Robbie Fucking Williams.
Hell's horses, I'd love to hit him.

*ahem*

Being born in Essex, naturally my ol' man bypassed the 'Dad Rock' phase. Y'know, Eagles, Snow Patrol, Wet Wet Wet. Nothing offensive, nothing blue. Instead, he went straight into bombarding the family with Robbie 'strut across the stage like a chicken and charge people' Williams.

You name it, and that gurning smug faced cunt is available for every occasion. Drive from Spain to England? Robbie Williams. Christmas day since 1995 or 1996? Oh, you bet he's there whining his mewlings somewhere in the house over Radio 2. I bring a new boyfriend home? Yep, fear not, he's back for some reason. No doubt that when Nan leaves this mortal coil, then "Nan's song" will be played at the funeral... I never thought these words would grace this keypad, but gimme "You're Beautiful" at a funeral for all the tea in China.

He also prides himself of "I grew up in the 1970's, and NEVER owned Rumours" and then turned off Lindsey Buckingham's Gift of Screws as "it's shit, pretentious and headbashing music".

Stone the crows, I love you Dad, but you don't half talk shit at times.
(Mr.Cunt whacked his knob out in Asda on, Sun 2 Jan 2011, 5:40, Reply)