Poor little lamb.
his twitter feed is full of references to him setting new PBs
'Rapid' Rich is a bit of an ironic nickname as I understand it, he's fairly heavily involved in hillclimbing.
He's doing some sort of charity challenge where donations are pegged to him beating PBs I think.
nick name - so not his real name? who'd have thunk it
I've never seen you dance
you wouldn't want to!
I miss the @bq avatar “not my real name .............”
Best prancer in the game though.
In contrast, I've had 'don't let me see you in the pub' shouted at me by an irate driver before. Which pub, we'll never know.
Can we talk about the irony that Yorkshire teas doesn’t come from Yorkshire?
The tea originates from a few great tea growing nations and is blended and bagged in Starbeck, Yorkshire.
Mamnick launch their Capuccino Collection:
is that med in gurmuney m8? ihd bttr b ore i wunt be buyn m88 - propr cups for propr brits m77
I really hope I’m not still arguing with strangers on the internet when I’m in the 50+ vets category. Poor old Vapid Rich clearly doesn’t have a lot else going on!
Er yes that was the point of the joke, as illustrated by @TM?
Just another seething gammon looking for a pineapple ring to sink his chipolata in.
‘Seething Gammon’ sounds like a good sub-brand
Is Mamnick actually trying to appeal to the Alt-right in the hope of having his brand selected as their unofficial casual ‘uniform’, like a wannabe 80’s football hooligan fashionista?
I suspect the bobble-hat wearing alt-right fascist cyclist crowd with a taste for Laura Ashley inspired hanker-chiefs, is a vanishing small demographic. That market being unlikely to make anyone their millions, I can’t this as being anything other the biggest company car crash PR ever, they’ll soon be doing case studies in business schools on this thread.
I am taking the piss unfairly of Dick Stoodley, or rather Dick Stoodley P.I. the Mike Hammer of northern England, there’s some great material there….. Bless him he clearly spent days on that cry-wank poem.
I apologise for taking the piss out of your name Dick Stoodley, you didn’t choose your name, its not your fault, and its your cross to bear. But you do choose your friends or friend. I’ll pass on the Yorkshire Tea, get in the Yorkshire Sea.
Its 3pm and dark in Rotherham. Its raining. Its always dark and raining in Rotherham.
Dick Stoodley P.I was sat in his battered grey Ford Mondeo on the corner of Soft Southern Latte Rd, it could be a long night, it was a stakeout.
It had already been a long old shift for Dick. His shirt was a diary of the day. Traces of egg McMuffin from breakfast, curry sauce and whiskey from lunch, and blood.
It wasn’t his blood. It was the blood of some Dame, found face down in a puddle at 2am that morning on the corner of Loser Street. Dick was there by 2.30am. Dick always came early.
Strangulation was the cause of the death. Poor broad. Didn’t look like she had much of a life. Dick knew from the holes her in her arms that it was her addiction that really killed her. Forced her down these dark alleys to do God knows what. Crying shame.
Someone needed to pay. Dick had no evidence but concluded it was totes obvs the Muslims fault.
Dick was in the mood for rearranging faces, but where were they? Hiding behind avatars and pseudonyms that’s where. Pussies. It boiled Dick’s piss, but that might be the STI he got from banging your missus last night.
Dick was mad. You wouldn’t like a mad Dick. Most people didn’t like Dick when he wasn’t mad. Dick was hard to like. Apart from those southerners, they loved Dick. They hammered that Dick so hard.
Chapter 2 - Dick Stoodley P.I. gets coat
@Dick the Rotherham R(Y)omper
(We don't judge or discriminate here)
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