Dearest Cunt

As per my promise, below please find my witty retorts to your audacious queries. Your pixellated nonsense - barely articulated crude grunts, by the way - is rendered in bold red; to reflect the vivacious nature of your alleged Anglo-Saxon(1) ardour. My responses, rendered in bold black; to reflect the Stygian nature of  my Über(wo)mensch soul.

Anonymous Fair Anglo-Saxon said...
So far, so good.  Fair Anglo-Saxon you say?  Ha!  Yins are probably a fecking Ginger - in hopeless denial about it too I reckon.
Dearest Aquarians like to cuddle - aka "Vagina Dentata",
It's fucking 'love' to cuddle, not 'like' to cuddle.  Is your reading comprehension that fucked?  Do you perhaps consider the two words/concepts to be synonymous and therefore interchangeable?  Do you not know there is a difference?  For instance, I like Michael Caine, especially as he was in Zulu, but I love him in The Quiet American.
See the difference?  In case you've not seen the film, our Hero smokes a lot of opium and occasionally 'Irrigates the tight Mekong Delta' of a lithe Asian tart.  I can forgive him for making the two-backed beast with a Vietnamese-er though - 'cause that was all that was available and our man's got needs after all.  We Burmese have a special word to 'describe' the Vietnamese, but I would not be so indelicate as to reveal it here. 
I like my women like I like my coffee, er feisty…
Fuck off.  Coffee's for cunts.  And feisty?  I'll show you feisty when I go all Rorke's Drift with an Ulfberht on your sorry Anglo-Saxon ass for comparing me to caffeinated women.
I don’t think a doctor’s coat or scrubs would work as well as the ‘naughty nurse’ outfit.
Are you fucking mental?  Naughty nurse?  I am unsure from whence you hail, but if from the UK; that's just puerile Victorian bollocks.  And if from the Revolted Colonies; that's so Puritan flappy gee.
Still, from your photos I suspect you would look good in a plastic bag.
Jaysus fuck, ya moron, it's 'burlap sack', not 'plastic bag'!  Get your fuct anglospheric idioms right will ya?  Plastic bags, when re-purposed as accoutrement, especially the Tesco or Whole Foods variants, make me perspire.  Women should not be made to perspire - it's unwise.
Horses sweat.  Men perspire.  Women glow.
Very artistic and tasteful by the way.
Thank Ray Caesar, not me.  I merely usurp his vision for my own purposes of a curious conflation of utter self-loathing and sublime narcissism.
You wouldn't be in the market for a moderately wealthy ‘sugar daddy’, would you?
Define 'moderately'?  The Tutor, my current 'sugar daddy', purchased me from my father back in '05 for two goats and a bushel of shiitake mushrooms.  And they weren't your average ordinary goats either, they were those weird tree-climbing fuckers they have in Morocco.  Fuck me, those things creep me out!  Read my archives to get an idea of the dynamic between The Tutor and yours truly and then make him an offer - no goats.
I also spent an inordinately long time in ‘big school’ and unlike your delectable self I have a couple of proper degrees.
Proper degrees?  'big school'?  Fuck you!
My MD is not recognized in the Americas because I can't be arsed to file a petition - paper-work only - to get it!  Besides, why the fuck would I want to treat North American fat-fucks who deserve to die?  In the UK, I can ram 50 kilos of cold, flatulence-inducing proctological video equipment so far up a Brit arse I'll be able to tell if the cunt flosses his/her teeth or not - and get paid to do it!  The NHS recognize my credentials.   My BSc and MBA are well recognized the world over, the former from a Canadian 'big school' and the latter from a Yankee 'big school', so fuck the fuck right the fuck off!
Education is overrated don’t you think?
No it's not!  From whence I come, education can mean the difference between living a very short and brutish life eventually succumbing to starvation or getting the fuck out of there and into the pecuniary embrace of a neurotic westernized Caucasoid who believes 'love' is something other than a marketing concept invented to sell piña coladas(2) and snow tyres.  Your world view is so fucking Western-centric - it irks me to no end it does.
Unless it leads to a well paid job as a senior professional that is.
Fuck off again.  What is wrong with education for education's sake?  An elderly ball-bag sagging septuagenarian who does shit for money while keeping his collar white?  That's what the phrase 'senior professional' means to me.
When you have simmered down could you send me the other three links- just for the pursuit of my research into advanced pulchritude you understand.
What other three links?  Simmered down?
What the fuck kind of phrasal verb is that?
What about just 'calmed'?  There is no need for the preposition 'down' at all.  Besides, ending a phrasal verb in a preposition is something up with which Sir Winston and I will not put.  Advanced pulchritudinal research is it?  You electrum-tongued devil, I bet you say that to all the girls?
I thank you kindly. Furthermore your blog title doesn't mention ‘cuddle’ at all.
You noticed that?  Good for you.  Cunt!

ΦΥΧ  ΟΦΦ!

(1)  I am, of course, being kind, and a tad charitable I might add.  You Sassenach cunts are no different than those autochthonic Celtic cuntribbits of pre-Roman times in Blighty - only content when in your natural state of being drunk and fighting with each other.

(2)  I must admit though, I loves me some piña coladas and snow tyres are rather prudent here in the Canadas - for eight fucking months of the year prudent.  I do love swooning about and being whisked away on horseback and made love to on a secluded beach amidst crashing surf.  I especially enjoy the extra bonus of getting sand in the crack and sand fleas in my ears.