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This is a question Famous people I hate

Michael McIntyre, says our glorious leader. Everyone loves Michael McIntyre. Even the Daily Mail loves Michael McIntyre. Therefore, he must be a git. Who gets on your nerves?

Hint: A list of names, possibly including the words 'Katie Price' and 'Nuff said' does not an interesting answer make

(, Thu 4 Feb 2010, 12:21)
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Su Pollard
Su Pollard is one of our local B list celebs and I regularly see her in local shops - mainly off licences!

She is so bloody full of herself and seems to think we are all swooning over her, and are in awe of being in the presence of such a star!

She is a sad talentless bitch with a large ego.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 14:56, 1 reply)
I went to the same school as Jordan.
She was a lot nicer when she was just plain "The Hashemite Kingdom of".
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 14:55, 3 replies)
I hate the easter bunny...
The thing is I love meat but I'm not so bothered about chocolate. I'd happily kill the little floppy eared fucker and make a nice rabbit stew rather than getting any eggs off him for the children.
Mind you, if the kids walked in to find me skinning the still cooling corpse of the easter bunny they'd probably be very upset with me. Even if I offered to wipe the bunny blood splatters off their eggs.

So I guess it's another year of my house being destroyed by half-eaten randomly dropped egg choclate. Sigh.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 14:51, 3 replies)
Self-referential celebrities
annoy me. Especially this one.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 14:46, 6 replies)
Ian Beale aka Adam Wodyatt
When I was about 15, I was working in a theatre at Christmas where Beale was playing Buttons in the panto.

Being there day in and day out meant that you get to know most of the cast (not Beale tho, he was too important to talk to "commoners")

I had a huge teen crush on one of the dancers - she played a fairy as well as taking part in the group dances. Fit, sexy, lithe, lycra, leotard... Mmmmmmmmmmm.

Anyway , to cut a not-so-long-but-not-overly-exciting story short, everyone knew of my crush and then Beale ended up shagging this poor girl. They even parodied it at the panto party.

£What £she £saw £in £him, £I £will £never £know.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 14:21, 4 replies)
Harriet Harman & Jacqui Smith
If you don't like celebretards, you can switch off (or even better, bin) your TV or not buy the mags and papers they feed off. But politicians make decisions that affect us directly.

In the cases of the two feminazis named above, they make decisions via very out-of-touch notions of personal morality which don't take into account the feelings of real people on issues, or any argument surrounding an issue which doesn't agree with their initial prejudiced view of things.

They are a pair of interfering old ratbags who hate men, and hate any woman who dares to be glamourous or who has the affront to appear to be a sexual person, as if by doing so their behaviour somehow does down women who prefer to be less overt in their sexuality. Ultimately this is a matter for individual choice, and banning glamour models isn't going to lead to mass female emancipation, it's simply punishing people who choose to make a living in that way. You can't legislate the sex industry out of existence and I don't think most people in this day and age actually want that to happen. Except this pair of twunts. When you actually get down to it, these two are more of an enemy to feminism than the average page three girl, as their behaviour could lead people to suggest that women make knee-jerk emotional reactions to major issues when in positions of power. Considering how far they have advanced in politics, they are both actually very stupid people without less brain power between them than a watch battery,

How hard did I laugh when Smith's tenure as Obergruppenfuhrer of the Home Office was interrupted by the news that her husband's p0rn viewing habits had been recharged to the taxpayer. Not only is she stupid and clearly gives the geezer insufficient satisfaction, but she's in the habit of not only perpetuating fraud, but is a massive hypocrite to boot. Fuck the pair of them and every one of the rest of the gobshites in the cabinets of all political parties, and most of the back benches and the House Of Lords, come to that...
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 14:07, 4 replies)
I hate La Roux
very much indeed.

It's because she makes other women seem bland and unattractive in comparison, and because in real life she couldn't possibly be as wonderful as in my imagination.

Also, she wouldn't fancy me.

What a cunt.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 13:41, 13 replies)
It was a bit of a shock.
But I discovered, aged five, that my dad was the High Priest of a weird West Midlands-based cult with a total membership of one person; my dad...

He pulled me away from my glorious game of drowning worms in the garden, sat me down in the living room, and tried his hardest to ingratiate me into his weird sect. And I was having none of it.

“Well, whaddya think?” my dad asked after what seemed like an eternity to my worm-obsessed young mind.

