The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb) header
The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb) profile picture

Renaissance ape; used to be interesting. Silly arse;TERFy af; 🟢⚪️🟣Mongrel Englishman. Ran away to a circus. . assigned inappropriate at birth.

Stroud England
Joined June 2009
Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)Photo by The red-trousered misanthropist⚔️🪗🎪 (@GervaseWebb)
What the fuck was all that about? I fear this may become a regular tweet.
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Hi Joe, I feel there should be a special dispensation to people putting on Twitter when they are off their tits. Well my tits are long way behind and other side so I have no idea… Cheers a good night to all my lovely moots!xxx
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Dafuq!?
I'm simultaneously confused and too indifferent to find out.
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OMFG, dumplings. Well now the weather is here why not?
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Oh dear, I now know that there are nine fig rolls in a packet.
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Dear God, Gloucester is grim; a town of swingers, dullards and Hobbyists. There should be a brown sign on the ring road, “Welcome to Fred West Country”, like they do for the Brontes, Hardy and Herriot.
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Oh dear, I realise that is a terrible example of daylight snobbery, and Gloucester does have some very good places to have a Curry Otherwise…
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People do not vote for presidential candidates in this country; they vote against them. Thus the election is usually the butchery of a villain rather than the exaltation of a hero. H. L. Mencken Letter to James Cannon Jr. 22nd October 1935
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And now, from the friend that gave us platy jubes for the late baked bean's celebration, we have a phrase for Wess Streeting's three-day panic box… poccy store!
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Why on earth have I just asked the dog to remind me to put the laundry in the fridge?
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Far eit from me to boast, but I am rather in awe of my own self-control, given that there's half a chocolate cake sitting uneaten on the chopping block in the kitchen.
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Reader, I ate the fucking Lot this afternoon.
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I can’t believe that I found myself watching that reality politics show, @bbcqt. And am I terribly inappropriate for thinking @libdemdaisy is lovely. She has the most beautiful eyes and a smoking hot brain. The idea of the “thinking man’s crumpet“ did not end in the 60s with Joan Bakewell, bless her.
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Bloody hell, a quick home-made curry and a couple of glasses of organic primitiveoand I now have a mouth like the bottom of a baby’s pram. That’s what my mother used to say; all stale piss and rusk crumbs…
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Cue eleventy-four Enid Blyton comments …
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Call me paranoid, but I do slightly worry that my washing machine is about to go online and start chatGPTing with next-door's air fryer over the best ways really to bollocks a pair of mohair socks.
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Oh, fuck a biscuit. It's a 10:45, I have just made the most exquisite chowder yet, and yet it does seem rather barbaric to eat at this hour. I really am the luckiest person I have ever met.
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Actually, looking at ithe solidity of it, I could just cut it into cubes and fry it for breakfast with an egg!
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And I'm now thinking how absolutely bloody awesome it would be with some black pudding.
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Oh cobblers, guess which lazy domestic slut has not yet got around to changing the kitchen clock. Bum.
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Surely the most Bare-faced lie of the modern age.
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