A nice pair of steamed puddings...

The thing I loathe about Go Chef is that whenever I finish watching a film and switch back to Telly, that same bloody dreadfully tiresome infomercial is on! 

JMLDirect? 

JMLFuckRightOff, more like. And take yer goramm godawful Vox Pops with yer! 

"To call the Go Chef versatile is a complete pile of wank". 

 And who eats fondue in this day and age? No-One's et fondue since 1978... 1983 at a push! 

Bloody Go Chef - no wonder I never sleep! To busy ranting at the forced bonhomie, the faux endorsements, the treacley treacle sponge bit, the dreadful 'worse chef' competition, and the nonsense about PTFE rubbing off on yer sausage! 

GRRRRRRRR!!!!!

EVERY fucking night this is bloody on! Fuck it, I'm going to subject you to it as well!

Don't enjoy:

[EDIT] Apologies. The video below is edited down without some of the more annoying elements, like the fucking vox pops. I'll try & hunt down the full dreadfulness for you later. Meanwhile...
   

They fall to the floor and stick to the whore's...

So, people are complaining about a lesbian kiss in Dr Who.

Now, having watched New Who, can I point out there is NO lesbian kiss in it.

There's beastiality (or inter-species) kisses.

Yes, they're both female, but one's a lizard (hands up those who spotted the crass Lizard Tongue 'joke'). Surely that's worse than lesbianism?

Mind you, if Bella Swan can shag a corpse and snog a dog and still be popular, I don't see why it's such a big deal!

That said, my problem with the episode is that in every scene with them, they HAVE to mention they're Wife & Wife. Not a scene goes by without them having to stress that one is the other's wife. 

Once is fine, to establish they're married. But does it REALLY need to be hammered home EVERY time they come on screen?

And as for the comedy potato butler... oh dear. A Sontaran as a Butler that has only the one joke nicked from Blackadder's Christmas Carol. Except instead of giving away secrets (Damn, Damn, Damn, I'm so stupid!), the Potato keeping making comedy remarks about going into battle. 

Still, at least Capaldi is a decent Doctor at last. Hopefully he's going to be the darkest yet.

Jeremy Paxman Stu! Off the telly..

So, yesterday I applied for yet another Testing job, and the Telephone Interview for a Software Engineer turned out to be a chat with HR about Salary Expectations, Availability For Interview, Brief Overview Of Company, etc...

But, as they say, One Door Closes As Another Door opens.

Which is bobbins, coz I just closed the kitchen door after getting my calorie counted sushi (not killer sushi though) and all the other doors that were shut remained closed.

Anyhoo, as I check my massages, I spy with my soon-to-be-reglassed-with-red-trim-coz-that's-the-only-style-they-got-in-specsavers eye, a posting from Mouseturd TV.

They're looking for LOCAL presenters to present LOCAL stuffs on LOCAL freeview (channel 8) come March!

So I've applieded to be a telly man! (Don't worry Tubbs, Xym won't get far...)

Can you imagine that - Xym on the telly! I won't be a short fat gothboy with preposterous hair, ludicrous shades, occasional crainial adornment, diverse accoutréments and a ridiculous 'tashe any more. oh no. 

I'd be a short fat gothboy with preposterous hair, ludicrous shades, occasional crainial adornment, diverse accoutréments and a ridiculous 'tashe off the telly!

So, my CV, with accompanying portraiture captured by imps in the devil box hath been submitted, with the following begging letter:

Hello!

  I saw your request on that there Facebook for LOCAL presentery type peoples, and would like to be considered.

  I've lived in Norwich since 1988 (does 26 years of Norwich dwellance of my agéd 44 qualify as local), but I do love the place.

  I've not done any actual presenting type stuffs, but I have performed before camera before, and am currently looking for a new direction (having recently being made all redundancised from Aviva), and I'm being encouraged to "Go For It" as apparently it'd be "right up my street".

Which is handy, because my street IS local! And apparently, I have a quite distinct, unique look that draws attention and makes me stand out. 

I've attached my somewhat bobbins Actorial CV which has a page of visual representations captured on camera. Unfortunately (or thankfully, depending on your POV) I have no video of my sparking charm & twinkling personality due to an ex throwing out all me old VHSs coz it was VHS and therefore old. 

  Let me know what you think, and if I has a chance at more fame Local Fame (rather that just "That bloke with the glasses, stylish hats & 'tashe", I could be "That bloke with the glasses, stylish hats & 'tashe off the telly!". or something.)