“Ummm.... can I go back outside now?” I replied. And my dad, going into one of his famous moods, shrugged his shoulders and muttered something in Italian. And I was free to go.

Score: Me: One. High Priest: Nil.

And from that moment on if my mum dragged me out of bed early on a weekend, chucked me in the bath, then dressed me in my ‘best’ cloths, I knew I’d be subjected to...

... it.

The car journeys visiting relatives were a nightmare until I reached an age when all I’d tend to do was ogle my cousin Gemma’s magnificent budding rack and my presence at family get togethers was deemed surplus to requirements. I’d sit in the backseat of my dad’s battered old Opel Cadet and he’d put one of his tapes on.

And I’d be forced to listen as we trundled down the motorway in the slow lane. If I could’ve poured molten mercury in my ears, I would’ve. If I could’ve ripped my own ears off and lobbed them out the window, I would’ve. If I could’ve laid my hands on a cyanide capsule I’d have gladly ended my suffering there and then in a frothy backseat orgy of spit, piss, and puke – all the time accompanied by one of my dad’s God-awful fucking tapes.

And near the start of this period, 1980 I think, I was woken one morning by my mum telling me my dad was very upset. Someone near to him had died... Keeerrrr-CHING!!! I thought. INHERITENCE PAYOUT TIME!!! I raced downstairs, found my dad sobbing over the paper.

“He’s dead!” he whimpered. “Somebody’s only gone and shot him!”
Deflated, I felt like saying: “Well, thank fuck for that! It’s the eighties, dad. The golden age of music.” But instead I sulked off to see what free gift they had in the new box of Corn Flakes instead.

And the dead bastard haunted me for years. His voice... Jesus, his voice... And then my dad started playing his solo stuff ad infinitum. God, this stuff was even worse! It was smug, self serving, and above all absolutely bloody awful. Who the fuck did this bloke think he was? I swear, if this short sighted living demon was still alive, I’d have gladly flown over to his gaff and beat the bastard to death with the blunt end of one of his guitars after I’d stuffed the lyrics to some of his middle-of-the-road pretentious crap up his arse for good measure.

Then, when I was about fourteen, I started having mates round on a regular basis. My dad – doing his High Priest duties – started putting some music on in the background. And he actually managed to get a few of my mates to question: “Wassthis? It’s good!”
And my dad would make them mix tapes to take home with them, complete with linear notes and interesting little ‘tit-bits’ of info.

Score: Me: One. High Priest: One.

A little while after this I started bringing girlfriends back for an aimless fumble in my bedroom. One time I had my hand down Amy Johnson’s knickers (the front this time, not the back, fuck knows what I was planning to do there), and Amy whispered to me: “Go on... flick it... flick my clit...”

Perplexed and incredibly turned on, not really understanding what a clit was and absolutely fucked if I knew where to find it, I wound up my index finger and did a general carpet bombing flickage of the entire vag area with all the skill and subtlety someone would use when flicking a Subuteo player. Amy screamed, slapped me and stalked off home in a huff.

Lying on my bed, staring down at the aching bulge in my pants and wondering who the fuck was I going to get to suck it now, I hear a knock on my door. My dad. He was out in the garden when he saw Amy leave in a hurry. “Women troubles?” he said. “Do you know who wrote a good song about women? “ And then he scuttled off to find the record, put it on, and shouted up from the living room: “THIS IS GREAT, EHHHH?”

It was a living HELL...

Score: Me: One. High Priest: Two.

Fast-forward a couple of months. It’s my sisters Holy Communion (for those non-Catholics, it’s a time a girl gets to put on a nice white dress and walk round aimlessly being all holy-like). The extended family has gathered in our small semi, aunts, uncles, cousins (including Gemma who’s knockers have definitely come on a storm since I last saw her), are fighting for space on the sofa, sitting on the floor, picking at the cocktail sausages and cubes of cheese like a band of hungry jackals.

Part way through my dad – knowing a captive audience when he sees one – goes over to the stero. Picks up an album, puts it on. And it starts... The dirge. The complete and utter aural garbage. I’ve had enough. I crack. I race over to the stereo, lift the arm of the record player abruptly, turn to my dad and say: “JOHN LENNON IS SHIT!!! WHY CAN’T YOU GET IT INTO YOUR THICK HEAD??? HE’S ABSOLUTELY SHIT!!!”

