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What about the fat shite half-arsed "film director" Michael Winner? Here is a man with so much to offer in terms of piss taking - i have even penned a little verse about him: Michael
winner, what a cunt. Unfortunatly I can't remember the rest of the choon as I was a little drunk whilst conceiving the thing. But I shall send you the rest when I remember it. |
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This bloated nasty self important XXXX film making hang em, flog
em, self acclaimed man of the people, woman hating "do you know
who I am?", walking scrotum troffs his ghastly way through fifteen
restaurants per day on an inflated Murdoch budget, slagging off
the poorly paid waiters and chefs without sadly having another
heart attack. Oh yeah, while were at it, did you see that disgusting auction on the telly where he had that auction with all his fat lady friends grinding at the TV screen auctioning crap like Jamie Olivers Lambretta? |
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| He's
a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! He's a Twat! And ugly! |
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For penning the very dodgy Two Little Boys, everyone I know was
scared by it when they were seven, and singing it in a very sinister
voice as well as having a shifty beard and glasses throughout
the seventies. Now rescuing animals, albeit in less sinister glasses and beard. A big part of something that was very shady about pop music in the seventies, Jonathan King, Elton John, eh?eh? |
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Loveable East End Fat beardy "Cleveland Steamer" for promoting
Oi! the skinhead music movement in the 1970s for his own political
and media gains, more thinly disguised racism in his newspaper
columns, connections with right wing extremists (the BNP admire
him)need I go on? Bushell on the Box, remember that-bringing out of his own personal gutter his fat no-mark mates armed with bags of chips and kebabs for a non-program in which Gary and fatmate was infuriated (like he knows thew meaning of a five syllable word) about practically everything , a total waste of half an hour of my time one night which I've never forgotten nor forgiven. For a having a face that you'd never grow tired of punching. A concrete overcoat in a shallow grave awaits, you cockney twat. |
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He is a robot with clothes thrown over it in a hap-hazard way,
with a strange lump of rubber with glasses and an red gooey hole
which emits unending amounts of drool. But can he make noise through
this hole? No. He has to use that bloody machine. The one that has THAT voice. For God's sake, why did they not put him to sleep as he started to crumple? (I am assuming he was a proper person at some point) He has been on almost as many adverts as Carol fucking Vorderman (remember:- "MY. EYESIGHT. MEANS. A. LOTTOME."?) This is because he's 'so clever'. For fuck's sake, HE AIN'T PRETTY, GET HIM OFF THE TELLY AND DOWN A PIT. |
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| Telephone
answering machine voiced boffin. According to an ex colleague of his, a total and utter bastard, when he had his legs. A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME is a huge plagiarism of other peoples ideas,not his own, besides do you think those Oxford noddies would let us know any real truths? Known for ramming his finger controlled wheelchair into shoppers legs in Oxford city centre. Time to make brief his history I think. |
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Big fat ugly noisy American gut bucket. In the Daily Mirror 20/09/00 declaring that fat is sexy!! Yeah right lard ass "people with fat rolls can be the most passionate and sexy in the world" declared the bovine like gargantuan guzzler "I know what's female, I don't think it's a teenage girl-boy with big breasts". Wrong again Fatty, I think most people would prefer a 'Girl-boy with big breasts' as opposed to a big fat sweaty bag of shite that you would have to roll in flour and look for the wet patch before you shagged it. And I bet she's got a cunt like a Bill Posters Bucket |
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I'm not completely homophobic. I just can't stand that camp bastard
Dale "nudge nudge" Winton. I personally like putting my cock in women, I don't feel the need to laud this about, it's a fact that i can take pleasure in on my own. Dale has to go on telly and camp it up and make his double entendre remarks just to share with the viewer an insight into Dale's scene. Same for Julian Clary as well. I now have to use Domestos in my toilet instead of Bloo, cos Cary's disgusting innuendo about "spotless Bottoms" is an unashamed breach of clause 28. They all want fucking with the fat end of a Rag Man's Trumpet, however, they would probably welcome it. |
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| Coz
he's a talentless, effemanate, waste-of-human-skin. He's also a complete TWAT! |
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| My
reasons for disliking this fat sack of shit are pretty similar
to those for Graham Norton; just what the fuck is so good about
a sickening mincing <snipped for homophobia(!) Spleen!
