GEN X WERE THE LAST GREAT GENERATION. WE WERE HARD! WOOLWORTHS ON EVERY HIGH STREET. LITTLEWOODS CATALOGUES IN THE LIVING ROOM. SAFEWAY. KNOCKERS ON THE BOX. SWINGBALL. GATEWAY. CILLA ON BLIND DATE. SETTING NEWSPAPERS ON FIRE WITH A MAGNIFYING GLASS. WE WERE FREE.

Beans used to mean home. It meant comfort and family. But my family have left me, and now all that remains are the beans, the loneliness, and memories of the beans.

I just want my country back

Back in the 1980, me and my mates were so bored we'd literally just be sick down ourselves for fun. And you know what? That's what made us who were are now - not like these kids nowadays, with their phones and their easily accessible porn. Britain used to be a country!

MK Forever Blue@mkforeverblue.bsky.social · last mo.

I feel sorry for people who didn't grow up with true boredom. The kind of rainy day in the 70s or 80s with only black & white films on TV, nothing to do on a hot Saturday, or empty time after a school day boredom. There was self discovery, reading, experimentation, play - and joy - in that boredom.

Who remembers asphyxiwanks? All the rage in the '90s. No longer. Banned by the woke brigade. I just want my country back.

Britain used to be the best country in the world. What happened?

I only started getting these after my wife left me. It's plainly obvious that the holes are the the result of woke spores attacking the fabric.

Stars In Their Eyes once gave ordinary people a chance to become someone else. Now that dream is dead, hope is dead, and my wife has left me. Alone, I sit awake refreshing X like a man waiting to hear his own name called by Matthew Kelly. He never will.

Remember Cookie Jar, the '90s chain? Well, Millie's Cookies bought it, sanded off the charm, corporatised the sweetness, made it woke. Now my wife has left me, just as Cookie Jar did, and I am left here dreaming of sweetness and warmth, fuming at what has become of Britain.

Who remembers Britain's great slag heaps? They're all gone now, replaced by flats. 😡

Only one bloke has what it takes to get the job done. Rupert Lowe.

Start used to sustain our nation. It nourished our people. It fuelled our legendary athletes. No longer. Now the country is broken, my heart is broken, and the only thing I start in the morning is breaking down as I contemplate where it all went wrong.

Head bags used to mean something - proper stitching, stubborn zips, built to carry a life that felt like it might hold together. Now it's all flimsy, throwaway, like the country itself. Broken Britain, broken marriage, and me left carrying what's left in something that won't last

Swingball in the garden. That bright, circling orbit of plastic certainty - a game you could win, a day you could hold. Now the pole is gone, my wife is gone, and I spin in place instead, wound tight by memory, watching everything I had unwind into nothing.

This is the kind of content that the woke brigade don't want you to watch. 😡

Kasabian were the sound of a country that still had a pulse - proper guitar music that spoke to normal men like me. Now music is crap, my wife has left me, and I stand here in the afternoise with my Weller haircut and broken dreams.

There's nothing more British than having a few pints with lunch while you're at work - whether you operate heavy machinery, drive a lorry, provide health care, or run the country. That's our culture. And we will never hand over our pints.

A proper British telly: thick-backed, softly humming, the picture blooming into life like it meant it, my wife beside me. Now they're all thin and woke, and she is gone. Bushell on the Box isn't the same in HD.

Our country was built on licking the spoon. Now even that is gone; the bowl is scraped clean, the house is silent, and I stand there, wifeless, with nothing but the aftertaste of something that will not come back.

Pick ’n’ Mix: warm paper cups, sugar-dusted choice, my wife laughing as we overfilled beyond reason. A life that felt abundant in small, bright ways. Now the bins are gone, she is gone, and I sit alone measuring out my evenings in careful, joyless portions.

Generation X was the last hard generation.

You can't get brandy snaps any more. We've got the EU to thank for that. But despite what the woke say, they were good for our health and they'd feed a family for a week. Nothing and nobody can eradicate the unrelenting fury I have inside of me.

Britain used to rule the world. What happened?

The Great British trough urinal once represented Britain at its best. Now, like our once-mighty empire, it has gone - replaced by European urinals festooned with woke P-waves. And so here I stand, pissing into the sink as I contemplate where it all went wrong.

Simply Red on stage, that red halo and velvet voice filling the room, my wife beside me - a night that felt like proof of something lasting. Now the singer is dead, she has flown, and I sit here listening to the song that we once called ours.

Crisp packet condoms: the furtive ingenuity of it, foil and salt-and-vinegar alchemy, a country that made do and carried on. Now nobody dares talk about them. They belong to a bygone age of Blitz spirit and - like my relationship with my wife - will remain forever in the past.

A cuppa once nourished me - my wife beside me, life seeming more complete with every sip. Now the tea goes cold untouched, she is gone, and I sit awake at 3am, dunking memory into nothing, watching it all collapse.

There's only one man who can loosen Great Britain's cock cage.

Well, since my baby left me I found a new place to go Sharing memes on the internet Of Rupert Lowe I'm so angry, so lonely, baby Well, I'm so angry I'm so lonely, I could die

A proper roast once meant something - steam on the windows, my wife commanding the kitchen while I orbited in useless contentment. Now the oven is cold, the house hollow, and I pick at memory like scraps, hungry for my life before she left me.