
So on we go:








And just for the hell of it, a blast from the past:


Stuff that makes me laugh

So on we go:








And just for the hell of it, a blast from the past:


From Ishmael:
Bought some Sainsbury’s sausages yesterday, there’s a picture of Jamie Oliver on the front, on the back it says “Prick with fork”.
Can’t argue with that.
Brilliant.
Sponsored by:

Let’s but us no buts, but just dive headlong into the news…

...oh, but but but what about the global freezing climate warming change?

...explain again why we need this particular Constitutional provision to be underlined?

...while we’re there, what about the ones who promised to emigrate if Trump won in 2016?
And speaking of celebrities:

...if anyone has been well and truly “dated” (i.e. shagged by a multitude of strange men), it’s this bedraggled tart.

...shoulda listened to the bookies (pre-tournament: 16-1 against).

...by injection, instead of by flaying and crucifixion. Otherwise, an excellent ending to the story.

…I don’t care if they have 24/7 continuous orgasms. Kill them all with fire.

...remind me again why nationalized healthcare is such a good thing.

...the rats should be feasting on the striking workers’ festering corpses, but that’s just my opinion. I mean:
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...not even the Blitz inflicted such hardship on the long-suffering Brits.

...where would we be without experts to tell us why men fuck around when they’re drunk, in the company of women they may have been fantasizing about for ages, and their wives aren’t in the room?
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...and Skanky McSkankface is somehow surprised by this.
From the pimply backside of INSIGNIFICA:

And in our alt-Paige Three Department:


That’s enough news Paiges.

Your suggestions in Comments.
Welcome back to an old sponsor:

And on we go, into the filthy bowels of the news:

...let’s not get carried away, here. Maybe if their backbone went from jelly to cartilage, then we can go from there.

...so the stabber is a “teenager” but the stabee is a “man.” Make up yer fucking minds.
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...I remember when the PPI going over 1.5% meant panic just about everywhere.

...except when we destroy an iconic girl’s toy, it’s a joke:

From the Dept. of Cultural Assimilation:
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...should have welcomed him with a fucking bayonet.

...and if you know what a “vibrating horned penis ring” is, go and stand in the corner. I had to look it up, and good grief, that’s nasty.

...I’m not sure anyone could write a more African scenario than this.

...sounds about right. So does this:

...I wish I could have seen his face when she said, “Yup, that’s his,” on the witness stand.

...can’t get excited about this one, either. But I can about this one:

...a true Backstreet Boy, indeed. I mean, FFS.

...paging Mr. Stupid Money; do we have a deal for you!
From the Dept. of “Yes, That Happened”:
Also:
And dredged from the INSIGNIFICA files:

...I’m just amazed that “Gimme a blowjob” didn’t make the list. Maybe the trolley dollies don’t think that’s too bad. I’ll do the research the next time I fly.
Lastly, this:

Bouncy-bouncy in tight dresses… saggy-baggies outside of them. Just my suspicion; I could be wrong.
Longtime Friend&Reader Dave L. shares this tale from his youth:
I left Uncle Sam’s Navy in July of 1974. The economy was a little shaky back in those days and I was struggling to find bean and beer money. I picked up a part time gig in a local photo store. We sold some fairly high end new and used hardware – Nikons, Leicas etc and did the usual photo processing back in the days before digital photography. I might share some of those stories with you but that’s for another time. The point of today’s note is to talk about the music that played in the store.
Our Jewish boss wanted to create a “festive” Christmas atmosphere and he played a continuous loop of holiday music over the PA system. Unfortunately, his play list was only about 45 minutes long so we got to hear the same songs about 8 to 10 times during the course of a work day. You know me as a person of faith and I really love Christmas and the music associated with the holiday, but my love and patience were sorely tested by hearing “The Little Drummer Boy” ten times a day six days a week. If I hadn’t needed the money I would have run screaming out of the shop at chorus number eight or nine of “Pa rum pum pum pum”.
Even today, almost fifty years later, hearing the Little Drummer Boy will make me sweat and shout out “D-Day. Normandy. June Sixth. Eisenhower!”
Wait: Eisenhower?
[exit, giggling helpessly]