Wel-come in Littlejohn

LittleDouche

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Richard Littlejohn

Richard Littlejohn, whose Linkdin profile states: ‘I’ve never been to Brixton, it’s a fuckhole’, is an angry guy. His anger is literally astounding, like a small dog that looks like Hitler. He is made of fury, casual hate shaped into an ugly crabish human form. Anything and everything he sees can instantly send him into a rage fuelled Jaffa Cake binge, only to be found in a lay-by three hours later smashing orangey chocolatey cake mess into his face over and over again and moaning about ‘immigrants’ or ‘not getting breast in KFC’. When not writing columns for The Daily Mail he roams the UK in a beige van with a trowel and a tiny cat, ready to jump out from behind a tree screaming and waving his arms whenever he sees human rights being respected, cause he hates that shit.

Imagine a Buddist whose entire belief system is based on hate who is using a blurred computer printout of a picture of a chubby face as a face, in a suit. That’s Littlejohn.

In short, he’s a volatile, racist, mad brained twit. If his wife has any sense she’s covered all of the knives in the house with cotton wool just in case he sees a brown person on the way home and flips out. He’s a naked fucktard screaming in the streets about ‘polish cancer’ while cutting little swastikas into bits of paper. But look a little bit closer and you’ll notice something about this mentalist pie face, he isn’t screaming because he’s mental, those aren’t swastikas he’s cutting into those bits of paper…they’re Union Jacks. This isn’t some crazy Nazi nobody. This is a patriot! He doesn’t hate everything, he just loves England so bloody much he wants to stab everything in it and piss on the remains while crying.

Richard Littlejohn loves Britain, he loves it like a swan loves another swan, like lesbians love other lesbians, like Paul Flowers loves flowers that are covered in crack. Littlejohn loves Britain so much that he’ll do everything in his power to stop anything from slashing up its lovely little face.

Today, Theresa May threatens to mess with the UK’s face with the twin implements of cracking down on domestic violence and modern-day slavery and Littlejohn is just chomping at the bit to fuck her up. In light of the recent Workers Institute of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought slavery fiasco (an Ealing comedy just waiting for the right writer), May has spoken up about her feelings that more needs to be done by the government to seek out and stop the secretive abuse of people by impotent meatpuppets, spoken up about it everywhere she can. She’s currently patrolling the country in a beige van with a trowel and a tiny cat on a garage forecourt tour entitled ‘You MAY stop hitting her now’.

Upon hearing this news Littlejohn punched a nearby clown in the tit and quickly ran off like a mentalist with a handful of Jaffa Cakes. He’s since been seen sighted Jaffa from Co-ops and painting penises on every picture of Theresa May he can find. His wife says he only turns violent when he runs out of orangey biscuity cake things so it’s fine, but unfortunately the north of England are currently reporting a shortage of the mass produced cake like biscuity chocolate orange food stuffs, so it’s not fine. Needless to say police have moved Theresa to a secure location…

The country awaits his reaction with bated breath…

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