Archive for June, 2007

Sunday, June 24th, 2007

More highly colourful language from MR AGREEABLE!

Waking up to a breakfast of freshly sliced pineapples, mint yoghurt, pumpernickel and a gallon of lager sloppings from my local hostelry which I acquired for nothing as the pub dog had been drinking from them, I push aside my breakfast tray and peruse the weekly journals. Therein, I read that Annie Lennox, alongside Corinne Bailey Rae and James Morrison, are to head up a special “Peace One Day” concert. “Something that is common to every man, woman and child on the planet is the notion of peace,” said Lennox.”Without peace, we cannot survive,” she added.

She’s really, bending over, jiggling her f***ing arse and asking to be f***ing kicked into the middle of f***ing next week, isn’t she? How f***ing self-righteous, bleeding heart obvious, vaguely platitudinous, Aretha Franklin imitating, ego-swelling and f***ing obscenely, rampantly, you’d-rather-listen-to-your-own-dog-being-f***ing-strangled unlistenable is this steaming, rank farrago of cocksucking f***ing dysentery-infected horseshite likely to be? It’s tempting to raise a f***ing private army, steam across the f***ing North Sea and provoke a war with f***ing Holland just to f***ing piss Annie Lennox off! “Without peace we cannot survive”? What the f*** are you talking about, you dessicated, f***tarded streak of f***ing peroxide? There’s probably not been a moment in your sorry, superannuated f***ing lifetime when some c*** hasn’t been raining hellfire down on some other poor c*** but you’ve survived and f***ing thrived, more’s the f***ing pity!

The Hard Rock Cafe is to open a theme park, based upon its own activities, in California, it seems. A launch for the park will be held in London, with Sham 69 in attendance.

Sure, because it’s not enough to f***ing turn rebellion into burgers, fries, Thousand Island dressing and bottles of f***ing pissy beer, is it? Now you’ve got to have some c***y theme park, run by c***s for c***s, whose working title should be “The C***ing C***erama” if you had a f***ing shred of f***ing integrity! I hope the f***ing place burns down within two days and His Holiness The Pope himself flies over from the Vatican just to dance on the f***ing graves of each and every one of the f***ing victims!

The Blazing Zoos are a hot new country and western combo, much touted in some quarters and much in demand on the live circuit. They hardly need any introduction, naturally, but those among you who have perhaps been to Mars these past few weeks are directed to their site, where you can hear them perform their latest smash, “I Didn’t Have The Material”. Their lead singer and songwriter is, I am given to understand, an Australian of some description.

“I Didn’t Have The Material”? Let me f***ing tell you something pal – you still f***ing haven’t! Christ on a giant, revolving f***ing cock-shaped Turkey Twizzler, this is the f***ing aural equivalent of a f***ing basement flood in a f***ing redneck bar! “Mess” isn’t the f***ing word! It sounds like some sort of “Can farm animals play music?”-type experiment! This wretched f***ing group constitute a f***ing wart on the genitals of mankind! What the f*** persuaded a f***ing kangaroo eater to go into Country & Western, anyway? Australia’s answer to f***ing Johnny Cash? I don’t f***ing think so, unless Johnny Cash asked the question, “Would the world’s biggest, most talentless, tin-eared f***ing c*** please step forward and form a record-breakingly unnecessary band, please?” Still, nothing wrong with the name, or at least nothing that couldn’t be fixed by changing two of the words to “F***ing” and “Arseholes”!

India Knight has recently taken advantage of her column in the Sunday Times to muse upon the important topic of Katie Hopkins of The Apprentice, a topic which has been starved of attention in other quarters of the media. Regarding Ms Hopkins, a self-styled “superbitch”, Ms Knight suggests that perhaps she was “incredibly unpopular at school” and that she proves that in business being too nice can be an impediment. “Nobody gets a job in business because they’re a lovely human being,”  she informs us, adding that “Everybody has been talking about Katie for the last 11 weeks.”

