And so from the playing fields to real life; like the chilli in your stir fry, casual insults liven up our dull and dreary lives and make banter better. Accepting an insult with good grace is the mark of civilised man and giving as good as you get is a sign that you have achieved your majority sense-of-humouro intacto.
Oi, you cheeky monkey! Hey, shit-for-brains! Who ate all the pies? Don't mind him, he's a bit 'special'. You clueless fuckwit! If he had one thought in his head he'd be dangerous. Think you're a wit? You're half right. She's been banged more than a Monday morning snooze button. Wow, you're even dumber than you look. I've heard more coherent arguments from a schizophrenic with Tourette's. Oh, I could play all day...
You think I'm condescending? Do you even know what that means?
But they've banned the obstacle courses now. In the lack-of-adventure playgrounds of today, children are taught to be kind and civilised and tolerant and oh-my-god, so fucking DULL. But being nice on the outside is sinister. It's Peter Mandelson personified. It's oleaginous and slimy and just plain wrong, because it invariably turns out to conceal contempt and malice and the underhand betrayal of what used to be common British decency.
So, in the spirit of all that is good and wholesome and robustly Anglo-Saxon we should track down the complainants and hurl bawdy badinage at the loathsome inadequates until they fucking well cheer the fuck up, or fuck the fuck off!
