I HATE IT HERE: Queue or Fuck Off

Rome Burns
Rome Burns

We don’t ask for much. We don’t demand you worship our soggy gods or eat our repulsive food. Just: speak the language so we can understand your complaints. Work. Queue. Be polite. Treat people like humans regardless of what’s between their legs. That’s the price of admission in this mad, damp island experiment.

The Orange Fuckwit Still Breathes

How is he still there, one year into the sequel nobody asked for, still shitting executive orders like a constipated warlord? The 25th Amendment? A joke. A parchment condom on a gangbang of cowards. Congress? A zoo of bought hyenas and trembling interns who’d rather rim the Beast than risk their pensions.