Couple of doozys for you th.is morning. First of all, let’s see what The Arsepress have to offer:

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Pretty straight-forward, bog standard headline. EXCEPT – what the fuck is the PM writing exclusively for the Express. That’s like the Pope writing for National Enquirer. It also makes it very clear what kind of arseholes she’s trying to appeal to with this Brexit bullshit. “Hmmm, yes, a bunch of fucking racist cunts read The Express. Rather than The Times or The Graun, I shall write about my Brexit hope for this shit ticket and all the gimlet eyed cock-robins shall exalt me. All hail incredulity!”

Cretin.

And now, ladies the gendermen, the Mail!

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This is obvious bullshit, and we all know the right-wing trolls on t’interweb are just as bad, but because The Mule is such a rancid pile of old skiddy pants, it’s somehow front page news that being a massive bucket of shite is a new thing.

Anyway, fuck off Dacre, you incredulous fool. Just take a snapshot of the fuck nuggets posting bollocks on Britain First to get a good idea of how the right think. And I sincerely doubt Corbyn is directly responsible for spreading the hate, so fuck off you skanky bellends (with optional cheesy helmets).

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black-house2

Black House by Stephen King and Peter Straub

Warning – spoilers

A flawed book, mainly because every facking scene is extemporised to the max.

We all know Straub and King like a bit of extemporisation. If there’s a scene to be had, no matter how insignificant, you know the bastards will be chomping at the bit to have the main characters reminisce about the old times, or go through every permutation of what could happen next before we actually get to the point, and Black House takes the piss in this matter. There’s a scene, which could have been a nice 20 page ‘town goes a bit mad’ where a crime scene is discovered and a mob turns up. Instead, we get 100 pages of endless exposition and background detail, all very well written, but drawn out to such an extent that I found myself exasperated with it.

The story is a sequel to The Talisman, except instead of a journey we get a small village in the US where The Fisherman is going around knocking off kids. Intertwined within this narrative is yet more nods to The Dark Tower series. Which would be good, except you would have needed to have read the series to get the gist of what the fuck was going on in the last 200 pages, which constantly references the books.

Still, if you can stick through the first 700 pages of this monster, which does contain some very nice scenes, even if they veer on the side of cliché, the last 100 pages offers the goods. At least for a bit. And for anyone who has read The Talisman, they’ll know what to expect at the end, which is sort of pissed away with an off-hand shrug of the literary shoulders. Where there should be fireworks and peril we get a sort of ‘meh’ and a disappointed pout of an ending.

Saying that, if you’re into your King and Straub, it does contain some gems. It also contains one of the most hilarious (unintentional) scenes I’ve read in awhile, where one of the supporting characters is killed, and we cut back to the main character on his way to see his recently-murdered friend, all the while thinking about what a great time it’s going to be, and how much fun they’re going to have, and how his best mate makes life worth living – and this goes on for pages. It’s the literary equivalent of ‘It’s my last week on the force until retirement’ scene. I think the expectation was to make the reader think ‘oh no, he’s looking forward to seeing his great mate but his great mate is dead! Nooooo!!!’, buy ends up over-egging the recipe so much it slews into parody.

Recommended if you don’t mind the slog.

It’s coming up to Christmas, so what better way to kick off the season proper than a good bit of wanky old Yuman Roights Gorn Mad bullshit from The Mule:

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The fact that the bulk of the story contains the phrase ‘suspected terrorist’ make me ponder in a chin-strokey manner that this story may contain elements of bullshit, and is just another excuse for Paul Dacre and his scurrying sewer mutants to have a go at the concept of ‘human rights’, because if he had his way Dacre would return to a land of kids up chimneys and regular beatings for paups by the coppers.

The Scum, on the other hand, have a stab at that old stalwart of right wing shite, the benefits mum:

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The mum in question actually saved carefully throughout the year to build up enough cash to give her kids a good Chrimbo, but that’s not good enough for The Scum, who claim she ‘confessed’ (i.e., answered questions from the reporter) to ‘blowing £2,000 quid on presents’. It really is the shit wank of all cunty papers, and that definitely IS swearing. The fact that the fuckers have got her to pose for the front page leads me to think they’ve duped a story out of her under false pretences.

Anyway, the weird racism part:

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Are we supposed to hate Australians now?

Someone should tell the geniuses at The Star that the UK is swept with a cold flu epidemic every year, the feckless malcontents.

Hah! Facking genius! The Mail have decided to become the nation’s scolding nanny in their headlines this morning, with this pursed lip, finger wagging shite of a headliner which makes me think Paul Dacre wears horn-rimmed glasses and likes to tut disparagingly at things:

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For the Brexit bastards who have been banging on about sovereignty, they sure don’t fucking like it when some is actually practiced. This headline is so full of tight-arsed shrewishness I can’t even think where to begin when it comes to ripping the piss out it. By the looks of things, Dacre and his homunculus tribe of gibbering fuck-bollocks who write for this toilet paper are going to be on the witch-hunt for the Tory rebels, once more proving that these arseholes hate the idea of democracy, especially when it flicks two fingers up at their far-right agenda.

 

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Alan Sugar, yesterday

 

I’ve been avoiding The Apprentarse due to it being a pile of old cak, but now it’s The Interview stage, where we realise Bad People are Good, and Good People are Wank, and Alan Sugar is still a massive, dribbling cockend.

We get the usual panic-shots of people remembering how to write, and then cut to Bollockchops walk in, try to be serious without forgetting his lines. The rules are, the interviews have to be ABSOLUTRE CUNTS just to get a bit of TV Drama going. You know Claude is going to be a big slapheaded tosspot, and the rest will pull faces and say things like ‘that’s rubbish’. We see this.

