing myself...or any other sad ball-sack on their way to
work as I'm motoring home. There HAS to be a fu**ing better life than this...ohh and
the morning movie on Sky Movies is *The 300 Spartans* which is 100% Hollywood 1960's
dogs vomit. Please feel free to offer me your sympathy.

Luv'n'Shiftwork,

B.N.M.

X X X
I know how you feel, you've just returned to work after many weeks off and it may take a while to get back into the routine.
I used to have to drive from Dorset to Devon to work a 14 hour shift from 18.00 to 08.00 the following morning at a manky care home with no unpaid breaks, it was a killer. However I was spurred on to get a job in the NHS where life is better but with numerous changes for change sake depending on the whims of the government.
Chin up, You'll win through and think of the good times you have with your grandchildren and look forward to spending time with them. When I'm suffering hard times I think of the good ones ahead and try to block out the negativity that is current.
 

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