Stunned silence.

I start crying and leg it upstairs.

As I'm sat at the top of the stairs, sobbing and rocking, I hear my Auntie Maria say to my mum: “You really should take that boy to the doctors, you know... Doesn’t take a lot to set him off, does it?”

Score: Me: One. High Priest: Three.

(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 13:30, 13 replies)
Diego Maradona
It isn't just because he cheated us in '86. It is because he still wont admit that he cheated. Also, I hate to admit it but he was bloody brilliant and he wasted his talent by becoming a fat old coke fiend.

Cheating waste of talent. I don't like him.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 12:51, 3 replies)
Girl Two
From two girls one cup. She can eat shit and die for all I care
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 12:49, 2 replies)
George Bush 1 and 2, Ronald Regan, Rush Limbaugh, Pat Robertson, anyone on Fox "News",
etc. The US has gone to hell with idiots beliving the bullshit spouted by the right wing media and fascist republican bastards. Everything they say is designed to incite the idiots and make them forget what is really happening to them with the few rich continuing to get super rich while the rest of us get it up the ass. We would be a joke to the rest of the world if we were not fucking them up too.

(I think the happy pills wore off).
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 12:47, 2 replies)
Come Sit around younglings...
And I'll tell you the tale of Peter Hitchens.

Once upon a time there lived a grumpy old ogre, with a face like an enourmous slice of dissaproving ham. This old ogre lived firmly in the past, and refused to even consider that perhaps it was OK for a woman to have a job that didn't involve washing dishes, or that perhaps it was none of his fucking business what two adults get up to in their own home.

But the old ogre was a tiresome old fart, and his ability to be personally offended by the normal comings and goings of society (especially those people or colour, or followers of Mohammed) meant that he had a bile duct the size of shropshire, which he could vent directly into the Mail On Sunday readers on a weekly basis.

But seriously, his vemenhent loathing of homosexuality can only be a cover for his raging desire for a drug fueled, mixed race sausage party.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 12:40, 3 replies)
Lil Jon
He's got the most ridiculous voice on this planet.

Well actually he's tied with deaf people but they can't help it
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 12:39, 2 replies)
Dermot O Leary
you smug, unfunny, talentless, whiny, patronising, childish, pathetic waste of human space.

No one is laughing and no one appreciates you so why dont you just stop shoving your stupid face in my television screen. Fuck off before I skewer your face like a corn on the cob!

That is all
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 12:31, Reply)
Tracy Emin
I have had a quick read, and I saw no mention of this particular oxygen-thief, and felt that this was wrong.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 12:20, 5 replies)
Max Cunting Clifford
What a bloody leech on society; whenever there's a sordid little story or dirty little ditty that bulbous white topped arse appears from the damp rock he has been hiding under to publish the story.

When he’s interviewed he’ll be sprawled with a open topped shirt across his dick extension of a car or splayed across his dick extension house elaborating on how he’s protecting his clients interests and about to stuff yet more crap into the doggy waste bin of bollocks information

I despise that man; he’s a virus
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 12:20, Reply)
In no particular order except the first:


Cheryl Cole - in that shampoo advert where she says her hair feels "full of laiyfe". I just want to punch her.

Zane Lowe - He's the biggest fan of every artist on the planet, and that's not possible.

Tim Westwood - Unfortunately he's the argument against black and white integration.

All the members of Metallica - They did 7 encores at the Big Day Out, and Lars Ulrich stole my wallet from Download.

Alan Carr - He should work at being funny, not camp.

Katie Price - I don't give two shits about what that fugly slapper does next.