  Many thanks for the opportunity,
Xymon Owain
(for ease of pronounciation, just call me Simon. Most call simply me The Xym (The Sim))

I think that fairly encapsulates the essence of what you gets with The Xym!

Xym. On telly. Oh dear...

Ermagherd, they outsourced Tracy...

Having just returned to the house, I put the telly on and it defaulted to BBC One & Sunday Bitchin'. A show all about food & 'celebs'.

Now, they had that Welsh rare bint off of We Are Scientits in a binkinini being slathered in paint, so I though I'd leave that on whilst I caught up on the hundreds of FB posts & notifications that suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

How comes that always happens - facebook is like a tumbleweeded dust bowl for days, and as soon as something good comes on, such as a scantily clad scientit songstress bring besplattered with smeary substances, Facebook goes manic!

Anyhoo, as I trawled through and caught up on all the goss (not Matt & Luke), some 'celeb' was outed as the voice of Brains in the new Thunderbirds next year.

So the presenter asked if he could do the Brains voice.

And Brains is now Asian! Confirmed by Brains Voice Man, it's now Bangalore Brains :(

Now, I'm familiar with outsourcing - a model used by managerial fucktards to somehow cut costs on the basis that 1 Asian costs a third the cost of a local employee, so why not make the employee redundant, split that role into 6-8 components, allocate 6 Asians per component, stretch a 5 minute job into 5 weeks, fuck it up, waste more time arguing over delivery, spend 2 weeks redoing the work, then have a local employee ditch the lot and redo it in 5 mins.

And then scrap the project a week before live.

And now they've applied that model to International Rescue!

"Ok, we have a collapsed mineshaft - we need sone form of tunneling device. Get Brains on the phone!"

"Hello, my name is Fred. How can I be giving you the pleasures today?"

"Brains, we need a massive drill boring device"

"For sure, for sure, Do you have a work order?"

"No, it's part of contract!"

"Many excusings please. Ah, we will be needings 6 resources to draw up a Requirement Document  then another 8 to Peer Review it, then it will have to go to my manager for approval. If accepted, we will then send to our 10-man design team to draft up a a Technical Specification, which will be Quality Assessed in the weekly Projects And Enhancements meeting. If accepted, it will be presented for sign off by each if the 12 areas affected. It will then be added to the flightplan with a view to getting a drill request build request to our China sub-contractor. They will give us an ETA for delivery,, from which we can commission 14 test phases. On sign-off of testing, we will then deliver a team of military men marching in formation, as you just asked for a boring drill, and not a drill to tunnel. We will argue we delivered exactly what you asked for, so fuck you if we fuck it up. Just send us lots of money and end up building it yourself. Everybody wins!"

"Why, that sounds perfect. Aren't efficiency savings brilliant!"

See, if I was in charge if the Thunderbirds reboot, I'd've cast Fuzzbox! It'd be all modern, what with the Tracy sisters. Apart from Brains who wasn't a Tracy, but he was a scientist, so you could have the Welsh Rare Bint from Wee On Scientists Tits instead! 

And I'd call it Binternational Rescue too!

So, something for everyone then! Strong, female leads to empower Teh Pretties, and for us blokes - exotic Tracy Island with Vix's long, long bronzed legs. AND the We Are Scientits bird in a bikini as Brains!

Whilst Hive is busy annoying the Hell out of Xym...

Why aren't you surfing on cab

Because it's dangerous!

Going to visit your mad dad

Erm, (a) me dad's not mad, and (b) he's dead. Thanks for nothing "Hive"

Or shopping for some trousers

When it starts snowing on your schnowsers

Whoa! Hold on there - what the fuck're "schnowsers"? There's no such thing! And assuming I has more than one schnowser, why would they be exposed, let alone stationary long enough to have some form of icy build up on them?

While Hive is busy controlling your heating at home

By Hive, you mean British Gas, in order to con people it's not the shitearse British Gas by claiming to be "Hive"

You could bemaking origami

From a slice of beef pastrami

No, you couldn't. It's unhygenic, and you can't fold pastrami like paper - it's too thin and floppy!

Or having a kick about

With a team of giant trout

No, you couldn't. Apart from the cruelty to fish, forcing them to play football, they would asphyxiate due to being out of water well before the kick off. And you couldn't play against "giant" trout. Unless you're in Fukushima.

