A Rant and Whinge and a Lynching

Now I have nothing against Bin men par say, but I think the lot of them are coonts. As a family of 4 there is no way in hell that our weekly rubbish can fit in one wheelie bin. Hence on a Monday night I can be found going up and down our back alley trying to fit surplus bin liners in our neighbours’ bins.

Of course at Christmas, the rubbish can be twice as much and so I was left with one giant bin liner filled only with used wrapping paper. Light as a feather it was, so I placed it on top of the wheelie bin. Yet there it was still in the garden this morning. The fuckers must have realised it was only filled with paper when then took it off the bin. But would they throw it in the wagon, would they buggery. Bastard smelly coonts!

The whinge is at old age; my body seems to be melting. Whenever I rest on my left arm the elbow hyper-extends, which believe me brings tears to your eyes. My knees have literally weeks left of use before they crumble to dust. And finally my fingers are like gnarled and wizened like an old hag with arthritis, and I’m only 39… Bastards kids and their youth, they’re all coonts.

The lynching is for the bastards that could abduct and rape a THREE year old child. Trust me lynching would be the last punishment that would be handed out. Sick bastard coonts.

Ps. My new favourite word is: coonts..