Tuesday 4 November 2008
I've been waiting for that fop haired flop Russell Brand to strike a pose for ages but apparently he is off to make films with his Hollywood friends. Although I don't find him particularly amusing he has got a Cito high five for shouting out 'Que?' when he boned that horse face minger. I guess if you are going to stick it to one of the ugliest birds I have had the displeasure to photograph (Geri Haliwell is far uglier but it's the kind of ugly that's on the inside) you have to make your own entertainment.
I don't understand why the buck tooth donkey is making such a fuss, the guy tells everyone who he's fucked anyway so why not her grandad? I bet she wasted no time in phoning her ugly friends to tell them she had boned a celeb, it's just that he has a wider audience.
As for that British institution that is so deeply offended by his granddaughter's bedfellows, I think he should take a running jump off the moral high ground. Purely for playing an idiotic caricature of an immigrant and for spending 12 episodes of one of the UK's favourite comedies telling only one joke 'Que?'.
I may sound harsh but the only way she could justify her sanctimonious response to the revelation that she boned RB would be if she was a member of a group called Young Christian Virgin Feminists Against Premarital Sex, and she hadn't boned him. However, she is a member of a group called Satanic Sluts Extreme, which kind of says to me that the night in question was not the first time she had 'known' a man.
A more dignified response could have copied from the 'yours was yum girl' who, instead of heading to Max Clifford's office to sell her story of the sordid night to any hack with a five pound note, went to hide at her parents house and got her mum to shout at reporters "she’s a nice girl really."
Anyway, I am going to hang round Georgina Baillie's place as there is always a chance she will get her bangers out to draw attention away from her donkey face.
“Que?”
Labels: Andrew Sachs, BBC, Claire Swire, Georgina Baillie, Jonathan Ross, Manuel, Max Clifford, Que?, Russell Brand, Satanic Sluts, Scandal
Thursday 16 October 2008
Damn, three hours outside Madonna’s house and it turns out she is in LA doing a cover of that Katy Perry song. It goes: “I got divorced and I like it, got rid of that English twat prick.”
Now, Guy Ritchie is not such a bad bloke on a one to one level, but why does he make films about cockney gangsters when he went to Eton? Surely the next Guy Ritchie film should be about a boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth who gets bummed by older posh kids, until he’s old enough to start bumming younger posh kids. It's called fagging and is one of those upper-class traditions people don’t really talk about too much. I heard a rumour he liked receiving rather than giving but each to their own.
Maybe that’s why he’s obsessed with the working classes, as they are generally only fucked by posh people on a metaphorical level rather than the balls deep private school action he is probably used to. But who knows, it was just a rumour.
If only Mr Ritchie had realised that he wasn’t just marrying one person but three - her private person, her public persona and her ego. Which is apparently as big as her bush when she did those artistic black and white nudes when she was young and needed the money, needed a fucking wax more like.
I know a lot of you are now thinking it's not nice to follow people round and speculate on the sexuality and the end of their marriage. But these people are celebs and would not be able to survive without the exposure my kind of work gives them, they need me a lot more than I need them.
Monday 13 October 2008
Credit cunts
If a banker jumps out of a window in Canary Wharf and no one's there to see him fall does he make any noise when he hits the ground?
Maybe that's the sound of the credit crunch.
Unfortunately those greedy bastards who squandered your Gran’s life savings on a roll of the confidence dice will probably not be jumping from windows this time round. We can still pray for a rain of pricks in pin stripe suits and red braces failing around the city but the brunt of the crunch is going to lie with the kind of person Sarah Palin gets fired for not boning her sister (me and you). Unless you are Palin and her sister then you can go fuck yourself.
It does seem that every trader in the world has managed to graduate from the Nick Leeson School of economics. Six months ago you would have thought your money in the bank was as safe as houses now it’s more like how safe is your house.
Is it right to blame the bankers for the state of the worlds economy? Fuck yeah, how can anyone think they can take huge amounts of money out of a system and for it to still function? I know for one that HSBC made a lot of money out of extortionate bank charges so they will probably be OK unless everyone starts believing that rumour I started about the CEO fucking his pet dog on tape.
One thing that does piss me off about the crisis is that they paid themselves a fuck of a lot of money, the goose died and they ran to the government like a naughty child who had spent all his pocket money on sweets but still wanted some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, and the fucking government caved. I thought a free market involved companies that make shitty decisions getting bought out by bigger ones or dissolved.
If the crisis is that much of a threat to the world why aren’t there fucking tanks and troops in the city making sure CEO’s aren’t running out the back door with an xmas bonus big enough to shake the foundations of capitalism to its knees? Why aren’t they gunning down suicide investors as they buy up sub prime mortgages from myopic American banks who’s only asset left after the great bonus bonanza was a shitty fucking hick shack built out of corrugated iron and pig shit? Where is the SAS? The Paras? Call the fucking marines, just don’t give them £50 billion quid. How about that for high risk high return? Make good deals or we fucking shoot you.
Fuck short selling, sell your fucking 2nd house you overpaid spread better.
Labels: credit crunch, Nick Leeson, Sarah Palin