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Mr. delicious, for I am he, most certainly is a Scot, A proud Scot. Not english, not irish nor, even, welsh; and your post merely serves to remind me why I'll be glad when our Independence finally arrives - as it will. No more subsidising england - no more Scottish oil for you; unless you pay, of course.
Scotland will be Independent, and Socialist. Saor Alba...
Fucking Delicious!
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John Bright MP - fucking delicious!
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To fucking delicious! at 8:08 PM -
Please try and get it right - you are not Scottish or Scot but SCOTCH, as in SCOTCH egg, SCOTCH man, SCOTCH whisky, SCOTCH idiot etc etc -
tory dimwits; enjoy your negative equity. House prices in the more salubrious part - Scotland to you -of this stinking union continue to rise. And, once you lemmings elect Cameron (another Scot) et al, Scotland will be guaranteed Independence. Scots will never vote tory, as we know what a bunch of chancer barrow-boys you are. It's Scotland's oil; get used to it. Alba gu brath...
Fucking delicious!
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Fucking delicious!
with the lowest life expectancy in Europe we can safely assume your inane driveling will stop shortly.
Tasty eh?
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I will continue, ad infinitum, to elucidate this one undeniable fact: It's Scotland's oil. You thieving english must come to terms with this fact, and cease wanking over the mad cow thatcher. The price of oil will increase uperturbed, whilst you must face a bleak future; reap what you have sown. Do not underestimate this; the anger embedded in the Scottish psyche over your thieving of our oil is deep, and will only increase in intensity.
Alba gu brath.
Fucking delicious!
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45 Govt: You are an absolute cunt of the highest order.
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Fucking delicious! said... "I will continue, ad infinitum, to elucidate this one undeniable fact: It's Scotland's oil."
No it isn't. North sea oil is owned by the UK, Norway, Denmark and Holland. A lot of the oil brought ashore in Scotland is Norwegian. Some of the "North Sea" oil and gas is not even North Sea never mind Scottish eg the Morecombe Bay field (10% of UK gas market). In the 60’s the maritime border was moved so that some English oil is claimed to be Scots'. This would revert on England's independence.
Moreover if Scotland can be 'independent' why not the Shetlands (protected by England), as has been threatened? And then where would "Scotland's" oil be? -
Fucking Delicious, leave those thick English cunts alone, they know not what they speak of...
SCOTTISH OIL FOR THE SCOTS
And FUCK THE ENGLISH!!
I was in Coventry last week on the piss and not ONE of you cunts had the guts to look me in the eye when they called me a "jock" and I took umbrage. I was going to knock 4 of you English pricks out, they all left looking a bit sheepish. Keyboard hardmen the lot of ye!
You are all spineless bastards, no wonder we run your country...
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Dunfesterin:
Oiiii you scotch cunt, I think your mother needs fucking. You're sister has finished with her for the moment! Daddy's just started on you're gran if you fancy a threesome! -
Dear Mr Fucking Delicious
At least you have a nascent sense of humour. Scottish socialism, fuck me, that's like the flat earth society. The last surviving Scotch socialist, having made a cunt of his dopey Mrs., Ms Mataland, his parents, his best friends and the whole socialist movement, twisted and fucking corrupted as it was by cunts like Organiser (ho ho ho) Steve Arnott and Consigliere John Dirty Book Aberdein, is just about to have a wee lie down on the sunbeds of HMP Barlinnie, isn't he, and have a News of the World-sponsored divorce? The fucking useless coke-snorting bondage freak and gabshite, Tearful Tommy Sheridan, as if Jock wasn't already a laughing-stock, confirmed the towering ineptitude and corruption of Jock politicians - Pussy Galloway, Gordon Brown, Tavish McTavish - doesn't matter what they call their parties, they are all just thieving numpties. If Nancy Salmond ever did con an independence vote out of the local idiots then within five minutes Scotland's stomach would think it's fucking throat was cut. Jesus fucking wept, Jock is a trainwreck of a nation, drug addicts, murderers, cross-dressers and child molesters, highest per capita rates in the fucking world. You couldn't, with both hands, find the hole in your own arse if we didn't give it a good kicking for you now and again. Useless, fucking idle, greedy, drunken noncing bastards all becoming socialists and working for the common good ? Fuck me that is delicious. Remember Culloden, eh, what are you jocks like ? As for this prick going to take on four of his superiors in an English pub whole he was spending his English dole money, would that be in your wee skirt, or out of it, sweetie ? I think out of it and bent over is the only way you'd take on anybody. Never mind Queen Alex, the great smirking Nancy, will probably buy you a nice brown shirt for your torchlight rallies you horrible racist, fascist, mooma's boy imbecile. Do you bae Jock tattoed on your forehead, or do you stick with cunt?
