With the exception of the bombs and the carnage, everything’s is fine here. Bombs go off around the corner and the Brits do what they do best - they go to the pub and get drunk and make the best of it. Even better: cricket is still going on (it’s a game with tall men in white pants. they play for days). My managing editor, Eoin, a Millwall football supporter with the name of his favorite team tattooed on the inside of his lip, says, “we fought hitler! it’ll take a bit more than some shits with carrier-bag bombs on a tube to put us off. It was a bit of a piss-poor effort. Shall we have another pint then?” We had another pint and had “a laugh.” And “a wee.” He has big, caring arms.
A Letter to the Terrorists, From London:
What the fuck do you think you're doing?
This is London. We've dealt with your sort before. You don't try and pull this on us.
Do you have any idea how many times our city has been attacked? Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work.
All you've done is end some of our lives, and ruin some more. How is that going to help you? You don't get rewarded for this kind of crap.
And if, as your MO indicates, you're an al-Qaeda group, then you're out of your tiny minds.
Via Dusty at Argghhh!
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