So, the boyfriend and I binged this last night. Whilst Barsanti was off plugging himself whilst worshipping at the altar of the false god Kardashian, I was gleefully mocking one key aspect of this show. Are you ready? Strap your tits, bitches...

What in the mayo-chugging basic is this?  

Midweek roast?  Pshaw!  What about the Monday Roast, the Thursday Roast or the Cheeky Tuesday Roast With Extra Chicken?

Neither will my country. We always had a thriving tourism sector in Scotland and this recent trend wouldn’t be missed if it were taken away. Oh, so Kimberley and Taylor can’t rent a “traditional Scotch castle” for a weekend away? Too bad. Stay in a fucking hotel, waddlers. You’re supporting far, far more people when…

Ooh!  Yorkies!  I don’t think this lot are good enough to know the secret to a decent Yorkie.  

Elizabeth Chan? Never heard of you, sweetheart. Whatever drag-queen-mall-muzak-soundtrack hell you came from, go back there. Mariah is iconic. You’re only worthy of mockery, as Willam so deftly proves...

Yours isn’t so much a trademark as it is a “local element of folklore and accepted mythology (or “Lore” in Fat Basic) that counts as intangible evidence towards a United Nations designation that you spend more time with your legs akimbo than shut”.

I admit - I cackled at the lemon juice snipe.  I’ve got an idiot cousin who would probably do that chia seed thing (maybe I should tell her about it...) but she hates lemon juice.  Eh, I’m sure she can be persuaded to add chilli oil to it instead...

I don’t do anything too mean. I just smile, sip my absinthe and vodka and just smirk at whoever’s asking. Usually the fuckwits in my family take the hint, as in “oh jesus, he’s in one of those moods, back the fuck off, back the fuck off, save the children, etc” but if they don’t, simply channel your inner Kristin…

“Why, tonight.  Wanna watch?”

Ah, yes, the War of 1812, when we burned down your little White House.  *smirks*

You must be a real joy at parties.  Do you insist on the hausfrau passing a health inspection before you allow your clatty trainers to grace their carpets?

Well, that’s shit.  Write to your Senator.  Channel your Inner Karen and you demand satisfaction, goddamnit!

And nothing’s stopping you from telling someone to go take a flying fuck to themselves if they demand a kiss.  Clearly the authoress of this joyless queef of writing lacks a spine.

Or just HAIL SEITAN and get it over and done with. 

Your daily reminder that just because your ancestors were kicked out of one country doesn’t make you an actual resident of said-country. Waddlers would do well to remember that. (Ah, the amount of times I’ve had the joy of telling some neckbeard that, no, they’re not descended from William Wallace as the fuckwit…

*sips tea*

“Much like your conception, my gift to you was an afterthought.  Be grateful both events didn’t cause regret.”

When the boyfriend and I started dating, he bought me a nakiri. Wonderful thing. I’ve used it plenty of times to threaten him over the years (tried it once on the cat. The cat then yawned at me and pissed on my laptop. That was me told) but it was the thought that counted. I bought him a wok (we’d known each other for…

Audra’s just pissed because she looks to be in her mid-thirties and knows her chance with Leo is further gone than her professional chances of success. We should feel pity for her. I think I’ve got some second-hand pity...