» Best and worst TV ads

Radio Ads
Hate all of them - just the pure banality and patronising idiocy of them. Unlike TV ads, they remain in the 1950s, when just telling someone to buy something was effective. Consider:

SCENE: a busy cafe

Woman #1: How are you Sheila?
Woman #2: Oh, I've been thinking about killing myself.
Woman #1: Really? What you need is a new carpet from Mike's Carpets!
Woman #2: Mike's Carpets?
Woman #1: Yes - the largest range of carpets in the north, on the High Street
Woman #2: Hmm - well I'm not going to kill myself anymore, I'm going to buy a carpet from Mikes Carpets on the High Street!
Woman #1: Waiter! Cancel that order of cyanide!
Both: Ha ha ha ha ha!

OR

SCENE: Two women sitting at home

Woman #1: How is your anus these days, Sheila?
Woman #2: Scabrous and seeping I'm afraid. I have infected piles. More tea?
Woman #1: That's a shame. When my fundament has gone bacterial, I use Pearson's Soothing Ring Balm, made with natural herbal ingredients.
Woman #2: The one with the easy applicator nozzle?
Woman #1: That's the one! I like it so much that I remortgaged my house to buy shares in the company.
Woman #2: Your arse must be a biological hazard!
Woman #1: You have no idea!
Both: Ha ha ha ha ha ha!

OR

SCENE: The garage

Man #1: I don't know what to do, Jeff. The missus says she's going to divorce me.
Man #2: Small dick, Bob?
Man #1: No she says the sheen on the car isn't as good as him at number four.
Man #2: I had the same problem, mate. My missus was doing the postman until I bought Jizzwad's Supa Wax - for a superior shine.
Man #1: Jizzwad's Supa Wax?
Man #2: Yep, takes just ten minutes and keeps marriages together.
Man #1: Cheers, Jeff. But I have got a small dick....
(Wed 21st Apr 2010, 11:36, More)

» The Soundtrack of your Life

The Glory of Love
It must have been the late 80s and I was undergoing a sort of sexual awakening at school. I'd got a headstart in the development stakes and found that a pair of well exhibited tits was pretty much all you needed to have most of the boys transformed into drooling lapdogs. I had my pick of the lot.

Thus it was that I found myself on a date at the cinema to see Karate Kid II with one Gregory Birstall, a guy in my class who had impressed me with the suggestion of a date rather than just sucking him off behind the dentists near my house.

Who can forget the haunting strains of Peter Cetera's ballad The Glory of Love? Certainly not anyone who has witnessed the cinematic landmark of Karate Kid II, in which eternally young Ralph Macchio seals the fate of his movie career by mimicking a cheesy tourist drum knick-knack as a martial arts move. The song was all over the radio during that period and, as teenage girl, I was prone to a bit of romance.

Indeed, it was just as that song was playing that Gregory's hand began the inevitable journey up my leg. I'd like to say that I was appreciative of the gesture, but I had other things on my mind. Specifically, the slimy burger I'd bought from a converted ice-cream van earlier in the day. At that moment, it was coursing through my bowels like black plague and was threatening to erupt into my too small pants any moment in a geyser of liquid ordure.

I clamped my legs closed (almost breaking Gregory's hand) but evidently he took this as a coy gesture of shyness and continued to probe snatchwards.

By now, the formless abomination was quivering at my anus and it was all I could do to hold it in while trying to lever Gregory's hand from betwixt my thighs. I could not do both, and my tightly sheathed tits had rendered Gregory incoherent with seething hormones.

"I am a man who will fight for your honour" warbled Peter. "I'll be the hero you've been dreaming of..."

Sometimes you just have to let go. I sighed and relaxed the inward pressure of my thighs, giving Gregory the go-ahead.

Or rather, allowing about a cupful of reeking shit to bubble noisily from my arse with an accompanying wet raspberry that was heard for about three rows in both directionsd. The stench followed quickly after and we were asked to leave.

For at least the next year my tits did nothing to entice anyone on a date with me. The glory of love my arse.
(Tue 2nd Feb 2010, 14:30, More)

» Famous people I hate

Ant and fucking Dec
I haven't got a TV and so I manage to miss most of what passes for entertainment these days. But recently I saw this pair of pricks doing their schtick and it made me wonder.

Why?

A couple of monkeys would be more engaging. They're so anodyne, they're the distilled water of TV presenting. Moon-faced, bland, unremarkable - they almost cancel each other out like some kind of bizarre equation. It's like watching air.

And yet, despite all of their inoffensiveness (or because of it), I dream of crucifying them with red hot nails. They represent the utter void that popular entertainment has become: a democratised soup of platitudes and ephemera - a children's story for retards.

And let's not forget the atrocity that was PJ and Duncan. The perpetrators of that seething splat of musical shite are now two of TV's highest paid faces. I say faces, but I mean faeces: masks of gurning desperate yearning to be liked.

I don't like you. I despise you both.
(Wed 10th Feb 2010, 19:25, More)

» Famous people I hate

Macca
Paul McCartney wrote some songs a few years ago was successful for a time. He then made the classic mistake of not dying young.

Now he is a faded and pathetic shell of a man who has been living in the past for decades and believing his own mythology. His existence has been irrelevant for so long now that he might as well be dead. In fact, his continuing life since about 1980 is something of an embarrassment.

All that tedious "man of the people" shit... his absurd "thumbs up" gestures... his pisspoor albums... his diversification into "classical music", "poetry", "paintng" and, for all I know, particle physics. And that ludicrous marriage to the peg-leg fantasist showed him up as a man so outdated that he thought he had to marry a busty gold-digger just to get a shag.

I've never even liked the Beatles.
(Wed 10th Feb 2010, 19:45, More)

» Famous people I hate

Kelly "Talent Vacuum" Osborne
What's not to hate?

Appearance: moronic and overweight checkout operator with a permanent expression of slack-jawed idiocy.

Claim to fame: being the daughter of a drug-ravaged buffoon

Natural habitat: shops, trendy bars, tattoo parlours, obscure satellite channels, the bargain bin at Lidl, rehab

Career arc: can't sing, can't dance, too ugly to be a model and too stupid to be a TV presenter (which is really saying something).

Identifying marks: prison tats, lantern jaw, Lego hair, still looks like an underage mother no matter how much her clothes cost.

See also any Geldof kid and any "wife of..."
(Wed 10th Feb 2010, 18:35, More)