For screaming out f***ing loud, how many million more times does it have to be said? Who’s this “everybody”?” You and your equally f***ing vaccum-headed, gossiping, f***ing lunch-doing, f*** all-better-to-talk-about friends are not “everybody”, do you f***ing understand? A life in which more than ten seconds are spent watching The f***ing Apprentice is a life that should be f***ing donated early to medical science the better to determine how some f***ing specimens of humanity have devolved into such total, time-wasting tits in the f***ing 21st century! Nobody gets a job in business because they’re a lovely human being? Just as well someone gets a job at The Sunday Times because they’re a stupid human being, that’s for f***ing sure!

Finally, Home Office minister Liam Byrne has suggested that the identity card scheme will in years to come be an institution on a par with the railways, one we shall wonder how we ever did without.

What the f*** is it with these New Labour tossrags? Have they all had that part of the brain that tells you, “Jesus, if I were to come out and say that I’d sound like a right f***ing twat” surgically removed? It’s not us who should be identifying ourselves to you, Byrne, it’s jumped-up f***ing functionaries of the state like you who should be identifying yourselves to us! Can I suggest a tattoo on your f***ing forehead reading “CONTROL-OBSESSED C***”  might just do the f***ing job in your case?

Sunday, June 17th, 2007

Oh, my anus, it’s MR AGREEABLE

Waking up to a breakfast of Beluga caviar, Emmental cheese slices, peppermint tea and a can of petrol with a slice of lemon, I peruse a selection of periodicals and organs of the Fourth Estate. I come across an item concerning Queens Of The Stone Age, whose lead singer, Josh Fromme, has asserted that The Rolling Stones rely rather too heavily on their older material.

And in other f***ing news, woods said to be excessively full of f***ing bearshit and Pope deemed insufficiently f***ing Protestant! Christ on a f***ing dildo, man, d’you think any c*** would pay more than a f***ing 20p cover charge to hear those dried out old scroteflakes play a f***ing selection of tunes from Mick Jagger’s solo albums? Or their 2006 masterpiece “I’m So Zonked And F***ing Senile I Can’t Find My Way Out Of The Walk-In Dressing Room In My Fabulous Pagoda Apartment Blues”? Keith f***ing Richards’ right arm has probably shrivelled into a f***ing claw that can only f***ing play the f***ing chords to “Gimme Shelter” and “Satisfaction”. Still, I don’t suppose anyone gives a f*** whether Queens Of The Stone Age play their f***ing old stuff or their f***ing new stuff because even the stuff you wrote and recorded in the last f***ing month has the green, furry f***ing constitution of a plate of six year old f***ing goat’s cheese left on a f***ing window sill for six years! C***!

Kylie Minogue is to be given an award by the Music Industry’s Trust in October. A spokesman for the Trust said that the reason she would be receiving the award, quite disconnected from any inducement to her to attend their dinner, was because she was “one of the greatest entertainers of all time”and an “icon of pop and style”.

Roast my f***ing cock, what the f*** is it with the entire f***ing world and Kylie Minogue? Has ever a more minuscule f***ing portion of talent been more f***ing lavished with superfluous f***ing flattery and munificence? Life’s supposed to a be a f***ing near-impossible struggle against the universal forces of oblivion and indifference – except if you’re f***ing Kylie! Every f***ing day it’s something! Kylie Given Lifetime’s Supply Of Enormous Cakes Simply For Existing! Millions Pay £1000 Each To watch Kylie Being Carried Around Stage In A Sedan Chair Covered In Feather Boas By Six Gay Men! Kylie Wiggles Arse In Exchange For Sum Equivalent To GDP Of Small Third World Nation! Kylie Great Because She’s Great, Critics Who Should Know The F*** Better Decide! Kylie Let Off Having To Have A F***ing Surname Like The Rest Of Us Poor, Luckless F***s By Royal Decree! Jesus! ‚ÄúEntertainer‚Äù? I’d rather go to f***ing church! You could shove her talent all the way up a f***ing gnat’s arse without the f***ing gnat even noticing!

