Man who claims his freedom of speech is under threat never shuts the f**k up

A MAN claiming freedom of speech is as risk from censorious leftists spends 18 hours a day vomiting his opinions all over social media.

Bill McKay is so outraged that ‘Leftwaffe cultural Marxists’ are stopping him speaking out that he posts about it on Facebook for all the world to read approximately three times an hour.

McKay said: “The libtards are always trying to silence me, which pisses me off because it’s like Nazi Germany. Also you’re not allowed to post anything positive about Nazi Germany.

“Saying it’s ‘homophobic’ to call someone a poofter violates my human rights to express my opinion freely. And I’ve written a four-paragraph rant on a public forum to make sure they know it.

“I’m also very active on Twitter, where I run several accounts replying to anything Marxist journalists say telling them how wrong they are, and that they’ll be strung up once we leave the EU.

“They keep blocking me. See? Censorship. For daring to tell the truth.”

McKay’s wife Susan said: “I wish someone would take away his freedom of speech, the boring old twat.”

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The holiday you were meant to be on this summer vs the one you're actually having

YOU had a fortnight in Italy booked. You’re spending a week on a campsite in Filey. Here’s how your 2020 plans and reality compare: 


Planned: two weeks on Sardinia’s Costa Smerelda in a villa with a swimming pool and a sea view, spent relaxing drinking limoncello on the balcony while the kids chase geckos.

Reality: seven days in a campsite on the Yorkshire coast – not a good campsite, because they were all f**king booked – sitting under the awning in pissing rain swigging Aldi whiskey from the bottle while the kids chase litter.


Planned: touring ancient sites, checking out relics of the Roman Empire under a blazing sun, wandering cork forests in dappled shade, eating wood-fired pizza at sunset and of course swimming in the clear green waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Reality: Retreating from the beach after an hour’s torrential rain, attempting to visit the Captain Cook museum only to find out it’s closed, queuing in a hurricane to buy fish-and-chips then eating them in a steamed-up car.


Planned: The beautiful mountain town of Tempio, unspoilt by mass tourism, with breathtaking views over moutains to the endless vista of the ocean. A moment fixed in the memory by its sheer loveliness, providing spiritual sustenance for the year to come.

Reality: Winning a game of Risk against an eight-year-old, dancing around the tent shouting ‘in your face loser’, then packing up and going the f**k home.