Ed.> camping it up all the time and never being off
our TV screens? Not a hell of a lot, if you ask me. Winton started out presenting the so-called 'cult favourite' (meaning watched by student wankers and the terminally unemployable) Supermarket Sweep, which was a sack of crap, and he's just spread out from there, literally, the fat cunt. I reckon there's a pretty good chance this sub-human creature spends most of his free time getting <libel snip Spleen! Ed.> by my other favourite celeb Scott Mills, and that prospect just turns my stomach. But it's not just his abhorrent manlove preferences that make me want to kill him, his presenting skills are absolutely diabolical as well. If you've ever seen him presenting the National Lottery, I'm sure you'll share my desire in wanting to see him come to an unfortunate end. All that camping it up and his double entendres, Jesus, pass me the shovel, I'm off into the forest, I'll dig the bastard's grave myself. At the very most, the highest someone of his ilk should be able to rise in life is to be a worker in a supermarket, not a presenter of national television programs set in them. However, this does not go far enough to satisfy me. I'd prefer to see him butchered, rendered down and sold as meat in the store where they make Supermarket Sweep, either that or getting AIDS after being butt-fucked by <libel snip Spleen! Ed.>, both are good. A more fitting end you'll struggle to find, I'm sure you'll agree |
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Sometimes words seem superflous. And sometimes words are simply
not enough. This is one of those times. The demon-woman has had a career for what seems to be an eternity, which shows no signs of abating. And how? By affecting a scouse accent when she sees fit, thus endearing her to the blue-rinse brigade who find regional accents amusing when not encountering them face to face. Cilla, love. You may very well have been born in Liverpool, but to adopt those tones on a whim does not make you authentic. And as for your programming.... Blind Date!!! Cheap sexual inuendos, pre-scripted for a bunch of White Lightening drinking townies, who deem Eastenders to be quality drama. Suprise Suprise!!! Meet your dear old uncle/ neice/ tortoise in a tearful reunion which you could have sorted out for yourself if you hadn't been wasting away watching Cilla. Moment of Truth!!! I don't care. I really don't. Let these inarticulate morons have their glory. It will make them think their lives have been successful. But for the love of god, don't try and make them interesting. CILLA BLACK IS NOT A NECCESSARY INGREDIENT OF SATURDAY NIGHT TELEVISION. |
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| On
the prognosis of "Our Bobbie's" cancer, the buck tooth,
not very scouse cunt, promised faithfully that she would never
work again after his demise. Well fuck me, before the poor bloke's body was cold, she'd negoiated a new contract with LWT and has not been off the fucking box since. Come on Cilla, enough is enough, why don't you and "our Graham" fuck off to a hedonist's island in the sun and take Paul Daniels and Debbie fucking McGee with you. There'd be a lorra lorra shagging etc. Friend of the Beatles, my arse, I can believe Paul McCartney may have bunged you an autograph once (he seems to have a charitable spot for deformed women) but John Lennon would not have pissed on you if you were on fire. |
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In conversation with a friend the other day we were discussing
the loathsome crop of TV presenters these days which seem to fall
in two camps - blonde/bland and plain fucking irritating. I couldn't remember her name and referred to her as 'cunt'. Funnily enough my mate knew exactly who I was talking about. Have you read her column in the Times? Makes Tara Palmer-Llama-Farmer look deep. Death is the only answer. |
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This half-baked typical yank twat has got to be the most annoying
in-breed on TV!!! She's bordering on the obsessive with "problem teens", constantly reminds anyone who gives a flying fuck that she's been to hell & back in her private life, talks "tough" to the unruly brats cos she's surrounded by security staff, talks over the top of her specs annd, most irritating of all, the finger-knitter has an obsession with the camera, staring into it when she should be looking at her guests! Just watch the blue-rinsed cunt for half an hour...then back me up on this site!!! |
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Stupid jumped up neo-feminist of the ilk where they think women
are actually superior, an equally sexist attitude. A proponent of the increased feminisation of society which leads to men becoming even more redundant than they already are. Silly fucking bitch! Piss of back to Australia or wherever it is you are from! |