Here’s Jasper Gerrard in this week’s Observer, interviewing the guru of “slow food” Carlo Petrini, in a large piece revolving around the important fact that he recently met Prince Charles. “Not since Jesus rustled up a feast from some fishes and a few loaves of bread – beat that, Nigella – have we invested food with such spiritual qualities; and if food has become the faith of a decadent West, its high priest is Carlo Petrini.”

Well, Jasp, got to admit you’re on top f***ing form this week – that Nigella crack, had me f***ing splurting coffee all over my f***ing keyboard, it did! Heh, heh! The loaves and the fishes, heh! And love the use of the word “we”. Because, I think “we” all agree that food is f***ing spiritual, don’t “we”, my fellow community of nodding Observer opinion-formed clones? Utter, utter f***ing twatrag! For writing this sterile, stearine f***ing drivel you should be drowned in a giant f***ing saucepan of recently boiled f***ing Pot Noodles, you empty-headed, witless f***ing carafe of f***ing equestrian piss! Why don’t you just f*** off from The Observer so that David Astor can stop spinning in his f***ing grave?

OBES, MBEs and knighthoods have been meted out to the various deserving in this year’s Honours List. Among the recipients are singer Joe Cocker, Wallace And Gromit‚ actor Peter Sallis and, of course, Sir Ian “Beefy” Botham.

They gave a f***ing award to f***ing Joe Cocker? For what? Ruining a f***ing Beatles standard by dumping half a ton of gravel on it 40 years ago and doing f*** all since? Peter Sallis? He was playing a f***ing Old Age Pensioner in f***ing Last Of The Summer Wine in f***ing 1972, how f***ing old is he, 136? As for f***ing Botham, there you f***ing go, your f***ing reward for 25 years of loudly grovelling to the f***ing monarchy! Now take your f***ing gong, walk backwards, still f***ing grovelling, then get hence to lick out the f***ing Royal Latrine, there’s been a f***ing stain in there no one’s been able to budge since the f***ing Queen Mother died!

Finally, Sting, the singer and promoter of greater ethical lifestyles, has been in court recently with his wife Trudie Styler, following their making redundant their chef when she incurred their displeasure by becoming pregnant. It had already been established that she was unfairly dismissed by the couple; a hearing then took place to determine the level of damages she would receive. Sting has lodged an appeal against the judgment in favour of the chef, who was once obliged to travel from Wiltshire to London to prepare a bowl of pasta for Sting.

My f***ing Godfathers, Sumner, are you not even dimly aware of the full extent of your reputation for double-barrelled, unmitigated, class A f***ing c***itude? Are you not aware that “Sting” is to “c***” as “Rod Hull” is to “Emu” or “Adolf” is to “Hitler”? F*** saving the planet, if they could devise a way of converting your infinitely f***ing self-deluding conceit into energy for a f***ing barrage balloon, humanity in its f***ing entirety could be airlifted into outer space and onward to a more f***ing habitable planet! A bowl of f***ing pasta!”C”, “U”, “N”, “T”, the word is c***, the word is f***ing Sting!

Sunday, June 3rd, 2007

More family fucking fun with MR AGREEABLE!

Waking up to a breakfast of muesli, grapefruit juice, a yolkless omelette and a gallon of absinthe drunk through a hose, I peruse the periodicals and learn that the line-up for this year’s Glastonbury Festival has been announced. It will include The Who, The Arcade Fire, The Kooks, The Gossip, Paul Weller, Shirley Bassey and Chas N’ Dave. “We’ve surpassed ourselves,”  says Michael Eavis, who presides over the festival.

