Homo cuntus

Just a mini-bitch today about some knobs I had the displeasure of travelling with on the tube home. A quick glance around as I took my seat revealed a pair of overly-preened, browny-orange-faced, tightly-dressed men heading for the seats opposite. Their fluid transition from sitting to seated was terminated by an extravagant Kenny-Everett-style flourish of the legs. These came to rest in that horrible little pose whose purpose was to preserve a lady's modesty and whose assumption is most unbecoming of a man (see pic). If there could have existed any doubt before, that was now dispelled: these were homos of the middle aged variety. Yet this tableau alone, though amusingly predictable, was not quite enough to make me flinch.

Suddenly from within his black Lonsdale leather satchellette (which may possibly be issued at birth to all gay men in the future), one of the homos pulled a large, hard-back book. Opening it on his crossed legs, he immediately assumed the position of somebody reading a work of great complexity and importance. His index finger, itself connected to a limp and flexed wrist, gently fingered the corner of his mouth. His well-plucked eyebows contracted and descended under the effort of comprehension. It was then that I noticed the title of this learned volume: Unlocking The Hidden Spiritual Powers of the Human Mind. Fuuuuuuuuuck oofffffffffffffffffff! What a load of bullshit! Why do people read this crap? And why particularly effete, middle-aged poofs? I can only hope that this apparition was no ghost of Christmas future!

Ladies and gentleman, I give you a new and terrible species: behold homo cuntus!