This is apparently the 100th post here on Hot Spicy Bun, difficult to believe that a hundred, yes, hundred, times I have managed to vent spleen and ejaculate my rantings and ravings into the blogosphere for the benefit or otherwise of any passing e-punters who happen to catch a smidge.
Anyway, down to business, tonight, for the benefit of every loyal Briton who pays his/her TV Licence Fee, and indeed those who don't too, the BBC does one of its annual charity telethons. It is, of course, Comic Relief. So the likes of Matt Lucas, Russell Brand and, inevitably the dreadful John Culshaw, all terribly funny, will be such good eggs and make us all laugh for cherry-dee. For the children. (I think 'for the children' was one of Hitler's rallying cries, and is always a good pointer to someone who's a charlatan - Blair is very keen on 'for our children'.) Every nob end in the country who thinks he's a bit funny or wants everybody to know just how great a chap he is, is making a fool of himself, acting with nil dignity or conspicuously 'giving'.
I'm not sure if you have this particular gurning twat in the US, if you don't yet then 'by any means necessary' prevent it. For the mockney fat-tongued fuckwit is, of course, the very embodiment of all that is unappealing about the English. Sanctimonious, hypocritical, self-publicising, nepotistic, hypocritical, ingratiating, star-struck, rapaciously ambitious. And did I mention hypocritical?
As for the fish, he's a quiet chap, keeps himself to himself. He was just swimming along looking for a shag.
Yeah, pukka, wot yer weally wan' is to thay wot a gweat bloke I am, yeah, coz I'm tellin' everywon to eat helffy food, yeah, an' floggin' a tv series abou' how, like, yeah, unhelffy schoowl dinnuz are, yeah, an' like we weally wanna be givin' kidz helffy food, yeah, an' buyin' i' a' Thainthzberwiz, yeah, coz I do advertz for vem, yeah, an', like, vair the fird biggis' theller of crithpth an' burgerth an' cola an' thtuff in ver cuntwy yeah, coz wot would be weally gweat thith Cwithmath would be a twifle, yeah, wiv loadz of cweam and cuthtard and shewwy, yeah, and now wot yer weally wan' ith to feed yer kidz flapjackth, wiv pukka butta and golden thyrup, yeah, lovely yeah, but it'th awlwigh' yeah coz it'th fer chawity, yeah, pukka, tho i' don't ma''er if it'th thit food fer kidz, yeah, pukka, yeah, can I get me chumth a tv theewiz too, yeah, an' me wife too, yeah, pukka?
I'm told he speaks highly of me.
Anyways, must dash, xx K