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He's just SUCH an annoying toss-pot! He comes on stage to tidalwaves of obviously cued applause, tries to sing some middle-of-the-road shit song no-one's ever heard of, prances around a bit ('Ooo, look at me! I'm sooo wacky, aren't I!') like a spastic string puppet and then invites on some poor minor celebrity or member of the public who think that their are going to perform for our pleasure. Instead they get to do their act while the great, gangly twat ponces about behind them (or, more usually, in their face) making them nothing more than stooges to his complete lack of any real talent. His whole persona is based around a really bad imitation of Basil Fawlty and he hasn't even got the guts say if he takes it up the shitter or not, the big pooftah! If you are reading this Mr.Barrymore, here's a personal message for you:- "FUCK OFF and let someone that can entertain us into the limelight, ya great lanky cunt!" |
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| I
just can't believe he has not been nominated before!! It's not cos he's gay. It's not cos he is an addict, IT'S COS HE IS NOT FUNNY!!!!!!!!!!!! |
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More candidates for the back of Henri Pauls high speed taxi service
I'm afraid. Watch out in years to come of sixteen year olds jibbering at C major, with flourescent eyes and hair like students. Although it could be from eating McDonlads; just because they've been exposed to this garbage that celebrity arsewipes Keith Chegwin and Noel Edmonds could have come up with after a four hour session on amyl nitrate. Long live Bagpuss. |
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Lanky rug wearing streak of piss. I'd like to snap the twat into pieces and stick him onto a bonfire having made him light it himself but not before I'd had a huge fight with him in a bar, involving a snooker cue and bottles and a fire axe. This integral part of the bad old 1970s piece of celebrity golf playing shit, remember pro-bastard-celeb golf on TV at which he threw so many tantrums? It made me cry with despair as a little lad, as he sucked all resistance out of me on a Saturday night with his resounding "wit" and his fleet of half baked girlfriends/wives whirling in ridiculous frocks of many awful colours and shapes, remember that ridiculous Isla St Clair and her tartan numbers! Whom he ditched once they'd hit the forty mark, the cunt. I often wished that conveyer belt on the Generation Game had an IRA bomb or a sniper loaded onto it. |
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| The
previous nominator has expressed my opinions on Bruce Forsyth
better than I can, so he effectively speaks for me on this matter. Mode of death:-The Game Show Show !!! For people who have NEVER read the comic 2000 AD, the comic strip, Judge Dredd ran a story, called "The Game Show Show" In the story, a failed quizmaster, Barrimore Dreary, A.K.A Barry Dreary, is fired from the Quizmasters Union, for being too boring. Natrually, he seeks revenge on them , and after a VERY Rich relative, dies leaving him 1,000,000,000 credits,starts getting it! He kidnapps various "thinly disguised for legal reasons" Quizmasters, and forces them to play the "Game Show Show". If they win, they live. However, Barry has rigged it so NO ONE wins. The "Bruce Forsyth" spoof is forced to do the "conveyer belt", the catch being, if he fails to name the prize, he keeps it. "Brucie" fails to remember the 50kg sack of ready mix, quick-set Rockcrete! Cue comic frame of 2 robots forcing the contents of the sack, down his throat, while a cheery, robotic presenter, tells the audience what he's won! Unfortunately, Barry "wins" the star prize (1 ton of imported, ravenous, flesh eating worms, from The Planet Orbo), while fleeing from the aformentioned Judge. |
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Dear Three AM girls: I'm having a super launch party round at my flat on Friday evening to celebrate the making of my BRAND NEW movie Death At Three A.M., the longest extravaganza of drawn out er..violence ever made, starring Grandfather Gimp and the boys from the Offy on Junction Road in Tufnell Park, London who will provide the lethal strength lager, locally produced in a warehouse in Harlesden, the dirty battered white Van with luxurious damp matress in the back for your transport and state of the art BetaMax recording facilities complete with squiggly faded film where you can hardly hear the screams plus a few sweaty gentlemen of middle Eastern origin that have not seen lady for years. The climax of the show will be a special bonfire on a piece of wasteland in Walsall. Special cameo guests:Bruce"Brucey" Forsyth, Ronny Corbett, and Tarby. What a bunch of freeloading two faced slag harpies that spill the fucking beans on celebs they've spiked with Rohypnol and charlie probably, and all of whom resemble Ena Sharples bobbing for chips in a deep fat fryer. Punchy punchety punch! Sluts. |
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| This
dickshit twat had the nerve in an interview recently to suggest
that people don't find him funny in that program with Rob Newman
"because I am Jewish"..and "clever,clever".
