ONE ROTTEN APPLE
Thousands of iThing owners up and down the land were fired today as they failed to make it to the office on time. My wake-up app didn't, said a disgruntled Mr Dave Cunt, an IT manager from Walsall, and when I got in they used my lateness as a reason to sack me, that and the fact that my name's Cunt not Hunt. I feel like taking Apple to Court, only they'd win, they always do. Maybe I could buy a legal app for my iThing and it could sue itself. How'm I gonna find a new job, wailed Mr Cunt, what with the cuts, which I know are incredibly necessary, and not being able to wake up in the morning because of app failure?
BLOATED OLD FAG ENDORSES MORE PRODUCT.
Mr Steven Fag, a paid spokesman for Messrs iShit, said, Absolute pish and nonsense, My Dears, there are simply no problems with the fabulous iThing, I personally slip mine in my special place before retiring and it wakes me up a treat, I can tell you, talk about Good Vibrations, just in time for some simply delicious breakfast sperm with my young partner, half my age, with whom I have so much in common, sperm and arses, and such like. And of course we are both actors. Mr Cunt is probably one of those vile heterosexuals - although I must say I do have some delightfully straight Godchildren, so pretty, the little minxes - and what he should do is take his simply wonderful iThing, set the alarm on it and shove it up his Clive Anderson overnight; all the best people do it, Johnny Sessions, Jimmy Carr, absolutely everybody, I simply can't tell you. Heterophobia? Simply all the rage at the BBC, can't you tell? Now, darlings, before you go, can I interest you in a cup of Twinings Tea, perhaps tempt you with some Direct Line Insurance?
6 comments:
The missus is constantly on at me to buy one of those fucking ibook things. Several hundred quid and then ten or twelve quid a time to download a book. A book with actual pages which you could buy for 1p plus 2.75 P&P from Amazon.
A book that doesn't require a battery. A book you can resell for 1p Plus 2.75 P&P. Or give to Cancer Research so they can sell it. Or toss it on the fire in lieu of a log.
These marketers should be fucking shot. I find myself watching the ads. My eyes dancing around exactly as the cunts show you on those psychology shows. Following the moving words.
Cunts. Fucking with your head to get you to buy more fucking Chinese shit that you don't need.
An electronic book. For fucks sake.
Around at a friends house before Christmas trying to use his Ifucking book thing to order some oil from boilerjuice. Tiny little touch-screen keypad. Good for fuck all. Took half an hour to do what it takes five minutes to do on a proper key-board. If it was mine I'd have 'done a Brown' and hopped the useless fucking off the wall before contacting the small-claims court for my money back. Not fit for fucking purpose yer onner.
Still holding out though Mr Ishmael. Surely the reign of iShit cannot last forever. Surely the scales must fall from these fucking eejit's eyes.
As to marketing and famous names nothing depresses me quite as much TV-wise at the moment than to see Phil Tufnell encouraging folk to get on the interweb and piss their money away on the virtual excitement of on-line poker or slots or bingo or whatever the fuck other mechanism they've derived for parting stupid people from their borrowed money.
It's practically all they had on advert-wise halfway through 'The Godfather' last night. Ads for on-line gambling. Yeah, you too could huddle up with the missus around the computer with a cup of tea and some dipping biscuits and piss all your money away.
What a great way to spend the evening!
Pissing your money away in your pyjamas. No need to get dressed and go down to the dog track or the race track or the casino. Just sit their in your socks and piss all your fucking money away.
Go on! You know you want to!
Sends chills down my spine. And no, I'm not a reformed gambler. Nor has anybody in my family ever been a gambler. But you just know the lives that are being destroyed as you watch those ads.
They might as well be glamourising heroin.
Make me fucking cross it does.
Get off your arses and get down to Kempton Park on 15th January. See Kauto Star become better than Arkle.
Don't bother betting 'cos you'll get no odds worthy of even thinking about. Just go and stand in the cold and watch the finest horsey event of the year. £10 a ticket, kids free. I'm taking my lot just to stand them by the rail as the buggers thunder by down to the start.
'Course, last time I went to watch the clueless nag, it fell over - twice, as I remember. Bloody horses...
And iApple shite is indeed shite. Soundike and Mediamonkey and you will be free forever.
Should we play a game of trying to guess what video is playing on Fry's iThing? Hmmmm, probably not.
It is amazing how this gambling shit has crept in, especially considering how we had a son of the fucking manse in charge of us for so long.
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