We asked 100 people. Our stir-fry said...

Now, today's blog was going to be a vindication of my now legendary sense of humour, thanks to David Baddiel's comments on Ten O'Cock And Thirty Minutes Live as regards miserable humourless childish cocksticks who take offence at comical japes and hi-jinx and then start slagging you off all over FarceBook rather than apologize to the people they accidentally misled before blocking you, not realising you weren't even friended so it makes fuck all difference, followed by much lecherous discourse regarding a lack of Lauren Laverne loveliness on the tellybox in general, especially now the series has come to an end.

However, perving over poptastic Pretties of political punditry and Kenickie cutieness is cancelled due to televisual nausea during the ad break. Yet another loathesome advertisement.

Planitherm! Fucking... Planitherm!

The first twatarse ad was bad enough, with them two gossiping gormstresses blathering on:

"A bit like us!"
"Eh?"
"Pam & Fearne! Sounds like Planitherm!"
"No it doesn't, now fuck off you blithering cuntbox!"

But now, oh now, now it has been replaced by some sappy lovey-dovey couple of wooden acting ability that makes Keanu "cupboard panel" Reeves look like a veritable shakespearian thesbian, rather than the emotionless block of inexpressable wood he normally is¹.

She's sat under the stairs, whilst he's stalking her laptop activity, hoping to see her eMailing someone so he has evidence to take her on the Jeremy Kyle Show for adultery.

But he's out of luck, as she's googling up Planitherm windows - window shopping, as the ad "humerously" puts it.

And what be the name of this pair of clueless cuntfaces?

Pam and Vern - sounds just like Planitherm. Awwwww.

No! Fuck off. Fuck right off. Pam and Vern indeed! It's so cringeworthy bad, it's not even so bad it's good. It's just dreadful, and I want to put my boot through the telly when it comes on.

"See that dog. That's not a real dog. That's a sewn on dog²" - classic and brilliantly funny.
"Pam and Fearne/Vern sound vaguely like Planitherm" - No! No! No! That's just a big fat shitty arse. With the squits.

And who's called Vern anyways? No-one in the world is called Vern.

Apart from ♥Lauren LaVerne♥ (see opening paragraph)! 

And 1920s cockney gangsters.

And Mr Dursley out of Gormless-gasped, With Nails In Eyes and That Fat Bastard Chef Detective Thingy (Pies In Her Thighs).

Oh, and fellow Boltonian³ Vernon "Garlic Bread" Kay. And his missus is called Tess, not Pam, which would make it "Tess & Vern! Sounds a bit like... um... messyphone or something!".

And on top of that, he's never with that Tess Daly. When he's not busy photographing his cock and sending wank pics to teenage groupies obsessed with Family FartTunes (ah, hence the messyphone reference above!), he's having tea with him mum and obsessing over the color of the yellowing oils in her frying pan.

As if his mum would make him a stir fry! She's from Bolton! Northerners'll 'av nowt t'do wi' t'furrin food frum t'orient. She'd send him off down t'chippy fer t'bring back t'steak and kidney puddin', chips, peas an' graveh. Only time you order owt from t'chinky is Roast Chicken an' chips in graveh off o't'English Dishes section on t'bloody furrin' menu. 

I did note that his Flora Cuisine mum is "trying to keep him healthy, coz you're still my babeh. I'm just looking after your little ticker! ". Doesn't tell him off for sexting strumpets behind his wife's back though does she! That ad would be more realistic if it went something like this:

 "Hiya mum!"
"A'reet our kid!"
"By 'eck mum, should t'oil look like that? It's like, all t'wrong color? I reckon t'stur fry'll taste funny"
"Sod yer poncey southern stir fry son! Wot's this I hear 'bout you sendin' inappropriate texts to page 3 tarts? Worraboot our Tess an' t'kids, ye dirty fucker? Can't yer keep yer 'little ticker' in yer trousers for five minutes without instant messaging it to slags?"
"But mam..."
"Shut tha' face lad. Oh, I've never been so embarrassed down t'bingo. Here's a tenner. Git thaself down t'chippy fer tea, and bring us back a couple o' whist pies fer yer brother an' t'pasty and t'peas fer yer sister. Pick us up some chicken an' chips from t'chinky an'all. We'll have a good long chat about yer sexcapades after Coronation Street. Now get a shufty on, or I'll gi' yer a clout tha'll ne'er fergit! And don't think about slopin' off either, or I'll go t'foot o' tha stairs."
"Yes mum..."
"An' don't pull that face, me lad, or t'wind'll change an' you'll get stuck like it. And stop dragging your shoes, walk up straight an proper. You're on telly now, so we'll ha' none o' this slouchin' about"
"Yes mum..."

Bloody Planitherm!

Grrrrrrrr!

¹ HECK, IN THAT MATRIX:RETHINGIED MOVIE, WHERE THAT THERE CGI POPPET TAKES ON HORDES OF MR SMITHS AND DESPITE LOOKING LIKE A PLASTIC BLOG SHOWS MORE EMOTIONAL ACTING TALENT THAN THE HUMAN STAR!

² AND NOT, AS SOME PEOPLE THINK, "THAT'S A SO NON-DOG!". DUMBASSES!!

³ ALONG WITH JOHNNY "THINK OF A NUMBER" BALL, SARAH "GIRLIE SHOW" COCKS, FRED "STEAM ENGINE STEEPLEJACK" DIBNAH, FUCKING STU "OOOH I COULD FUCKING FUCK A FUCKING GRAPE" FUCKING FRANCIS, AMIR "PUNCH 'EM IN THE TITS" KHAN, TONY "SNOOKER LOOPY" KNOWLES, RALF "TWO UNFUNNY PINTS" LITTLE, CAPTAIN STANLEY "LET'S WATCH THE TITANIC SINK AND NOT HELP" LORD, PADDY "LET THE LIPSTICK SEE MY DIPSTICK" M^CGUINNESS, GANDALF, MARK "EMMERSON LAKE AND HIS LARD EMPORIUM" RADCLIFFE, SIR ARTHUR "SHIT THE TITANIC'S SINKING LET'S GO AN HELP WHILE THAT LAZY BASTARD STAN LORD SITS ON HIS FAT ARSE DOWN T''ROAD" ROSTRON AND DIVERSE OTHER NORTHERN NOB-ENDS WHO AIN'T HALF AS FAB AS THE XYM!