The cuńts....
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The cuńts....
The only thing you're pissin on is your own shoes ya feckin hobo. We murdered the cabbage scoffing ****s both times and don't give me any of that "couldn't have done it without the yanks" shít either. They waited til we'd broken the back of it and tooled up for the beer and the fanny.
Those things are a complete con anyway, a clever way for The Man to collect data on people he may feel the need to keep an eye on.
Notice that zee Cherman medical authorities have put out calls for blood and organ donors "of recent migrant, Middle-eastern and North African descent", as apparently they don't have enough of these necessaries in stock to deal with the upturn in demand.
An attempt to bolt the stable door after the horse has bolted, maybe, but having allowed countless undesirables, and potential undesirables, not to mention the families and acquaintances of countless undesirables and potential undesirables, in, it makes sense to try to keep tabs on them somehow.
And, of course, eventually everyone else will be caught up in it too. Anyway, to the extent we haven't all been already :-\
Men such as we red, men of honour, fighting men - we know instinctively the blood that courses through our veins.
We feel it when we first espy those sacred white cliffs on a channel crossing home. The manly tear that threatens to escape our eye at the mere sight of the Jack billowing in the wind. Our love of soggy chips from the chip shop .. that sort of thing.