You certainly f***ing have, you eggheaded, absurdly bearded f***ing arse! If this line up was a f***ing muckspreader, it’d shower enough f***ing shit to fertilise half the f***ing county! It’s a f***ing index of excrement! The Who? Two dead, one deaf and one whose singing makes you envy the f***ing deaf! The Kooks? I’d rather drink from the contents of a f***ing hospice bedpan! Shirley Bassey? Oh, my aching f***ing sides! The Gossip? Yeah, she’s f***ing fat, point made, now f*** off back to oblivion and health complications brought on by gross f***ing obesity! Paul Weller? Why don’t you just stick a f***ing scarecrow in the middle of the field and have done with it? Anybody who goes to f***ing Glastonbury is a moron but three days of exposure to this moneygrubbing, pointless vast and vacant f***ing parody of a f***ing festival will come back a f***ing double moron! C***s!

Gordon Brown, heir apparent to the leadership of the Labour Party, has made a number of policy statements, including a wish to extend the period in which terror suspects can be detained beyond the current 28 days. He would, however, ensure that civil liberties were safeguarded were such an extension to be implemented. After “New Labour”, it is anticipated by many that Mr Brown’s reign will be best described as “True Labour”.

Yeah, sure, of course it f***ing will, and the woods will become a f***ing bearshit-free zone and the Pope will join the f***ing Orange Order! F*** all this “Och, yes, I’m a tremendous fan of the Arcade Monkeys” bollocks! Brown’s gonna be exactly the same as f***ing Blair, only scruffier and f***ing grumpier! Head half way up George Bush’s rectum? Check. Continued tax breaks to the f***ing rich and lectures to the poor? Check. More f***ing PFI disasters in the f***ing pipeline? Check! “C*** Replaces C***” should have been the f***ing headline, and the three last words on this odious, dour f***er!

Justin Lee Collins is back on our screens, with a new series of The Friday Night Project!

Christ on a f***ing dildo, just what the f*** is this West Country f***ing rodent-boy doing anywhere near a f***ing TV programme? “Hoi! Moi name’s Justin Lee Collins, oi shout loike this the whole toime and oi’m from Bristol! Thart’s the joke!” How the f*** has he extended this into a f***ing career? Did he catch the f***ing controller of Channel 4 in bed with a f***ing farm animal or what? As eloquent an argument for the f***ing reinstatement of the f***ing ducking stool as Youth TV has yet presented! Useless, hairy f***ing twatrag!

My Chemical Romance are back in the fray, with a new single entitled “Teenagers”. Among their influences are Queen and Iron Maiden.

F*** me into the middle of next week, have you heard this f***ing bunch? The squarest, brownest, samiest, rockiest shit to come trundling off the f***ing NME neoconservative f***ing conveyor belt since the one the f***ing week before! They’re f***ing rubbish! The last scrapings of the bottom of f***ing rock’s bowels! It would, have been better in all solemn seriousness, and weighing the pros and cons regarding the betterment of life on this earth, if these c***s had been influenced by their f***ing heavy metal favourites to go on some massive f***ing killing spree in their high school, than formed a f***ing band! I f***ing mean it! In fact, I contacted some of your f***ing high school classmates and they all f***ing agreed with me! They’d have cheerfully taken the f***ing bullets! Grade A f***ing tosswipes!

Finally, India Knight has used her column in The Sunday Times a fortnight ago to draw attention to the current state of the housing market. It seems that property prices are currently exceedingly high, pricing the likes of schoolteachers and nurses out of the market. Her suggestion? That something needs to be done. “Urgently,” as she puts it.

Well, gee, yes, now that you say so, India, there’s something in that. Thanks for the f***ing early warning, too! I’m amazed this unextraneous observation hasn’t been made before, practically on a daily f***ing basis, over the last ten f***ing years by practically every c***! Yes, that’s certainly food for f***ing thought there, India! You slackarsed, slow-witted, f***ing waste of f***ing space! If you were paid more than 15p to hack out this prolonged statement of the haemorrhaging f***ing obvious, it’s a f***ing scandal! And what the f***’s “India” all about? If you’d been born a f***ing boy, would you have been called “Belgium”?