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mixed_biscuits

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Trundling back to home on the underground: people sitting alone in carriages with useless masks or, worse, sporting them in the fresh air on open-air platforms. Such cuckery - shameful; negative IQ/testosterone.

This is definitely the stupidest year of my life time.
 

WashYourHands

Cat Malogen
Biscuits ate all the strawberry cream wafers.

He sits at the head of the table like a Viking war lord, jaws crunching through cow drumsticks followed by a yard of claret, a yard of cognac, before bedding all the castle’s maidens. Savage beast. He turns to Hmm.Gov, his most noble knight of the realm and they smile the secret smile of boss level master-masons together. Everything is as they predicted. They are seers, prophets of the new dark age, whose pulsing testosterone levels will Father a new breed of enlightenment. Praise be.
 

Mr. Tea

Let's Talk About Ceps
so, now it's a macho thing?
I met @mixed_biscuits for a drink once, many years ago. He towered over even John Eden or DannyL, had a physique that would make Padraig or comelately green with envy, and after he winked at several women who were giggling and glancing at him at the other end of the bar, I later learned that two of them had instantly fallen pregnant.
 
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WashYourHands

Cat Malogen
Biscuits peered through weathered binoculars off toward the northern horizon, an endless low-grey sky above. It was snowing heavily. His right eyebrow flickered. With quiet aplomb he handed the binoculars to Admiral HmmGov.

‘You see it? It’s coming for us. We can tame it. Use it. Channel our will through it. Kill them all with it’.

Admiral HmmGov winced through the hallucinatory snowfall‘s haze.

He hadn’t signed up for navigating the sea of stupidity that had been his lot in life, ever since he first tasted raw steak at cub camp and the other cubs vomited. Now there was this Biscuits fellow. A contractor of unknown provenance as a guide in the frozen north, a place where stupidity was found out quickly evidenced by the occasional frozen rib-cage of savaged carrion and a remorseless, salt-pierced wind.

He agreed with his colleague’s instincts initially, but something now seemed severely off with the man. They were still a solid 18-day hike across sheet ice to the nearest supply station, at best, with 6 days left on quarter-rations. As the pearly, dying sun bounced down the ridgeway marking dusk, he pondered if he was ever going to see home again. It had all seemed so straightforward a few months ago. Start a new nation, bootstrap Wim Hof living, away from that sullen isle of rain and piss-soaked streets, the pre-diabetic fools with their masks and chips. The question then became where. Somewhere their gumption and balls would be embraced - the entire Arctic - pioneers of a noble, long-term goal. Leave the scum to their deep fried pizzas and diazepam.

Funding had come by divorces and equity release, a highly tense drug deal in Halifax that snowballed into a grotesque incident neither of them had spoken about since. A quest in the blood, bonded by blood, raiding gangs headed into the great unknown fully prepared, unlike those poofs at cubs. They’d show everyone how it was done. Except......their gear and insignia designs seemed like bantz originally. Now they disturbed him - ‘Digestives’ - rich in fat and sugar, known enemies of testosterone. Why had Biscuits lied?

The addiction revealed itself after he’d misplaced a hunting knife and found a stash of Digestives in a sack. Suspicious, he checked all the food sleds and every single one was packed with Jammy Dodgers, Twixes and Mint Clubs. Pushing the eyepiece to his sunken, malnourished socket, in his mind’s eye a flash of crumbs, overfamiliar talks about Covid equations during meals and the referencing of a certain Lord Tea in his companion’s sleep broke through momentarily. Ignore. Concentrate and commit. The designated viewpoint still seemed unclear in the driving elements.

Biscuits shouted hoarsely at HmmGov, his voice lost partially in the gyre. ‘Can you see it? The legends all confirm it. We can talk with it, mediate terms. They’ll never know what hit them’.

’Hit what, Biscui......?’, the admiral paused mid-word. Around 800 yards away, an unknowable shape bounded over crevasses the width of city streets and icy crags.

’Yessss’, hissed Biscuits, fondling a strange amulet, ‘there it is. We can enchant it with Kenny Ken. Hell hath no fury like a guinea pig bugler scorned’.

FC0AF1B1-9F1A-4D38-814D-5B11E98052FF.jpeg
 

WashYourHands

Cat Malogen
source Daily Express

content -

Coronavirus probe must look at non-covid deaths like my Mum's, says DAVID MADDOX​


This is like a war @mixed_biscuits , no-one wants deaths but they will happen, the question to the bereaved is a matter of dignity and lobbing Daily Express sources up is just lazy. Unfortunately, our current admin govt has chosen to waste billions on Brexit, enacted pvt-public initiatives with 'companies' like Marillion Carillion who left us an empty, ultra-million-£ hospital in Liverpool and fucked everyone in the o-hole. No shit people are pissed. Your position of avoiding lockdown is untenable, because the facts around the disease were loose for months. If the lockdown had been skipped, we would have fried scare NHS resources nationally and there still would have been avoidable deaths. Is there a cost? Of course. Will the correct cunts be held to account, ie Bojo missing 5 SAGE meetings in early 2020, i doubt it but what do you think? What's the summary of your argument?

I've been nice to you, wrote a story about your concerns with the world (high as fuck), so keep the evidence base worth scrutinising.
 

mixed_biscuits

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Lockdown made little difference to the peak as it started declining prior to the lockdown effect - it was done for the optics, nothing more.

The country's been done over twice: by the virus and by lockdowns, almost maximally by both.

The measures are an over-reaction by design, as that's how UK crisis management is set up to work (prepping for the 'reasonable worst case', not the most probable one).
 
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