While British Gas ain't controlling my heating at home

Being naughty in the park

And being out on a register 

Racing badgers for a lark

Avian prizes are not acceptable sports trophies. Besides, the badgers are all covered in TB and culled, so you wouldn't want to race them anyways!

Or taking your parrot to Milan

Like, why? And it'd get impounded by customs, and you'd be arrested for illegally immigrating wildlife like a smug smuggler smuggling pirated parrots. or something.

With absolutely no idea or plan

Hence the airport arrest.

While Hive is busy at pissing The Xym off at home

I really loathe that advert!

OXO, OXO, OXO ooh wa ah...

Got me cooking some gravy right now!

Wow! Xym's a celebrititty!

It would appear that everyone's favourite pop tart, Beyoncé Knowles (star of DIY SOS and National Lottery Who Dares Wins) had written a song for The Xym!

A love song at that!

It's called XO, which as y'all know is the initials of... why, no-one else in the whole world apart from your very own Xymon Owain!

I've been invited to dinner by Kelis, but no top celeb has ever written a song for ME before!

Apparently, she's got into trub about it. Seems she's sampled the Challenge Anneka disaster in honour of one of my teen crushes. I thought it was Treasure Hunt where she ripped her pants open and the chopper handler had to cellotape her arse on camera, but what do I know!

Nothing, it seems, for XO is also txtspk for Kisshug, so OXOXOXOXO is hug, snog, hug, snog, hug, snog, hug, snog, hug.

And there was me thinking it meant "I wants lots of gravy". Love gravy that is. Off that Smegma Bellendcheese.

No, not Smegma Bellendcheese, Lynda Bellendham of course!

[EDIT] Crikey, the filth on telly these days! Never mind Lynda Bellendham's hugkisshug lurve gravy, fanny battered vaginisms have crept into the New Year family movie. Stuart Little is on whilst I get ready, and the cat has just asked Stuart to "read my furry pink lips"!

The last person who famously "read the furry pink lips of her pussy" was deafblind political activist Helen Keller, and that's how she discovered mass debating. 

possibly. or not. as the case may (or may not) be. probably. or something. perhaps.

Bah Humbug? B'rit milah, more like...

It's Christmas Eve Eve Eve, and what better festive fare for the eyes than Xmas specials on the tellybox.

And what yuletide treats are in store for us today?

"The Quest For The Holy Foreskin"

Ah, I remember it well from the Nativity at Primary School. The story of the Three Wise Men giving the Baby Jesus the Saturnalian Snip of the tip.

That's what everyone needs to get into the Christmas Spirit - a hunt for the discarded mummified todger flesh of the Lord. The hunt for the prepuce from the prophet's phallus. . 

Who needs The Snowman? Gremlins? Rare Exports? Nightmare Before Christmas? Scrooge? The Muppet's Christmas Carol? Bah humbug.

Nothing bring the message of Christmas home than a scrotal scientist hunting for the offcuts of genital mutilation.

Sod the turkey - serve up some leathery cockskin for Xmas lunch! 

I think I need to find a job as a telly ideas man - next year, I think I shall suggest "The Mystery Of Mary Magdalene's Minge Merkin - Muff Hunter Xym is sent on an archæological expedition to recover the long-lost quimrug relic revered by religious types."

Yeah, that'll work.

Search for the holy foreskin indeed!

Carol Phwoarderman's Christmas Cuntdown...

Christmas preparation...

Inspiration...

Presentation...

Illumination...

Anticipation...

Duplication...

Flirtation...

...

Inebriation... 

Lubrication... 

Penetration... 

Ejaculation!

Max Von Zdzozzwzzzzzz....

I'm having an Argento season of my own!

I watched Terror At The Opera t'other night, and thought I'd follow it up with No Ho Sonno.

Which is Italian for I Can't Sleep Coz I gots Insomnia And Amnesia Coz I'm So Very Old.

Or Sleepless, as it's marketed in English speaking land.

I fell asleep just after Chief Inspector Ulysses copped it off the puppet dwarf. And he couldn't even be arsed to soar all through the galaxies in search of Earth, the lazy sod! And he didn't even have his female repellent robot sidekick Nono, to make it No Hoes, No No No Hoes, No No No Hos, No No There's A Limit To The Amount Of No Hoes For Nono And That Is Literally No Hoes.

or Sonnothing.

