POTATO TO EARN £300,000 AN HOUR.
WAYNE POTATO AT HIS PRESS CONFERENCE,
ACTING A BIT CHIPPY.
This is the news that footballer, Wayne Potato, has re-renegotiated his contract with failing football team, Fuckpigs United. The terms of the new contract are that Mr Potato doesn't actually have to play football but merely has to not keep on saying that he is thinking of leaving FU, the rest of the time Mr Potato is free to spend his fortune in the GrannySlapper DayCare Home, situated conveniently close to his vulgar palace in the downtown Cheshire countryside, on vulgar, diamond-studded Range Rovers - or Range Rooneys, as some wags call them, on obviously vulgar hair transplants and - if time permits, of course - on designer reading and writing lessons. But not adding-up because his accountants do that for him. Or so he thinks.
Signing on the dotted line.
Signing on the dotted line.
Fuckpigs United fans, who will have to fund this latest moron levy through increased ticket prices and ever more costly but worthless memorabilia were delighted that the potato was staying with them and could be heard joyfully overturning cars, setting them alight with Fuckpigs City fans trapped inside them, whilst singing, to the tune of Tipperary, It's a long way to Munich Ai-i-r-port, it's a long way to go....
And so, indeed, it is; what was once a true national treasure, the Manchester United football team of Matt Busby and Bobby Charlton, is now just another corporation, a byword for greed, bullying and stupidity. Surely there's a special place in Satan's heart for Alex Ferguson.
THE PBC, AN EMPIRE OF FILTH.
What was most surprising about the Chris Wossisname tax fiddle was not that he's a crook, everybody at the PBC is a criminal, either by deed or by omission.
The corporate plea of ignorance as to this bastard's conduct is laughable and the whole rotten place should be burned to the ground and turned into a carpark; the PBC's LardLord Chris Patten could probably run a carpark, with a bit of help. After he came out of jail.
Oxbridge Chris.
Don't I look clever in this?
What? A car park? I daresay I could fit it in,
depending on the pay, of course.
Beardy git, Mark Sticky Fingers Thompson,
former top thief at the PBC.
No, no, madam chairman, with respect, the way it worked with PBC salaries and bonuses and bungs and what have you was that the right hand didn't know what the left hand was doing. Or was it the other way round? No matter, what it meant was that my mate, I mean colleague, could fix my salary and I could fix his. Anyway, I work in New York, now, so the license payers can all go and eat shit. As usual. Savile, no, no idea, well yes, I am frightfully clever but I never suspected he was a beast, even though the dogs in the street knew he was. Responsible? No why should I feel responsible? Because I was in charge? Poppycock.
Start your Radio One Day with Chris Wossaname, below.
Moyles - is it Moyles - was, like most over-rich people, reluctant to pay his due tax, can't blame him for that, why should he, politicians don't, politicians' friends and advisers don't, Google doesn't, Amazon doesn't, Starbucks doesn't, Vodafone doesn't - anyone with a connection to slimy, squeaky George Osborne or anyone holding out the promise of a lucrative post-Treasury, post-HMRC job need not pay any tax; Mr Murdoch doesn't pay any tax, Lord Daily Mail doesn't pay any tax. London is stuffed to the rafters with international criminals who don't pay any tax whatsoever; so why should this relatively poor, gibbering, egomaniacal showbiz cocksucker gabshite pay any tax?
Chris Gob of the PBC
Seven years'd be about right.
Dartmoor's nice and warm,
with thick walls, nobody'd hear his gobbing and whining.
No, the surprise is not that he tried to avoid tax, it is that we paid him seven hundred thousand pounds a year. Better off, I think, burning the money in a brazier outside a food bank, keep a few people warm for an hour or two.
Still, he's said he's sorry, that's the main thing, deserves a second chance, eh? Not as though he's one of the Wicked Poor.
RADDLED, BARREN OLD WITCH ACQUITTED.
Welcome to Sky News, your first choice for madeupnewsandfilth.
With me, Kay Bully.