Olive from on-the-buses fucks up ‘being efficient’ by forgetting what the fuck she was talking about. She wants to run an on-line florist. Spod In Jacket reads out online reviews of her being shite. Because, y’know, you can really trust online reviews.

Joanna meets Claude. He moans like an old woman with not enough cat food. She wants to run an office clothing thing.

Michaela – no idea what her bid is because we don’t get there.

Sarah wants to sell… stuff? Online events, maybe? Not sure. Should be paying attention, BUT THIS IS BORING!! Oh, looks like it’s sweets in a tub. With a bow. Fuck off.

James wants to run a – snore – IT recruitment company. He meets Claude. Claude rubs his knob over James’ head.

Michaela gets an arse kicking for not having – as per facking usual – done enough bloody research. Joanna also gets an arse-kicking, and so on and so forth. A blonder woman with a face like stretched plastic harangues her (because it’s TV). James gets suckered in by nice words by Bloke In Suit and GETS FUCKED OVER FOR LYING ABOUT SOME SHIT!! Take that, suit boy! Olive from On the Busses gets a drubbing, but she basically says ‘fuck off, plastic faced woman!’ BOSH! Sarah meets Claude, and he has a go at her for her performance over the series, rather than her business. Sounds like a bucket full of wank to me.

Anyway…

Fuck me, I wish I’d never bothered to review this bollocks. It just reminds me what a big pile of wank it is. Anyway, on with the show…

Plastic woman asks Olive if she looks simple. NO, YOU LOOK LIKE A BIG PLASTIC FREAK!!

Turns out Joanna wants to make a business where someone buys some clothes, and then someone in a third world country gets some clothes as well. For once, some facking altruism. Then again, this is what bloody Apprentarse does. It spends 10 weeks convincing you someone is a total shit through editing, and then – blimey o’crikey – they turn out to be lovely. Same old, same old.

Plastic-Face-Woman interviews James and it turns out he’s got some poor facker demoted. Wot a cant! He leaves weeping like a girl for being caught out.

At the moment, it could be anyone’s guess who gets through.

All the big bollocks get together and say ‘they were shit’ and then ‘they were good’ and then Mrs Brady, Old Lady pipes up with some scripted shit about ‘he’s not investing in you -your investing in him’ and etc.

All the candidates line up – ah fuck it, let’s just cut to the chase.

Joanna – fired
Olive From On the Busses – fired
Michaela – fired.

NEXT WEEK: Some more bollocks.

 

mad doctor

Dr von Bollocks

 

We all know Brexiteers are an intransigent lot, what with their contradictory stances towards sovereignty and facts, but what actually, goes in inside the mind of your average Brexiteer. We asked Professor Scrofulous von Bollocks to investigate, and he came up with (dramatic pause) some surprising conclusions.

There are many types of Brexiteer. There’s the ‘what was wrong with Hitler’ Brexiteer. The ‘why can’t we go back to the 50’s when there wasn’t so many of Them Foreigns around, not that I’m racist, but Enoch Powell was right’, Brexiteer. There’s the ‘we just want our sovereignty back, even though when our sovereignty might say “no” to Brexit we suddenly realise what ‘sovereignty’ means and then decide we don’t actually like it at all, because we’re just disguising our loathing of immigrants under this catch-all phrase so we don’t look like a bunch of Britain First cunts’ Brexiteer. There’s the ‘I don’t bluddy well trust the EU, even if I don’t believe in all that ‘bendy banana’ crap the facking tabloids came out with, but essentially the EU smells of wee and I want no part of it’ Brexiteer. There’s the ‘The European Union is part of a massive conspiracy by the Bilderbergs to take over the world and force the plebs into slavery for their diamond mines because I read it on the website ‘Nutty McFruitcake’s Guide To Why The World IS Controlled and Orderly, Rather Than The Seeming Chaos That Makes Me Scared and Poo My Pants’ Brexiteer. There’s the ‘I dunno, I thought I’d just vote for it for a laugh – fuck me, what the hell have I done!!??’ Brexiteer. There’s the ‘We pay the EU loads of money and we want it all back for the NHS – what do you mean they fibbed!?’ Brexiteer. There’s the ‘I’m actually quite reasonable and somehow have been made to look like a right fucking nutter when compared to the rest of these wibbling arseholes’ Brexiteer. And a lot of other types in-between.

But what do they share in common? Nothing much, really. Apart from the obvious, in that they’re willing to side with the sort of right wing nutters who think the sun shines out of Paul Dacre’s many arseholes (they’re called ‘Daily Mail journalists’). Some have posited that it’s like voting for the Nazi party because you like their policies, and then being shocked by being compared to Hitler.

On the other hand, The Remainers had Cameron, Osborne and facking Tony Blair, and that bloke’s eyes spin in opposite directions!

Still, as a spoddy doctor of Looking At Stuff, it is not in my remit to take sides, but to delve into the minds of the Brexiteers and find out what makes them tick, and after an extensive investigation, I can reveal that, inside the mind of a Brexiteer, there exists stuff. Ideas. Opinions. And sexual thoughts about dressing up like Paddington Bear and being spanked by Mistress Bumpunch who is armed with a kipper.

Professor Scrofulous von Bollocks has a doctorate in Making Shit Up For a Cheap Laugh.

As far as headlines go, this one fills me with pleasure:

express

And the reason? The quiet desperation in the line ‘thank goodness!’, which makes me realise how scared the right wing papes have been lately over the idea of Labour kicking the Tory’s arse. All of this bluster and bullshit since the whole Brexit debacle has been disguising the fact that they’ve been cakking a big one over the idea of Corbs getting into power.

And we all know polls are not to be trusted, which makes it even better. Dream on, Desmond, you witless cockend – one poll does not an election make.