Anyhoo, for a film that's supposed to keep you awake all insomnia like, I ended up all fast asleepies!

That'll learn me for sitting through This Week in anticipation of an appearance of Miranda Green to perve over, I mean, take an interest in her debating of late night political chit chat...

(don't you mean debased mass debating, Xym?)

Of course not - there's nothing worse to cool one's ardour  when the camera pans from the long legged lovely with the luscious locks to a sudden shot of Andrew Neil... or heaven forbid Alan Jizzstain or Michael "Choo Choo" Portaloo!

What's a f'tummmsch...

Oh, you crazy Welsh folk!

It would seems that the choral miners are away from their sheeps in droves, and complaining in the valleys!

"Why's that, boyo?" I hear you ask.

Well, it would seem that the village of Varteg is changing it's name. It is now to be called Y Farteg. 

Once proud to be named after Vartag Gavorn out of Dragon Age, they're all spitting out their toasted rarebit because much mirth and mockery will come unto Torfaen. For Y Farteg is Welsh for "Who Farted?". probably.

Me - I'd've named it Pant-Y-Gyrdl and forced the residents into lycra legging style "compression shorts" and give them leek eaters some camels instead of sheeps.

No sense of humour or imagination, the Welsh¹.

And from Wales to Norway, and everyone's favourite gravelly voiced sex kitten of the tellybox (apart from them others).

It seems that Channel 4 are losing the ratings war, and have come up with a new idea for a programme.

Couples to have sex on live Channel 4 show!

Seems that in order to get some interest, they're having a "real sex" season looking at the impacts of pornyness on teenagers.

So they've managed to lure The Frostrup into opening up her sex box to couples and engage in "adult conversation". Adult converse? Talking reet dirteh like a filthy potty-mouthed bitch on heat, more like!

In addition to the linguistical lustful langague, she's also having "Frank conversations". Whether this is an sexy seance orgy with Derek Acorah summoning up a Sidebottom succubus, or just plain necrophilia, I don't know.

Apparently, she's got to nosh off three couples from different decades - and one of them couples is gay, so she has to lez up. hopefully.

I'm going to have to start watching them Channel 4 websites for the audition pages. Hopefully they'll follow this one up with one for singles, instead of couples, and hosted by Clawed Ear Wankleman, or Carol Phoarderman.

Preferably both...

Oh, you can throw in an Emily Maitliss, Kirsty Walk, Susanna Reid, Fiona Bruce, Miranda Greene, or serveral other presenting Pretties... heck, if they can persuade HBC to take an acting break for her presenting debut... I've seen Fight Club - I'll have me some of that on the tellybox!!

There's lovely...

¹ HOLD ON A MOMENT XYM, AREN'T YOU OF WELSH DESCENT? AREN'T YOUR ANCESTORS FROM RHYL, AND NAMED YOU AFTER OWAIN "WELL, THERE'S A HORRIBLE FARTY SMELL IN HERE, AND IT'S DEFINITELY NOT FROM MY BOTTOM" GLYNDŴR, LEADER OF THE FAILED REVOLT AGAINST THE ENGLISH? YOU HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOUR AND QUITE IMAGINATIVE... ALLEGEDLY...
WELL, I FREQUENTLY HOLIDAY'D IN RHYL WHEN I WAS LITTLE, AND THERE'S PROBABLY SOME MAGNETIC LADYBIRDS I LEFT ON THE TOP OF A WARDROBE IN THE B&B ON QUEENS STREET. I WONDER IF THEY STILL HAVE THAT SCARY GREAT BIG HUGE FECK OFF KING KONG LEERING OUT OVER THE PROMADE...
MOUNT SNOWDON? PRESTATYN? BRECON BEACONS? CAERNARFON CASTLE? BEAUMARIS CASTLE (where me Dad clobbered me for no good reason)? SOD ALL THAT - KING KONG WITH THE ANIMATRONIC HEAD AND RED LIGHTY-UP EYES LOOMING OUT OF THE SCARY HOUSE WAS THE BEST THING ABOUT WALES!

Never trust woman (with shit on her dress)...

Apparently, there's a lot of confusion over the Ariel Liquitab advert. What the feck is going on? It makes no sense? It's stupid! Which one's the mom? Christ I hate that fucking advert! Oooh, that one on the left is quite cute, actually...