Claiming affiliation with snot-eating Nancy Brown and his bumboys, now there's fucking delicious, too. You probably weren't able yo get snot sandwiches in Coventry 'pubs, another reason for you to stay up there in Scotland, the biggest council estate in England.
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Dunfesterin said... "in Coventry last week on the piss and not ONE of you cunts had the guts to look me in the eye when they called me a "jock" and I took umbrage."
A Scotsman taking umbrage? Who woulda thunk it?
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Dunfesterin said... "in Coventry last week on the piss and not ONE of you cunts had the guts to look me in the eye when they called me a "jock" and I took umbrage."
On the piss? - what else would one of you shitheids be doing off the reservation except behaving normally. Drunken, misbegotten, wife-beating cunts, the only four English pricks you would be taking on would be up your festerin' Scotch dung funnel. -
Dear Mr 45 Govt
"Drunken, misbegotten, wife-beating cunts." You've been to a Jock wedding, then ? Starts as he means to go on, does Jock. You know you can't get near a Jock casualty department on Valentine's Day, so generous is Jock when it comes to kicking his Mrs around, spares no effort to show her how much he loves her; boots, belts, fists, his mates even help him out. Honest. Not invent. Spousal abuse among Jock is phenomenal. Flower of Scotland, isn't he wonderful ?
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Dear john bright mp,
A Jock wedding? No, I have not had the misfortune, and should have declined any invitation, having involuntarily studied the activities of the barbarian hordes Jock is pleased to call his Tartan Army, during a number of its forays into civilisation.
I feel Darwin would have recognised Jock as being as far off the evolutionary pace, isolated as he has been in his Gallopegian Highlands, as any other reptile discovered during the travels of the Beagle. Jock's dietary variations alone would have excited that esteemed scientist's wonder that it should sustain sentient life, or even a Scotch cunt.
Your grasp of this lower sub-species of homo sapiens reminds me strangely of a young Polish tradesman whose absence here has been sorely missed. Should you chance upon him in your travels, please pass on my best regards.
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Why don't you lot fuck off back to your own country, you scotch cunts.
have a fucking referendum and fuck off and pay your own tuition fees.
cunts.
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It was written by a cross dressing, wife beating, inbred fuck wit of a scotch cunt.
Their opinion on anything counts for nothing.
Mr. Fucking DoDishes! and stillfesterin can fuck right off.
Anon 9:46..
The scotch are cunts, Liebour are cunts run by scotch cunts. The time is soon when both will getting their sorry tartan arses kiced into touch! CUNTS!
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45govt:
"Your grasp of this lower sub-species of homo sapiens reminds me strangely of a young Polish tradesman whose absence here has been sorely missed. Should you chance upon him in your travels, please pass on my best regards."
I have seen the young polish tradesman's blog whom you refer too. On his profile it states he comes from Scotland, best part of England.
How strange dont you think Mr.45govt? -
Confused - so am I, there's no reckoning these Poles, but perhaps there is a part of Jockland that isn't in the council estate?
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The level of abuse from the representatives of our 'colonial masters' is expected; after all, we have the black gold, the oil.
However, and more to the point is this; the tipping point in Scottish politics has, I manitain, has been reached. All opinion polls proclaim that the SNP is the party that the growing majority of Scots see as representing Scotland interests. Not labour (in its death throes) not the tories (never again in Scotland) and not the 'health food and sandals' party (couldn't win an argument, never mind the popular vote)so, it's the SNP. Scotland first and foremost.
Most english posters on here wish for us to disappear from 'english' politics; rest assured, we are more than happy to oblige.
And, once Independent, we'll keep our oil, no matter what it takes. No matter what...
Fucking delicious!
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"And, once Independent, we'll keep our oil, no matter what it takes. No matter what...
Fucking delicious!"
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO get her! Sounds like fighting talk to me. You're right though Scotland will keep the oil no matter what.
That is 'till the English come and take it.
Enjoy it whilst it lasts my tartan cousin cunts; you'll soon be being bitch slapped!
Hmmmm, the tory retards on here are spitting feathers; all the shouting you do changes fuck all. Brown, or whoever, will be in power for the next two years, and this will increase your impotency and rage to levels unseen as yet. But it will mean nothing. And I'll enjoy the spectacle...
Labour will then lose the election - that much is certain - but all then true scoialists will regroup, and wait...the tories will screw up, as they always have. Then, and only when the labour party is cleansed of the middle-class wankers who inhabit the positions of power at this time, we will return. Play the long game comrades.
I still have to say though; Brown is a cunt.
