Clown-faced Man has Book, Clothes to Sell

Well, gee whiz, I ought to just hand the username and password to this blog over to Boy George immediately. He’s a funny motherfucker, check it out: “Westlife – I call them No Life”. Why, that’s comedy gold, Boy. I shall purchase your marvellous products forthwith.

Who else don’t you like? Rosie O’Donnell? A “tank of a woman”, you say? Gosh, I guess she is kind of fat! I hadn’t thought of it that way before. Who’s next? Which of our precious cultural icons will you skewer next with your razor-sharp barbs? Janet Street-Porter? She belongs in the jungle, you say! Cripes!

Tony Blair and George Bush? But everybody loves those guys, Boy! Good lord, is no one safe? Oh I do wish you would say something else outrageous. I have my credit card ready and everything!

You know who else you should take a pop at? Ageing, self-absorbed grotesques who spout tedious, witless, so-called “controversial” criticisms of soft and safe targets in a transparently lame attempt to generate publicity for their latest shameless vanity project. Those guys are the fucking absolute pits and I wish them all years – nay, decades! - of agonising bowel cancer, every last one of them. Fucking soulless, bottom feeding scum. Ain’t that right, George?

George? Hello?