Bastards

I hope that the bastard viewers who just didn't bother to show up, no phone call, no apology, die very fucking slowly and very fucking painfully. I spent bloody hours getting that house ready and the bastards just didn't show up. Utter, utter pigs.

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18 Responses

  1. they were trolls,your cellar wasn't damp enough

  2. What fuckers. I am so sorry. If I could get a mortgage that wasn't requiring a deposit of 3 fucking million, I would buy your gaff mate.

  3. And my bladder ruptured too…

  4. Twunts. Sometimes peeps are so bloody awful.

  5. Ha! Thanks Ken, that made me laugh..

  6. Thanks Pete, most kind! We're now debating not bothering to move and trying to figure out ways to make all of our stuff fit in what we've got. We currently have a few storage issues…and I', properly fed up of not being able to find anything and every drawer or cupboard exploding when I open it.

  7. Oops. Did I forget to tell you you could now uncross your legs? Sorry about that…

  8. Too late…

  9. A friend of mine's father was involved in a semi road-rage incident some time back. Was cut up by a group of chavs in a Nova or some such vehicle. When he approached them, the normally calm and unwavering non-swearing bloke informed the driver of said vehicle that he was a "twillock". One of the words he tried to get out was 'pillock', and I'll bet you can guess the other.
    Twunts is a classic though Brennig. It always brings a smile to my face to see it written somewhere.

  10. I say charge admission price to view. Counter-intuitive but it will probably get you more viewers.:)

  11. When the estate agent finally got hold of the fucktastic asshole, he just made some cruddy excuse about being stuck in traffic. He can take his 'cash purchase' and shove right up his jacksy, sideways. I hope his house falls down and he goes bankrupt.

  12. This is where you get the estate agent to subscribe him to many newsletters. Especially for things like "Housewives Watersports XXX" and "Text for a hot lesbian now" type of informative bulletins…

  13. Ok, you need to post now.
    I need intelligent stuff to read while I "work" see….

  14. Would love to but sadly my boss is in adn is on my case about getting a shitload of filing sorted, the office tidied, the subcontractors sorted, the grant claims done and various other mind-alteringly tedious shite. I'm hoping to find time to post sometime before I die of boredom or get fired for telling her to shove the paperwork somewhere unusual.

  15. Look…it's a simple cost-benefit analysis…who's more important here in the depth of your heart? Your acidified shrew-like boss who takes out her sexual frustrations on you like you're her little bitch, or us, your loving public, your adoring fans, we of the naked-blue paint fame?

    You don't think I'd get any posts done if *I* submitted to simple things like doing applications for hundreds of thousands of pounds and other boring shit of that nature would you? No. No indeed mylady. What we need is a litle bit of moral fortitude eh? A little bit of honesty and loyalty and good solid hard work I say.
    Drop all those files where you stand I say. Make yourself a coffee and recall what is important. And write us a nice long post. We'll be waiting here eagerly for anything up to 13 minutes…

  16. I can't afford to get fired, no matter how tempting the idea of sacking off my job may be. That would mean I'd lose my house and then me and the other half would have to go and stay with my parents. This would not only up the odds either me or my mother getting murdered by the other one to 2 to 1 but would also turn me into one of those people I take the piss out of, you know, the ones who are nearly 30 or in their 30s and still living with their parents….

  17. Oh I don't know…where is the strength of character? The moral fortitude…wasn't D-Day just the other day….

  18. Nope, D Day was 65 years ago! The remembrance day was a couple of weeks back though. My moral fortitiude is not strong enough to survive moving in with my parents at 29. It's over-ridden by the survival instinct that tells me I shouldn't be sharing a house with my mother.

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