Vicious bag of battling bones,
Chattering, chiding, rattling moans,
Demented mind of belittling means,
Skinny arse, in skinny jeans.
Kindly eyes, cold and dead,
Gentle heart, made of lead,
Soft smile, spitting bile.
Lovely girl. A little vile.
‘Love you!’ Loved a drink.
Laughing, joking, kicking up stink.
Taxi home, suck and fuck,
Oh, Virginia! Lady Muck.
Sunday, 14 November 2010
IT'S AN OLD AND DATED TELLY REVIEW!
THE camera pans over London, THAT music plays and Surralun starts guffing on about tough economic times and that.
It’s The Apprentice (9pm, Wednesday, BBC1).
Woop-woop!
It’s that time of week where the usual pageant of wide boys and wannabe WAGS pitch for a job on a shopping channel.
I mean in the high-flying world of business working with self-made millionaire, sandpaper face and Nookie Bear lookalike, Alan Sugar.
This week 22 year old idiot Laura Moore thought she was was the best woman to lead her team, Apollo.
Despite having no actual experience at the task in hand - designing a brand new beach product.
This didn’t stop her bleating that she “needs to know that everybody thinks I’m the best person with my skill set.”
Ah yes, neediness. The character trait of every great leader.
If Hitler had been a little more needy we might have avoided the entire Second World War.
Not that I’m saying Hitler was a great leader. Clearly he was a Very Bad Man.
But he knew how to make a decision.
Laura can’t even get Apollo to listen to her.
“As project manager I should have the right of speech,” she whined like a spoilt capitalist baby about to throw its toy money from it’s pram.
Well you did, dumbo!
It’s just that everyone else employed their right to ignore you.
Frankly your lucky they didn’t kick you to death just to make the bleating stop.
I’ve not even touched on the products yet.
The boys, unironically called Synergy, invented a towel.
But one you could wrap drinks in to keep them cold.
They decided they would name their fridge-towel the Cüüli.
Being morons they didn’t realise you could just put your towel in a cool bag. Rather than putting your cool drinks in a towel.
Neither did they realise coolie - how the name of their towel was pronounced - is racist slang for an Asian person.
And when I last looked Asia had a population of almost four billion. Quite a big marketplace.
“You’ve got a take a risk!” said the tit who came up with the name, as he unwittingly risked the wrath of half the planet.
Meanwhile the bimbos on the other side could come up with nothing better than a book holder.
You know to hold a book.
On a beach.
A bit bit like a hand would.
But not as good as a hand.
Though constructing a hand with all those fiddly bones would probably be simpler than putting together a Book-eeze.
I could have convinced Bambi to take up deer hunting in the time it took Apollo to put the thing - little more than a mismatched bag of tent poles - up.
Obviously it didn’t work.
And they sold... none. NONE!
Hahahaaaa! Pathetic.
It was all I could do not to make my thumb and forefinger into an L shape, hold it to my forehead and shout Looooooooooossssssseeeeeeeeerrrrrrr!
Smallpox played a more positive role in society than this bunch of f***wits.
I’m amazed their eyes weren’t sucked into their skulls by the very vacuum behind them.
I can’t wait ‘til next week!
CAROL Jackson looked even sourer on EastEnders (BBC1, most of the time) than usual, but at least now she had a decent reason.
Her son was dead.
Planet soap was left reeling after Billie Jackson carked it in his sleep after a birthday night on the pop.
He made a remarkably tidy corpse. None of the traditional blood or vomit one might associate with the tragedy of drink related death.
Instead he was rather neat in blue polo shirt and jeans. The worst you could say was he made the sofa look untidy.
I look more like death for at least the first four hours I’m in the office on any given day of the week.
“I just want to blow up the whole world!” a mourning Carol confided to Max.
Easy CJ. Careless talk costs lives.
You’ll have the BBC’s drama terror squad after you.
Before you know it you’ll be the Jean Charles de Menezes of Albert Square, wrongly gunned down in a hail of bullets inside Walford East Station.
All this anger was before poor Carol found the video of her beloved boy revealing he wanted her to “do us a big favour - fall over and die.”
Billie’s half sister Bian-caaaaa was in a bad way too.
On the surface it just looked like she was on form as she threatened to kill Ric-kaaaaay with a spanner.
Britain’s fave ginger had heard he’d snogged saucy Kim Fox, see.
Or as she dubbed her, “the gobby bird with false knockers and the wandering eye.”
She was hurting, obviously.
After all it was her who’d found her bruv stiff on the couch.
“Bil-leeeee,” she cooed before twigging he’d read his last lines.
Not that I’m entirely ruling out a Lazarus style return to the show.
I would have played dead if I’d had Bianca leaning over me purring my name.
Though unlike Billie I probably would have been sick.
But this paled into insignificance next to Kim Fox’s bonkers earring.
A gold heart so blingtastically massive it could only have been put there to stop her huge lopsided bob toppling her head and fatally snapping her neck.
