Saturday, 27 June 2009



Mr Mark Cunt, DG of the BBC said today that the Corporation did not maintain enough reporters in Hollywood and so he had been forced to send a reluctant Emily Fuckface out to LA by First Class flight in order that she stand around Hollywood locations, frightening people and properly leading the investigation into the death of Mr Michael Fairy, whose like we would never again ...etc etc.

Mr Cunt said that toxicology reports could take up to six weeks to reveal that Mr White Fairy was a totally fucked-up delusional nutter manipulated to death by Showbusiness, whereas if the license fee was increased appropriately not only would he be able to pay himself the several million pounds a year which he deserved but also the BBC would be able to employ that scowling ginger bastard off CSI and produce the toxicology reports in a forty minutes episode.

People simply don't realise what good value I am, concluded Mr Thompson.

Dame Kirsty Wark,

the BBC's grunting, hunchback, transsexual arts presenter, anchorman and nosebleedingly awful, skriking, snooty fishwife said that it was OK for the Stick Insect to go; she, himself had been in New York, only last week, to watch some films for the BBC and in Cannes the week before to watch some other films and anyway in the Newsnight studios they had enjoyed their own Michael Fairy Death Celebrations. Toxicology reports can wait, grunted Mr/Ms Wark, I and my guests, the hundred best Paul Morleys, Professor Germaine Nausea and critic, commentator and slag, Miranda Mouth are party animals so lets boogie on down, the noo, d'ye ken, outwith the reports and at the license payers' expense. Paul Morley, what's the most money you've ever earned from talking shite about Michael Fairy....?

Standing next to Sticky Emily on the Holywood Pavement of Crap was none other than skymadeupnewsandfilth's Kay Burley, below

Yes, welcome to me in Hollywood, and over now to sky's LA Toxicology correspondent Jim Filth, but first this break, stay tuned, or I'll bite your face off.

In the house of commons, the prime minister of England, Mr Gordon Snot, himself a delusional, fucked-up nutter, said that the whole house, Mr Squeaker, would join with him in applauding his decision to change his own doctor. Just in case. And the house would now observe a minute's silence for Mr Presley, whose like we would never...... etc etc. It is the right thing to do.


The Dyer's Garden said...

Tells you something about the idiocy of the press that having no pulse is interpreted as a implying a "heart attack". I gather it is rare to have a beating heart when you are dead, whatever the cause of death. Even rarer when you have stopped breathing because someone has just given you a large shot of pethidine, a well known respiratory depressant.

Anonymous said...

Mr Michael Fairy, whose like we would never again ...etc etc."
We live in hopes.

Grumpy grandad said...

Did all this suddenness of dying unexpectedly also start in America? One can't be too careful these days.

lilith said...

Forget the pethidine, I wouldn't mind a cannister of that Entonox for emergencies, like if I found myself by some nightmarish mischance at Glastonbury or a gig at the o2 arena.