Mel Gibson - *see South Park*

I don't dislike Michael McIntyre though.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 11:31, 7 replies)
Sir Fred Goodwin
A greed-demented one-trick pony who parlayed his knowledge of takeovers into a job at the Clydesdale Bank where his mendacious Paisley hard man persona scared the crap out of other financial services wusses. (He went to Paisley Grammar then did law at Glasgow Uni - woo, tough guy.) Fred "I Do Takeovers, Me" Goodwin then managed to get a job at RBS where he realised he could play a globalised version of "see who can pee the highest", first by engineering the takeover of NatWest, then pushing the boat out by taking over (and breaking up) ABN Amro in 2007. Note: the RBS board had no balls whatsover at this point and weren't going to say, "Er, Fred, hang on a minute."
Paying over the odds for ABN Amro, plus RBS's reliance on derivative financial voodoo to generate huge profits, drove straight into the brick wall across the M8 that was the Credit Crunch. Parliament's appalling inability to deal with this was made plain when Fred (and his chairman) sat in front of a Treasury Select Committee and claimed to be squeaky clean because "We never sold sub prime mortgages" (despite dealing in reconstituted sub prime mortgage financial instruments, the dissembling fucks). Did the dimwit chairman call them on this? Oh no. They also said "Who could see the problems in the money markets coming?" Oooh, how about multi-millionaire financial experts who get paid to notice this kind of thing, eh Fred?
In conclusion, a Gordon Gecko cuntbag whose ego has helped put the UK public finances into such a hole that your kids will still be paying off the loans when they're middle aged. Not his kids though, they're rich.
He. Gets. On. My. Nerves.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 11:16, 2 replies)
The Royal Family.
I pay for them to enjoy a luxurious, multi-million pound lifestyle.

Has Zara Phillips ever given me a blow-job? Has she bollocks.

Has she ever given YOU a blow-job? Has she bollocks.

At least with other slebs they're paid for privately. I pay for some, and see bugger all off them except for a comedy car crash and the occasional, desperately misguided affair.

Quite frankly, I feel short-changed.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 10:38, 11 replies)
Whoopi Goldberg
She's crap. She's shit. I hate her.
Like a black female version of Robin Williams.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 10:10, 2 replies)
I realised people were putting together records/charts
So in the interest of democracy I thought I better add my tuppence worth.

But I shan't just name and shame, like all good b3tans/ards I need to state my reasons. Nobody likes to see a list on qotw.

First up, is the reason I have to wear mittens at work lest I tear my own eyeballs out. Every day my soul is corroded by this worthless cretin simply because she appears regularly on a popular radio station. If only I had the power to choose the station in this office, but sadly I am impotent. Extreme ear torture that is surely employed by the CIA.

I am talking of course about Fearn fucking Cotton.

The thing that first strikes you is the way she speaks. You can just hear the painful, desperate contrivance at sounding intelligent but at the same time kooky and quirky. Waaaaow! I remember hearing one show at Christmas she came in all hungover because she'd been partying with celebrity A and celebrity B and all the nerds on the prior show were swooning, picking their jaws off the floor OH FEARN WHAT ARE YOU LIKE!?

Worst of all is her unwavering love for all new music. "And this is the new song from The (insert crazy band name here)'s, it is just ABSOLUTELY AMAZING, the best song I've heard this year, I saw them live last week, they are just fantastic.. Really Fearn? Every song you put on is the best song this year, where does it all end?

But she also likes to put across her deep, intelligent musical knowledge. She had the gall to play a song by my favourite band The Clash. She put on Rock the Casbah, and after the song was speaking to a colleague with the obligatory "Oh they are just amazing" (amazing, amazingly being the only adjective she knows) and to prove her punk credentials/knowledge, and this is where I found out what a fraud she is - "you have just got to listen to classics like London Calling and Should I Stay Or Should I Go..."

If she stopped at London Calling I could give her the benefit of the doubt, since it is a classic album. However in the context that she was listing single songs, I can just tell she googled "Clash singles" or something similar and came out with the first 2 songs that popped up. A real fan would perhaps moot something like White Riot, or White Man in Hammersmith Palais if talking of single songs rather than the radio hits. YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW ME OR THE CLASH FEARN SO FUCK OFF, GET A DOZE OF FANNY CANCER AND DIE.

I am seething here, so I'm going to leave my next entry to another time.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 9:55, 10 replies)
Fucking vegetarians
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 9:47, 3 replies)
Liz Jones
Is she really as mental as she comes across in her articles, or is she some sort of puppet?
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 9:24, 1 reply)
Does this count ?
My hobby horse at the moment isn't one person per se, it's a bunch of them. I FUCKING DETEST REAL RADIO WITH A VENGENCE ... AND EVERYONE INVOLVED WITH IT (and probably 99% of the dullards who listen to it).

"Don't listen to it then !" I hear you opine. Aaaahhhh, would that it were so easy. It's piped into my workplace so regrettably I don't have that option.

