I hate the Romans, already.
Oh yeah, how much?
A lot.
What have the Romans ever given us?
I’m having spam, spam, chips and spam.
Dear Sir, I wish to complain in the strongest possible terms about the song which you have just broadcast, about the lumberjack who wears women’s clothes. Many of my best friends are lumberjacks and only a few of them are transvestites.
Right. You’re in.
I want you all to call me Loretta.
Coventry City have never won the F.A. Cup! (Oops - 1987)
Now, which is the worst tennis-playing nation in the world? Scotland! (Oops - Andy Murray is from Scotland)
(Double post - where’s the “Delete Post” on this thing, again?)
From these glens and scars, the sound of the coot and the moorhen is seldom absent. Nature sits in stern mastery over these rocks and crags. The rush of the mountain stream, the bleat of the sheep, and the broad, clear Highland skies, reflected in turn and loch, form a breathtaking backdrop against which Ewan McTeagle writes such poems as “Lend Us a Quid till the End of the Week.”
“To Ma Own beloved Lassie. A poem on her I7th Birthday. Lend us a couple of bob fill Thursday. I’m absolutely skint. But I’m expecting a postal order and I can pay you back as soon as it comes. Love Ewan.”
How many men in your kamikaze Scotsman squad, Major?
Are there any *women *here today?
A spanking! A spanking!
just purse your lips and give a whistle and things will work out for the best.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake.
Jehovah! Jehovah! Jehovah!
Fuck off!!!
I want him fighting wabid wions within a week!