An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman are condemned to death. Waiting in their cells, they are given a weeks supply of their hearts desire.
Almost inevitably the Scotsman requests enough fine Scotch to last a week before being locked away.
The Englishman, being a bit of a posh knob, asks for a weeks supply of smoked salmon, and takes it to his cell.
The Irishman takes a weeks supply of cigarettes to his cell with him.
On the morning of the seventh day the cells are unlocked for the condemned men to be led to the scaffold. The Scotsman emerges first, clearly inebriated and seemingly unconcerned for his fate. The Englishman is next, smiling brightly, rubbing his stomach, and cheerily announcing to all assembled that he is ready to die.
Finally the Irishman emerges from his cell looking sheepish. He holds a cigarette up to his mouth and asks "has anybody got a light?".
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Fist is a four letter word. So is fist, fist, fist, fist, fist, fist fist, fist, fist, fist, fist, and, well you get the fist-fucking picture....
THE WESTCOUNTRY SHALL RISE AGAIN!
Yay! It's pink!
Don't think.... FEEL!
We're Englishmen, and we came here, to rape your women and drink your beer.
I went back in time and voted for Hitler.
Pouring oil on troubled waters since 2008. Then lighting a fucking match.
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