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A French Invasion That's What It Is

Talk about an invasion of privacy. Mind you they've never been that good at invasions the bloody French have they? I for one am furious with them. Not only have they breached the trust and privacy of the British royal family, but if you're going to take topless pictures of one of the Middleton sisters, at least choose the right fucking one! The soft gets. Personally, I feel badly let down and disappointed. They're so small aren't they? Not like the Queen's. She's got massive Ma'ams her Mamjesty, have you seen them? Proper Royal jugs they are. Like a couple of space hoppers that have recently strayed over a bed of nails they are. Without the funny faces drawn on them, obviously. I bet randy old Phil the Greek has had a fair old time playing with those Royal Funbags over the years. In a recent interview with the Daily Sport Gentleman's Almanac Prince Phillip apparently confessed that her Mamjesty and he used to indulge in a bit of S&M bondage, blindfolds, the lot in the old days. But now he just hides her glasses. God bless her.

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Fucking Passwords

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My Mate Frank

Is a sheepdog and his two-legged is a farmer. Frank was out with him in the tractor drilling wheat last autumn and they unearthed a rusty old lamp. So the farmer hopped out of the cab to have a closer look at it and gave it a little rub on his jacket, as you do, and was amazed to see a genie appear and offer to grant him any wish he wanted. Well the farmer thought for a moment and then said "I'd like the price of wheat to go to £200/tonne!" So the genie sighed but said "OK, I'll sort that out for you then, you greedy bastard" and popped back into his bottle. And the farmer casually tossed the lamp into the back of his cab and got on with his drilling. Well they were out again this morning putting a bit of nitrogen on, Frank and the farmer, and the farmer spotted the lamp and gave it a little rub again, just on the off chance, and you'll never guess what happened, the genie popped out again, and said that he'd grant the farmer one more wish. So the fa...

Snow

Bloody snow, I hate the stuff. It snowed here on Saturday, which meant that my Sunday morning constitutional consisted of me running around Horseshoe Field at Conyngham bollock deep in the wretched white stuff tying to put on a display of pleasure for the two-leggeds. "Ah look at him, he loves snow," they'd say. "Look at him running and jumping around in it." Well you'd run and jump around if your bollocks were dangling in snow wouldn't you? Me poor little paws were frozen solid by the time we got back to the car. Pooh count: two, both of them "steamers" - in fact one of them was giving off so much vapour it reminded me of Drax power station, except a bit smaller and browner obviously. And it probably couldn't have powered 20,000 homes in Pontefract. A small pensioners bungalow maybe. As long as they didn't have all the lights on, and the bath running. They don't have many baths pensioners do they? One a month maybe, so the chances ...