Desolation VI: The Covidian Wastes

[shagatha crustie]

Richard Madeley finishes all over your back.

And guffawingly jeers, 'old joke - don't finish on Debussy, finish on de Bach! Do you like classical music?'

[Chollis]

The shine is taken off your excellent showing in the family's Christmas game of Trivial Pursuits as your niece and nephew keep calling you "Encyclo-Paed"

[touchingcloth]

Richard Madeley executed Shamima Begum himself.

[Chicory]

'Joe Biden launches a pastel boating trouser and moccasin charm offensive at his summer retreat' coos your free Guardian pamphlazine, as the Trump 2024 campaign steadily snowballs like an unstoppable boulder of gristle.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Belted up the arse at a Welcome Break by a dogger with oven chips in both hands, some on your back.

[touchingcloth]

And the sudden realisation that the "dogger" has got an evening pass from Judy.

[Catalogue of ills]

As you nose your car into a parking space at Ikea, Batley, your satnav announces "Your life's purpose has been fulfilled"

[pancreas]

Belted up the arse by a Dame Edna impersonator in Hastings. He won't believe you that she's not dead yet.

[Captain Poodle Basher]

You have to go dogging with your mum because she won't go alone.

[Chicory]

Your Deliveroo pot of cum is jammed through your letterbox due to targets.

[pancreas]

Your Deliveroo pot of cum is jammed through your letterbox due to targets.

v nice

[Glebe]

Nana Mouskouri fucks a Müller Light across the aisle of a Tesco in a fit of rage.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Belted up the arse by the world's biggest living fan of Frankie Valli in what he keeps calling 'the culmination' as he drools snuff juice on your hairy tits.

[Glebe]

Graham Norton slams his Jag into the side of a Ford Cortina in a fit of road rage. Exiting the vehicle, he pulls the unfortunate driver out and subjects him to the kind of language that would make a road worker blush, before getting back in the car, driving over the man's head and doing 80mph up to Glasgow screaming "I WILL NOT BE TREATED LIKE SOME COMMON PLEB!"

[I.D. Smith]

Saint and Greavsie mod for Skyrim is too much for your 2012 Alienware to handle, and it finally bricks, leaving you sitting in darkness, alone on a Friday night for the millionth time.

[touchingcloth]

You start shouting about Magna Carta when your last meal request of smack barm & pea wet is denied. You're still wanging on about "we will sell to no man, we will not deny or defer to any man" and "all men of whatever condition whatsoever" as the lever is thrown.

[Glebe]

A dentist tells you you are the ugliest, fang-toothed fuck he has ever had the displeasure to perform root canal on. After ponying up half your life savings to pay for the work, you grump home in the rain, all soaky and miserable!

[Ferris]

The "Shit Yourself Thin!" campaign gets off to a roaring start.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Saint and Greavsie mod for Skyrim is too much for your 2012 Alienware to handle, and it finally bricks, leaving you sitting in darkness, alone on a Friday night for the millionth time.

Laughed

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Belted up the arse by the band Black Grape. By the time they have finished they have performed all their material, but twice so it actually resembles a real band.

[touchingcloth]

David Baddiel sets up a Wix site to host his reviews of probiotic yoghurt drinks, but abandons it after eleven posts total over a seven year period.

[Catalogue of ills]

Even golden retrievers hate you, surveys reveal.

[Glebe]

Ian Brown starts hassling a tramp in Ecclesfield.

[pancreas]

Belted up the arse by Harriet Harman wielding a grave-raped femur stolen from Thora Hird's burial mound.

[touchingcloth]

Richard Blaine from Woking buys a trenchcoat and fedora before flying to Casablanca and booking an hour with Mohandas, a local 13 year old prostitute.

The arrest happens at the exact moment Rick believes he is sounding far cooler than in reality as he says "here's looking at your anus, kid".

[touchingcloth]

Belted up the minge for seven minutes by an EasyJet purser with the self-bestowed nickname "Abracadabra Alan".

[Twit 2]

Bitumen cum spurt, incubated tar child, Lidl inky cot, manhole grave riddance, repeat, repeat, repeat.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

By the time you have been belted up the arse for fourteen hours, you move to pick yourself up. Nothing. It occurs to you you have become a pile of sweaty, belted ashes.

[touchingcloth]

After nine weeks and arguments, you and your partner compromise with "SargonOfAzkaban" as the name for your firstborn.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Your life partner has placed a mug in the centre of the mat, not in one of the corners like you like it.