An EastEnders’ double death would have been a perilous thing.
The producers dared not risk it in a Britain still coming to terms with the awfulness of having a*** faced David Cameron as Prime Minister.
It could just have sent the nation into a tailspin of depression normally reserved for the parents of X Factor contestants.
It’s The Apprentice (9pm, Wednesday, BBC1).
Woop-woop!
It’s that time of week where the usual pageant of wide boys and wannabe WAGS pitch for a job on a shopping channel.
I mean in the high-flying world of business working with self-made millionaire, sandpaper face and Nookie Bear lookalike, Alan Sugar.
This week 22 year old idiot Laura Moore thought she was was the best woman to lead her team, Apollo.
Despite having no actual experience at the task in hand - designing a brand new beach product.
This didn’t stop her bleating that she “needs to know that everybody thinks I’m the best person with my skill set.”
Ah yes, neediness. The character trait of every great leader.
If Hitler had been a little more needy we might have avoided the entire Second World War.
Not that I’m saying Hitler was a great leader. Clearly he was a Very Bad Man.
But he knew how to make a decision.
Laura can’t even get Apollo to listen to her.
“As project manager I should have the right of speech,” she whined like a spoilt capitalist baby about to throw its toy money from it’s pram.
Well you did, dumbo!
It’s just that everyone else employed their right to ignore you.
Frankly your lucky they didn’t kick you to death just to make the bleating stop.
I’ve not even touched on the products yet.
The boys, unironically called Synergy, invented a towel.
But one you could wrap drinks in to keep them cold.
They decided they would name their fridge-towel the Cüüli.
Being morons they didn’t realise you could just put your towel in a cool bag. Rather than putting your cool drinks in a towel.
Neither did they realise coolie - how the name of their towel was pronounced - is racist slang for an Asian person.
And when I last looked Asia had a population of almost four billion. Quite a big marketplace.
“You’ve got a take a risk!” said the tit who came up with the name, as he unwittingly risked the wrath of half the planet.
Meanwhile the bimbos on the other side could come up with nothing better than a book holder.
You know to hold a book.
On a beach.
A bit bit like a hand would.
But not as good as a hand.
Though constructing a hand with all those fiddly bones would probably be simpler than putting together a Book-eeze.
I could have convinced Bambi to take up deer hunting in the time it took Apollo to put the thing - little more than a mismatched bag of tent poles - up.
Obviously it didn’t work.
And they sold... none. NONE!
Hahahaaaa! Pathetic.
It was all I could do not to make my thumb and forefinger into an L shape, hold it to my forehead and shout Looooooooooossssssseeeeeeeeerrrrrrr!
Smallpox played a more positive role in society than this bunch of f***wits.
I’m amazed their eyes weren’t sucked into their skulls by the very vacuum behind them.
I can’t wait ‘til next week!
CAROL Jackson looked even sourer on EastEnders (BBC1, most of the time) than usual, but at least now she had a decent reason.
Her son was dead.
Planet soap was left reeling after Billie Jackson carked it in his sleep after a birthday night on the pop.
He made a remarkably tidy corpse. None of the traditional blood or vomit one might associate with the tragedy of drink related death.
Instead he was rather neat in blue polo shirt and jeans. The worst you could say was he made the sofa look untidy.
I look more like death for at least the first four hours I’m in the office on any given day of the week.
“I just want to blow up the whole world!” a mourning Carol confided to Max.
Easy CJ. Careless talk costs lives.
You’ll have the BBC’s drama terror squad after you.
Before you know it you’ll be the Jean Charles de Menezes of Albert Square, wrongly gunned down in a hail of bullets inside Walford East Station.
All this anger was before poor Carol found the video of her beloved boy revealing he wanted her to “do us a big favour - fall over and die.”
Billie’s half sister Bian-caaaaa was in a bad way too.
On the surface it just looked like she was on form as she threatened to kill Ric-kaaaaay with a spanner.
Britain’s fave ginger had heard he’d snogged saucy Kim Fox, see.
Or as she dubbed her, “the gobby bird with false knockers and the wandering eye.”
She was hurting, obviously.
After all it was her who’d found her bruv stiff on the couch.
“Bil-leeeee,” she cooed before twigging he’d read his last lines.
Not that I’m entirely ruling out a Lazarus style return to the show.
I would have played dead if I’d had Bianca leaning over me purring my name.
Though unlike Billie I probably would have been sick.
But this paled into insignificance next to Kim Fox’s bonkers earring.
A gold heart so blingtastically massive it could only have been put there to stop her huge lopsided bob toppling her head and fatally snapping her neck.
An EastEnders’ double death would have been a perilous thing.
The producers dared not risk it in a Britain still coming to terms with the awfulness of having a*** faced David Cameron as Prime Minister.
It could just have sent the nation into a tailspin of depression normally reserved for the parents of X Factor contestants.
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