If you can’t say anything nice about someone, it’s probably Jan Moir

Jan Moir…. Well, would you? Even after a skinful and enough GHB to tranquilise a team of Clydesdales? From a personal perspective, an evening spent in a crack den, trepanning myself with a rusty hand drill holds more appeal. Tongue firmly lodged in the anal profundities of The Daily Quail and Anton Vowl. Advertisements

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Why did they take so long to bury Michael Jackson?

My friend Karahi emailed me this morning postulating the following intriguing hypothesis: Perhaps the family was using him as an interesting coffee table objet/conversation piece. Being mostly plastic I doubt he’d have decomposed much. I think I’m inclined to go with this theory.

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