They're always banging on about playing Scotland's biggest variety of music but I genuinely think they own one small box of "Now That's What Call Music" CDs and when one DJ is finishing for the day he hands it to the next guy. I could generate better variety with my 4gb iPod. I swear it, if I hear Robbie Williams once, I hear him four times every day. You could set your watch by it.

And don't get me started on Ewan (sp?) Cameron on Ewan and Roughy's Real Radio Football Phone-in with his stupid fake laugh and "controversial" opinions.

I'd better give it a rest. I'm getting worked up just thinking about it ... and I have to go to work now to be subjected to another eight hours of aural drivel.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 8:42, 2 replies)
Geoffrey Boycott
God's greatest living Yorkshireman - living in the south of France.

I wish God would just take him back.

He was awarded the boring-est batsman award for 3 consecutive years*

He is (allegedly**) a women beating cnut

And the spouter of the most inane crap ever on TMS.

* Award has not yet been inaugurated
** I can't remember if he was convicted or not.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 7:18, 1 reply)
A surfeit of bastards
I had the (mis)fortune yesterday to hear what I can only describe as the acme of cuntitude.

It is so horrific that I can scarcely think about it without frothing at the mouth in a rage of the purest, finest, triple-distilled anger.

Steve Wright was interviewing Ricky Gervais.


There was so much fucking smug from the pair of them that the car radio fell upon its CD in a final act of seppuku.

Proof that free speech is a bad thing.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 6:42, 5 replies)
Rumer Willis and other celeb kids
Rumour has it she is a big jaw cunt who is only famous because of her mum and dad. Nothing I hate more than children of celebrities who then like to make out the reason they made it was their talent and not the fact that their parents are famous.

Whilst we are at it Kate Hudson. I hate her!!! She now thinks she can sing on top of being the greatest actress on the planet. Do me a favour and fuck off.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 4:32, 1 reply)
Too many to mention, but I'll have a go at a select few....
Vernon Kaye

*Why* is Vernon Kaye? What is his purpose on this earth? He's not obviously a huge cunt, but he is consistently associated with the very worst things on TV, gawping and gurning his way through such atrocities as "Girls and Boys" (which Charlie Brooker once memorably described as "an Al Qaeda recruitment poster"). Thing is, TV is a competitive business, and you can't get where he has got to if you are as really as thick as his persona appears to be. That means he's doing it on purpose. He is therefore a cunt of the highest order.

Cilla Black

EVERYTHING about Cilla Black drives me into a rage. This is a woman so sheltered and showbiz that she went on Room 101 and included "food that isn't wrapped in clingfilm" as one of her hates - yes, she's actually properly phobic about food that one of her lackeys hasn't ensured is never exposed to the air. Professional Scouser, always first to be a rent-a-gob whenever Liverpool is badmouthed (note to the people of Liverpool: maybe if you gave some thought as to why Liverpool is badmouthed so often you wouldn't have to leap to its defence all the time), despite living in a mansion in Henley. And she eats orange slices with Oxo cubes spread on them. That's just wrong.

Ralf Little

Somewhere in the UK, maybe right now, a likeable, witty, charismatic and talented young man slumps in his tattered wicker chair in his damp-riddled bedsit. His dreams are in tatters. For years he has struggled to carve out a career in showbusiness, only to be thwarted at every turn by the army of arseholes that composes the entertainment industry. He is and always will be a nice guy, and simply can't bring himself to descend to the arse-kissing/back-stabbing depths necessary to succeed. In his despair he turns on the TV...

...and sees the face of Ralf Little.

He pushes the plunger on the massive heroine overdose plugged into his femoral artery.

Peter Mandleson

Congratulations Peter, thanks to your 12-year campaign of unremitting evil, the UK is now twinned with the Death Star. Well done.


BONUS TIP: not-yet-famous person you will hate in the future

Sean Sullivan

Google him. I won't say how I know him, but, trust me, I do. I won't say why I hate him, do your own research and form your own conclusions. He is the Conservative PPC for Tottenham at the next election. He will become an MP, he will become a cabinet minister. You will hate him. HATE him, as I do, as does anyone who has ever met him who isn't a Tory politician who he's sucking up to. Start hating him now, it's going to save you a lot of time in about 10 years time.
(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 1:03, 3 replies)
The B3ta Hate List
I'm only up to page 7

(at least two votes required)

(, Tue 9 Feb 2010, 0:34, 8 replies)

This question is now closed.

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