Excuse fucking I, no its not you beardy smug little one liner(that being arsehair)felch merchant, and how dare you even suggest that people would stoop as low as you have: Examples; Lenny Bruce,Jackie Mann, Ben Elton,Sammy Davis Jr.all of them much funnier than you could ever be in ten lifetimes, even Albert Einstein was funnier,compared to you...its simply because you are AN UNFUNNY LOSER. Now fuck off,tosser. |
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| David
Bad-Deal makes me puke. Everything he has done is total shite. 'The Mary Whitehouse Experience' was smug, undergraduate bollocks. Everything he has done since then has been even worse including unfunny "comedy" stadium "gigs", rubbishy football records, the invention of ghastly "New Lad" and two shitty novels that SUCK GOAT COCK. He's SMUG, SMUG, SMUG and SMUG. He likes to think he's something of an intellectual! And his "ironic" beard and glasses make him look like a TOTAL CUNT. |
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| Just
too much exposure-- too much power--just too 'expert'. Making babies, making statements in the house of Lords, in written media, etc. Everyone thinks he's wonderful, but what has he ever done for me? Just because he's good at fiddling around with female womby/tubey - bits doesn't mean he's got any more right than you or I, or my cat , or the local plumber to comment on the ETHICS of reproductive technologies. doesn't stop him though. Oh no. A period of silence from RW would be appreciated, and less deference from the public eg 'Aren't they CLEVER these doctors? Wonderful what they can do...' I'll be glad to see the back of the twitching little moustache. |
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| I
rue the day that chubby Raj 'bastard' Persaud first passed comment
on the great people of Britain. Can no one see beneath his dank web of tactless metaphors and psychobabble bullshit, that an evil man lurks. For he craves but one thing, your attention and money. Posing as a "caring resident psychologist" on This Morning with Dumb and Dumber, Squat and Somewhat Podgy, motherfucker Raj offers unoriginal, expertless opinions and suggestions for the menopausal housewives of Britain. Raj typically spouts things like: 'I see you are suffering at the moment Jennifer, I suggest you get out more, and perhaps purchase my latest book, titled Raj's mind fucks II, it offers unpretentious advice for people like you'. The putrid gas that escapes from my arse hole offers better advice and better company than this pitiful waste-of-space. Menopausal housewives of these shores, banish this shit-for-brains therapist wannabe to the land of Cuntdom from whence he shalt never escape, and change channels to BBC2. Thus rather than observing tear enducing tripe from the prince of utter bollocks, watch the tranquil and inoffensive Tellitubbies in action, they like Raj are fat, talk a lot of shite and have a mental age of approximately 2. |
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| Sian
"Bloody" Lloyd, why? One mate calls her the grinning bullfrog, I think she has a face like an Orang-Utan's arse. She is one person who could tell you that there would be a typhoon tomorrow, but would still have that inane grin on her face. She is to true product of genetic engineering, to develop what can be only described as the ultimate vacuous weathergirl. I met someone who was at school with her and all she wanted to be is a weathergirl. Why are we inflicted with her, and her cheeriness. Have you ever noticed that she is really happy when it is going to be abysmal weather the next day? She is not human, she is an Incubus, the spawn of satan. |
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She came to view
my friend's house in London. |
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Have any of you ever
been in the situation to be confronted by a Kevin Costner film?
Probably!