Fucking delicious!
This chap, Mr Delicious, seems to be inciting alarm and disappointment in equal measure; even by the standard of the oft desparate, profane and calumnious rhetoric deployed hereabouts, Mr Delicious is on the outer fringes of human repellence, loathsome, repugnant and detestable; as all decent Englishmen would aver, the disdain he so swiftly and uniformly arouses in order-orderites is compounded by his claim to being Scottish, yet he is, of course, nothing of the kind.
Of primary persuasive significance is his albeit halting and leaden attempts at words of more than one syllable. Anyone who has ventured even a mile or two into his impoverished wasteland will know that Jock does not do erudition, Jock, bless his square ginger head, does grunt. The idea that Jock could write a sentence, much less a paragraph is risible.
Anyone, similarly, who has seen Jock close-up will have observed that the webbed fingers and toes characteristic of his species expressly prevent him from operating a keyboard with any facility; added to the bruising of his knuckles from dragging them along Glagow's derelict streets Jock's prehensile digits prevent him, even if he had any, framing his thoughts in a matter communicable to, let alone decipherable, by modern man.
Thirdly, of a Sunday, Jock does not, like Mr FD, concern himself with political discourse but instead takes to his rancid bed with a nephew or niece entrusted to his care by a mother gone off to get bladdered on her benefit money, accompanied by the current "Uncle" or stepfather, certainly unemployed, illiterate and probably a heroin addict with tattoed forehead. Whie they are In his care Jock will introduce the unfortunate, inbred, retarded wean, some hapless Wee Fiona or Wee Gordon, to the intricacies of Jock's national area of excellence, or communist noncing as we call it in England.
There is only one Scotch writer of note and that worthy is Mr William McGonigal, famous for the spectacular poetic catastrophes so memorably wrought by his infantile, clod-hopping rhyming and scansions, thus:
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
The poetry of Jock thus revealed, over about twenty verses, all like this. Jock culture. It's like a chimps tea party. There is no room in Jock's dim consciousness for the acrid denunciations, the bitter homilies, the scorched-earth lamentations or the fierce Illuminatarianism of order-order, like Shakespeare or even Enid Blyton, none of it would make any sense to him; football, GBH, whinging, benefit fraud, cross-dressing, inebriation, obesity and noncing, that's a day in Jock's life.
Mr Fucking Delicious, then, by his very presence here on a Sunday, is clearly not Jock. He may be Mr Dalailamadingdong or Mr Atlas Shrugged or any number of speech- impaired-by-too-many-teeth Chinese restauteurs making mischief but Jock he isnae; stupid and preposterous are his ravings; dullardly, repetitive, arch and unoriginal his style and miserable as sin his attempts at humour, even so, this dreadful rubbish he posts is light years ahead of all known forms of Jockspeech, he must therefore be English or some other form of non-Jock.
Your whoreson Paddy, it is true, claims for himself that he is not from a race of obtuse, farting, Guinness-swigging, spud-gulping, melancholy, cry-baby, sorry-arsed, pussy-whipped, superstitious momma's boys but is, instead, from a land o'er blessed with saints and scholars; this asserion is as frivolous as Jock's claims to culture, enlightenment and civilisation, even at at its rudest. Paddy cites the ghastly, mutant doggerel of James Joyce, the pedestrianism of Mr Bernard Shaw and the aching snobbery of Mr Oscar Toilets Wilde as proof of a national literary superiority; the intolerable Mr Flaherty and his spastic, jerking Riverdancers, stamping their huge, thundering, danse macabre feet in unison as evidence of artistic subtlety and praises to the skies the raucous oeuvre of the unspeakable posturing leprachaun, Mr O'Bono and his chums. Like Jock, Paddy doesn't even bother pretending he has any painters, sculptors or serious musicians but parks his cultural arse firmly in the land of showbiz. Val Doonican and the Batchelors, Irish rock 'n' roll. Meagre as it is, though, Paddy's culture at least requires a level of prestidgitation and literacy unimagineable to Jock. Mr FD may well be Paddy except that Paddy, save for the nice Mr Martin Kneecaps McGuiness and other fucking barbarian morons of his kidney, are too dull to romance, still, with ideas of Marxist-Leninist totalitarianism, a doubtless sexually-rooted fantasy which peppers Mr FDs every feeble insult. He is definitely not Jock and on reflection too monomaniacal for Paddy. The answer, then, is that he is either a renegade Englishman or some foreshortened, grunting, troglodyte Plaid Cymru Satanist imbecile, let loose on the hostel computer whilst the warden is preoccupied. Whatever his nationality one thing is beyonde peradventure, indisputable by any decent person. The man's a cunt.