Horriet Whoremoon and the Irish Joke

Horriet was definitely a Palm Sister when I was young.  A sort of clean and legal version of Ulrike Meinhopf ; prettier to boot though I have now learned an ‘equal opportunities gaze’.  Of course, she was really just posh totty on the make.  She looked bright until an enemy saddled her with economics spokes-personing, revealing her a vapid intellect once off hymn-sheet.  Now the only possible interest would be on her between the sheets for the News of the Screws.  Sadly, nothing to report, though I could kiss and tell on a couple of other ZanyPFNualbourites, though no men, as I still fail to bring them into my equal opportunity view whilst pissed at conference.  If Horriet really wanted to do something, she should have reserved BBC newsreading jobs for wheel-chair disabled and the blind.  Instead, she’s exacted revenge by banning jokes.  Equality Horriet, you wouldn’t have a clue, you Bimbo.  Now when my Irish mate looks stuck for something to do, I won’t be able to tell him to keep himself busy all day trying to piss in the corner of a barrel.  I’ll be whisked from the pub under Horriet’s Law of overheard conversation.  Not that anyone goes in the pub now we can’t smoke to cover up the stale beer smells.


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