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Star Sun columnist
Richard Littlejohn is nearly as bigger cunt as Gary
Bushell. Perhaps bigger. |
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| Richard
Littlejohn is a such a fucking arsehole, wanker, total fucking
felching little shit. With reference to the first entry, I'd like to say that at least Gary Bushell, despite being a cunt, doesn't take himself that seriously. He's just like a cartoon character. Littlejohn actually means all this shit. If any of you have seen the Viz pisstake of his column, then you will have noticed its spot on. The man just can't stop going on about his latent homosexuality. It doesn't matter whether he speaks about the middle east crisis, the Northern Ireland crisis or the lack of rozzers ( his favourite) in England, Hell always manages to put something about him not being a poof in it, and how they're disgusting, blah blah. Yeah, makes me think, Littlejohn, you dirty little stretcher. Just stop trying to write about politics and hang out outside toilets like the people you wanna be like. Fuck off Littlejohn, you fucking Cunt. |
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| The
man is a an absolute arse. He sits in his half million pound house spouting the worst kind of right wing rhetoric with a faux 'Man of the People' spin. You couldn't make it up! |
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What? The cheeky
chappy? I find it incredible
that a man who is little more than a giggling football hooligan
still gets beamed out to millions of homes on prime-time TV.
You are worse than 10 week old BSE infected cow spine, Jim. It's death by public flogging for you me old cocker, aint it? |
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| He's
racist, he's a Tory (isn't this self implied?), he loves our 'brave
boys and girls' in the forces - what's brave about picking on
little countries and spending the rest of the time on outdoor
pursuits courses? He's not funny and tells jokes older than the ark. Saying he's a ginga pseudo cockney would be playing his game ......but it's true. |
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| What
an aboslubte horror of a being!!
This stupid, non comdeic, shite for brained individual is a persistent cause of my despair at Saturday evening entertainment. Managing to insult
every social group with the exception of stupid, middle aged,
white, Ford Sierra driving fuck wits, Why is he still here? Why does he still open his show's with jokes about the Falklands war? IT WAS 20 FUCKING YEARS AGO!!! "Jim, we're all going to the 21st century, d'ya fancy joining us???" " no actually Jim, Don't bother....there's no room on the bus for your funny handshakes" GET OF MY TELEVISION YOU BIGOTOUS KNOB CHOP!!! |
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| Please
can someone tell Jim "Nick Nick" Davidson that he just
isn't funny. He falls into the same era as Keith Harris, Frank Carson et al - NOT FUNNY. He's a sexist, racist
little bigot who really should just fuck off and stop taking
up limited prime time TV. Jim Davidson came to Southampton years ago and was booed off the stage - was that a big enough hint, you stumpy little shortarse? Clearly not becasue he won't fucking give it a rest will he? I can't cope with the way that he really does think he is God's Gift to womankind. Christ - you'd have to be a really sad desperate bitch to think that he's worth even talking to let alone shagging. Who told him he was attractive - probably his nan (Nans always think that kind of humour is amusing and risque). Anyway, Jim you aren't
funny, or attractive, you beat women, you can't handle your
drink, you're stupid and narrow minded so please, please just
fuck off and leave us in peace, you knob! |
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| Over
the years there have been countless tenantless wanks who have
graced our TV's with their banal presence. However nobody can
even begin to match the sheer magnitude of shite that is Mr Jim
Davidson.
If ever there was an argument for racism, this man is it. Don't get me wrong I find racism appalling but at least if the cunt had kept to the Bernard Manningesque Club scene he wouldn't have inflicted his lethal brand of soul destroyingly bad humour upon the nation. And do you know what the sickest joke of all is? That the BBC, bastions of middle England and all things right and proper, scraped this festering turd from the smouldering wreck of his career and made him their key component of Saturday night entertainment. Go figure that one out. I can just imagine the boardroom conference. "What we really need to perk up our flagging Saturday night schedule is a bigoted, unamusing, alcoholic gimp with a penchant for beating up wives. Jim Davidson is our man! His Frank Spencer impression is pure gold and still cracks me up after the 169th time of hearing it." I once tried watching an entire episode of Jim Davidson's Generation game. I failed with only 56 minutes to go. I was literally crying with frustration and rage at the thing. It was either the off button or suicide. This insurmountable pile of hippo shite has aroused homicidal tendencies in me which I never knew were there. And I'm sure I'm not the only one. In short this guy needs to be stopped before more of us fall victim to his psycho inducing act. I suggest Miss Ford straps him to a potters wheel whilst muscular homoerotic men in sailors outfits strip him down naked and contestants pelt him with snooker balls, preferably black for ironic purposes with Nelson Mandela and John Virgo adjudicating. |
