Or you could have spent the last four hours chatting up a French girl only to find her hitched up to someone else once you returned from a toilet break. So yes. Bollocks evening.
Ireland lost to France.
Even more bollocks.
This is turning into a very bollocky lateshift...perhaps we should try and introduce some other parts of the human anatomy?
Nah, there used to be a gallery somewhere online of all manner of posters, but tweaked so they were all about Jamie Oliver's cuntiness ("Planet of the Cunts", "Get Cunty", etc). I haven't been able to find the whole thing in years, though.
That's the plan, see? We lob a dinner lady at him, he succumbs to his fetish and while he's trying to chat her up with plateloads of twatty pasta recipes and interesting bottles of olive oil, we perform a circle-strafe flanking manoever and let him have it with shotguns. Many shotguns. And then we make pie.
Oh Jesus, it's more bollocks than I thought. I just read the headline (in the Independent's personal finance section) "New dawn fades for stakeholder". Ian Curtis must be spinning in his grave.
