Chat Shit, Get Banged

I remember when Mr Justice Peter Smith’s judgment on the Da Vinci Code case included some encrypted comments, which marked him out as something of a wag or a twat, depending on your perspective.

That dilemma persists in the courts to this very day.

What a shame that the judge in the Wagatha Christie case did not get with the programme and just leak the verdict to Rebekah Vardy – and nobody else – the evening before.

Spare a thought for Mrs Justice Steyn, though, who had diligently ploughed through law school, worked her way up to the High Court, and subsequently had to spend months churning out a 75-page verdict on what a gaggle of morons had been ungrammatically committing to WhatsApp, Instagram, and Christ knows what other chunder-channel.

Gone are the days when WAGs would bitchslap each other in overblown clubs, leave nutty turds in their ememies’ Gucci handbags, and then unwind with a cool, tall glass of chilled spunk.

In this case, the resolution was way saltier than any jism colada. The best part of £3m has been spaffed up the wall, indeed into the thirsty, cavernous gobs of laughing lawyers. As grand plans go, the decision to sue was the greatest backfire since Marc Almond inadvertently sneezed and buttblew 19 types of cloudy jungle juice onto the porcelain.

Now, the only thing being emptied will be……………………Rebekah Vardy’s account.

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