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Ray Winstone, sorry mate, but it's a shallaaah grave for ya me old cockaah. Nahhhh, graaanted, you bin a good lad for a coupla years, what wiv all that 'Nil By Marfff' malarky, and 'Face' aint baaaad neiver but what the fack you think your fackin doin' in that fackin' Holsten Pills ad sure beats the fack out of me, san. Listen san. I rated you after 'Scum'. I trusted you, me old muckaaah. But ya let me dahn good an' propa didn't ya? Ya made a few stoopid choices like 'Lav, 'onour and Obey' but I forgave you mate cuz I fackin' lav ya dan't I, ya fackin twat? But what the fack do you do? Ya fackin' go and fucking throw it all back in my fackin' face and go off and make those facking shit Holsten ad's darn't ya? Fackin' cant. "It's the Daddy
of all beers" is it Ray, mate? Fackin' 'ell I 'ope they
fackin' payed ya enough to get cha' to sell ya soul out like
that mate, ya fackin' mockney, moneyed up cant. All that overacting
an' shaaaatin' and that is wearin' a bit thin nah Ray. I've
ad enough of 'earin beered up lager-boys belchin aaaaht "enough
said" then larfin' like it was the fackin' Ray, you facked up
san. Good and propa. You've ad your fackin' last chance san
and now there's no fackin goin' back. So say your fackin goodbyes
because I'm sending the boys raaand wiv a coupla bats and some
cheese wire. |
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This anorexic, delusional, neurotic, wining, self-important, streak of piss drives me to appoplexy every time I have the misfortune to see her perplexed face in a magazine or on the TV, which is all too frequently. Callista Fockfart / Macbeal is a filthy, warped vision of Brigitte Jonesian female liberation ie. caught up in a mesh of neuroticism and self-inflicted narcissism, all she is capable of thinking about is her weight, her looks, her relationships etc which she drones on about in a manner which suggests these are the pinnacle of worldwide discourse. If this is an accurate representation of the successful, post-feminist woman then Queen Victoria is still on the throne. She resembles a grinning skull, jibbering mindlessly on about issues of some import which she manages to imbue with collosal triteness and triviality, bypassing any possibility of empathy or even sympathy. She is an insult to the whole of womankind. That said, what she
probably needs is a good fuck. Not that I'm the man to give
it to her, mind. I couldn't bear to touch that skeletal body
with it's ribs all potruding and that pale skin stretched over
it like a rotting shroud. |
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Where to begin...
Hanks. Hankie, Hanks, Hankenburger. To borrow somewhat from
Jack Nicholson in Batman - what kind of a world do we live in,
where a turd dressed up as a man steals all the movie headlines? Jesus Christ. Tom
fucking Hanks. The most bland, faceless, invisible, robotic,
mono-voiced, hammy, chesseballer to ever make it into the cinema
big league. And let me remind you that's quite a feat considering
who he's up against - for fuck's sake, nobody even comes close
to the depravity of Hanks' silver screen atrocities. Name one
good film that flacid-cocked mother fucker is in? Man, I hate that boy. Tommy Hanks - what a fuckin' cunt. I just cannot comprehend who it is out there who likes the fuck so much so as to encourage Hollywood studio execs and directors to make sure Hanks crops up in more films than every other actor working in tinseltown put together. It must be all those thick redneck middle American farmboys, or maybe China is a secret Tom Hanks obsessive. Oh man, it hurts so much sometimes.... |
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Liz Jones - I hate
you. Ex editor of Marie-Claire (she was too shallow even for
that organ of air-headedness) and ex columist with the Sunday
Times (she was too boring even for the Style section) Liz Jones
keeps cropping up just She is the gimlet
eyed, self-obsessed, label-loving, skeletal woman about Knightsbridge,
in the Mcbeal mould and I fuckin' hate her for it. She is floundering
in the deep end of a pool of neurosis and identity crisis, perpetuated
by her flirtation with b-list celebs whom she secretly wishes
to emulate, and her personality and character slipped through
her well manicured fingers long ago. She is constantly pouring
her large fortune away in vain attempts to regain some semblance
of self through the purchase of exclusive designerwear and the
pamperings of stylists, manicurists, Apparently dhhharling
Liz has a 27 year old boyfriend (she is 38 but already resembles
a nightmarish corpse freshly risen from a rotting sepulchre).
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Vinnie Jones. |
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