Ikea have pulled around 18,000 Elk lasagnes off the menu at stores across Europe after they were found to contain pork, the BBC report. If my elf lasagne contained all pork and no fucking elk I'd be happy, so what's the fucking problem? They'd be better off employed finding out how much wood is in their flimsy as fuck furniture if you ask me. And where do they think those stupid fucking names up? A fucking stool called Norbert. Fucking Norbert. Or a pissing bastard wardrobe called Helmut and other such shite. The Scandanavian wankers. Stick your bastard elk lasagnes up your arses.

What have they all got in common you might wonder. Well, the answer is that they all do my fucking head in. Especially on a Bank Holiday weekend. Spent in the back of the car. There's still snow on the bastard ground, but it's Easter so the fucking caravan bastards are out in their fucking droves. Slow droves that is. Droves only surpassed by the fucking motor fucking cyclist wankers every bastard where. Hogging the pissing road in their droves. Groups of like-minded fat balding wankers clad in leather with their delusions of being Dennis Fucking Hopper. To cap it all we have Classic Fucking F Fucking Bastard M playing George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue on the radio. What a load of unmitigated shite that is. Rhapsody in Pooh more like. They're playing the top 300 classic hits of all time. At least that's what they tell us they're playing, in reality it's just a load of tunes nicked from the telly. Including the theme to the Antiques Fucking Roadshow. The Wan

Who do they think they are? They're binmen not bastard royalty, although you wouldn't know it the way the ones round here behave. Can't be arsed to walk up your drive and get your bin. They can see it's there all right, but it's just not always in EXACTLY the right place, so they won't fuckin touch it the lazy smelly bastards. Unless it's the week before Christmas that is. If it's the week before Christmas nothing is too much trouble. In fact I reckon they send a different lot round the week before Christmas. The Christmas lot look like they are on the way to a binman wedding for starters. All togged up they are, smiling, laughing with gay binman abandon they are. Whistling away to themselves, usually something by Chas and Dave, or that song from Mary Poppins. "Mornin guvnor, with a chim, chim, charee don't yer know, gor blimey. I'll take that Sir, don't you get getting your hands mucky, that's manual labour for scroats like me. What