And this is the news that Rebekah Filth, the so-called witch of Chipping Norton has been compeletely cleared at the Old Bailey. of one of the charges
Ms Filth,
Hubble bubble, toil and trouble,
Blair burn and Murdoch bubble.
whose familiars have included EastEnders' tough guy-fairy, Mr Ross Cock, unelected prime minister Mr David Cameron, stable boy Mr Charlie Brooks, war criminal and fraudster Mr Tony "Butcher" Blair and the octogenarian sex-God Mr Rupert Murcock - none of whom were able to impregnate the rancid old bag - has all along maintained her innocence and told Skymadeupnewsandfilth that she now feels to'ally an' u'erly vindicated. skymadeupnewsandfilth believes that Ms Filth still faces four other serious charges and will probably g to jail.
I put a spell on you, prime minister.
'Slong as there's some money in it for me.
Speaking from New York, Mr Murdoch said, I fuckin' well hate that cunt, Tony fuckin' Blair, fucked my chink Sheila, he did, I'll have him. I made the cunt and I'll unmake him. Tax, in the UK? Sorry cobber, I can't remember nothing about that.
Start your Radio One Day with Chris Wossaname, below.
Moyles - is it Moyles - was, like most over-rich people, reluctant to pay his due tax, can't blame him for that, why should he, politicians don't, politicians' friends and advisers don't, Google doesn't, Amazon doesn't, Starbucks doesn't, Vodafone doesn't - anyone with a connection to slimy, squeaky George Osborne or anyone holding out the promise of a lucrative post-Treasury, post-HMRC job need not pay any tax; Mr Murdoch doesn't pay any tax, Lord Daily Mail doesn't pay any tax. London is stuffed to the rafters with international criminals who don't pay any tax whatsoever; so why should this relatively poor, gibbering, egomaniacal showbiz cocksucker gabshite pay any tax?
Seven years'd be about right.
Dartmoor's nice and warm,
with thick walls, nobody'd hear his gobbing and whining.
No, the surprise is not that he tried to avoid tax, it is that we paid him seven hundred thousand pounds a year. Better off, I think, burning the money in a brazier outside a food bank, keep a few people warm for an hour or two.
Still, he's said he's sorry, that's the main thing, deserves a second chance, eh? Not as though he's one of the Wicked Poor.
RADDLED, BARREN OLD WITCH ACQUITTED.
Welcome to Sky News, your first choice for madeupnewsandfilth.
With me, Kay Bully.
And this is the news that Rebekah Filth, the so-called witch of Chipping Norton has been compeletely cleared at the Old Bailey. of one of the charges
Ms Filth,
Hubble bubble, toil and trouble,
Blair burn and Murdoch bubble.
whose familiars have included EastEnders' tough guy-fairy, Mr Ross Cock, unelected prime minister Mr David Cameron, stable boy Mr Charlie Brooks, war criminal and fraudster Mr Tony "Butcher" Blair and the octogenarian sex-God Mr Rupert Murcock - none of whom were able to impregnate the rancid old bag - has all along maintained her innocence and told Skymadeupnewsandfilth that she now feels to'ally an' u'erly vindicated. skymadeupnewsandfilth believes that Ms Filth still faces four other serious charges and will probably g to jail.
'Slong as there's some money in it for me.
Speaking from New York, Mr Murdoch said, I fuckin' well hate that cunt, Tony fuckin' Blair, fucked my chink Sheila, he did, I'll have him. I made the cunt and I'll unmake him. Tax, in the UK? Sorry cobber, I can't remember nothing about that.
4 comments:
The odds are that she will get away with it all.
If she had been just a slapper off the street it would have all been over by now and she would be serving time somewhere along with most of her accomplaces
I am watching the BBC Daily Politics, today without Andrew Neil, and they are asking a celebrity hairdresser who plies his trade in London whether Scotland could cope with independence.
And they have just described Chris Underpants Bryant MP as an expert on all things Russian.
We are doomed, we really are.
You have more stomach than I, mrs n, I simply cannot bear it, with or without Neil. You are correct, it is the dimming of our day and already I miss the light.
Yesssss! You're back.
Glad you're back.
Vincent
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