This is the sort of quality shite that those vacuous sluts over at Hallmark need for their next Holiday Extravaganzuuuh. Can we get Aunt Becky to play the mother? That fuckwit’s a jailbird so she’ll bring some much-needed realism and grit to the role...

Listen, basics. I was once told by a friend of mine (don’t worry, she’s American) that the best part of a chicken is the thigh. I tend to agree. It’s juicier, it’s tastier. And it doesn’t look like an alien penis when you’ve inevitably fucked it over when cooking it.

That’d be the people with no dignity or desire to eat anything “green”, Marnie.  We should pray for them and hope that their constipation releases it’s greasy chokehold soon...

Keep it up and I’ll take away your healthcare.

MARY’S BACK!

He delegates, sweetie.  Delegates.  

Oh, I am fucking stoked for this!!

There’s only so much you can do with shit.  You can cut it, shape it, polish it, but it’ll always still be shit.  Fuck off, Snyder.

Oh, Sharon. Fuck off now. No, seriously. Fuck off. Now.

Oh Julie, all you need is a leprechaun hat and a fiddle-dee-dee and you’re all set for a good old-fashioned bloated American St Patty’s Day!  

“For Fook’s Sake”? Really, kid?

Shitter-makers?

White Hot Ranch sounds like the title of a mid-00s gay porno featuring twinks pretending to be cowboys.  

You know, I never liked the MCU for not giving us more Daniel Bruhl. He’s a brilliant actor, so I’m hoping he gets some real meat to chew on in this. Likewise, Emily VanCamp’s Sharon Carter was fun and, I dare say it, more efficient and competent than Black Widow.  

*beats head repeatedly off desk, causing the cat to question the logic of keeping me alive*

They never think. Jesus, we saw that with Stephen Lawrence. All they do is put up a big show and then promise Lessons Will Be Learned (how many times do you need to learn a lesson before you’re declared a fucking imbecile, eh?)

*files claws*

Mr Biblioteca and I used to dine out a fair bit pre-Lockdown. Now? Now I don’t see the point. You get so used to making your own food, trying out new recipes and developing new skills (my pepper-roasting game is fucking a-grade) that when you do look at a menu for a former favourite menu you think “pay you fuckers £40…

Sit the everlasting fuck down and pay attention, trollwhore: this mentality of which you speak? It has it’s roots in Victorian thinking. The last time I looked, the Victorians weren’t boomers, you demented millennial fuckpuppet. Have a LaCroix and think about that.

Remember, kids.  Religion is only a front for the psychotic to pretend to be normal.