Well, that's because most people are Gormsters, and nowhere near as clever as The Xym. So, here is Xym to walk you through what's actually going on here.

OK. We open on a shot of a couple of student girls in the communal Launderette. One is sat on a chair, totally disinterested in her dumb blonde friend. You can tell she's thinking "Oh fuck, here she fucking goes again, the thick cow"

"So, it's usually when I want to wear my favourite vintage dress that I realise maybe I should do my washing a bit more often" 

Uh-oh! Blondie's friend has suddenly taken an interest! She's looking a bit guilty there... what's that Blondie just picked up? Oh dear - looks like someone's just been caught out borrowing her airheaded friend's best frock to go to a party.

 "'cause it's covered in all these weird, mystery stains." 

Shit! Found out! And she would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for her pesky bezzie noticing that it was all covered in spunk weird, mystery stains.

"I'm like, what is that? Coffee Right?"

"Probably."

Guilty! Far to quick to claim "Probably". Look at that knowingly smug expression on her face after saying probably. She knows damn well that's not coffee... and she can't believe her dumb blonde friend doesn't realise she wore the dress to a student orgy and hid the Boston Pancaked raiment in the washing, hoping she'd just shove the Monica Lewinski'd dress into the washer, and not rummage through the linen noticing spunk and fanny batter splattered all over. Coffee my arse - that's a shitstain from when the knickerless nympho crapped into a cup. probably.

"So anyway, Mum sent down this Ariel stain remover stuff..."

And just look at her friend sigh in the background! Christ does she find her mate boring. This is a case of please just shut the fuck up about your dress you boring, vain, fucking bitch as she ignores the endless whittering about washing.

"...to put in the wash with Ariel, and it's like, twice as powerful apparently!"

Oh no, Blondie's turning to her friend! Her friend notices and snaps her head back with an "I'm really interested, honest" expression on her face, as if she were paying attention all along! In reality though, we all saw her being bored shitless. She really doesn't like this self-absored woman one little bit, and Blondie is totally oblivious to it!

"Brilliant!" 

Oh, how sincere is that! The eye rolling, the head roll. Yes, someone certainly thinks this is really brilliant. Continue with your enthusiastic diatribe on washing tabs. Please, go on, do!

"And now the stains have gone, and I've got my vintage dress back!"

And she turns to her friend, who is open-mouthed in shock at almost being caught out mocking the empty headed fashionista again. Luckily, she quickly alters her demeanor to look like she's all excited too... 

..and sticks two thumbs up, once more in a totally sarcastic manner. And Blondie still doesn't get the hint. And so, the advert is over...

.

Blondie mugs to camera, happy with her liquitabs... whilst her so-called "friend" is clearly thinking "Thank fuck that's over, perhaps the bitch'll shup up now!" and dreaming of which outfit to pilfer next from her posh mates expensive wardrobe for her next nymphomaniac ball.

So, the moral of this tale is.. .um... if you buy Ariel Liquitabs, you'll be blissfully unaware that your best mate is using you to gain access to your wardrobe,  seduce and bed your boyfriends, and constantly mocking you behind your back and feigning friendship when you look at them.

There's only one way to find out...

Before I cracks in with me bloggocks, a big Thank You and Apology for last night!

Yeah, yesterday's blog was a bit of a depressive miseryarse. But good times brighteneded me up.

Drinks with Loki, Spike, Spooky Joolz, Scotchbloke with an angry penis, the mardy otters, Mah Polish Pretty, Frank (Bruno) and Lucy Longlegs. So big thanks to them for cheering me's up.

Then through the rain with Luce for the King Of The Goths birthday at the poncy theatre place. Yay, mah Sis, mah mod Pretty, diverse other Pretties and acquaintances too numerous to mention. So thanks to them too!

Then on to The WhatACunt for Wraith. Much lacking in partying Pretties, except for the Jadey Lady, so a big thank you to her too for giving me a hug, dancing with the bloated whale that be Xym, and putting yet another great big smile on his great fat foolish face.

But then... oh then....

People started being ill, and leaving¹, and Engaging In Converse With Strangers, leaving Xym all paranoid, depressed and alone... and as mentioned yesterday, one did indeed pull one's legendary Xym Sneaks Off In A Huff Before He Says Something Stupid act.

And for that, one does apologize most humbly.

So my name's mud now, and I've probably upset everyone, and everyone remaining probably had an horrible last 3/4hr without me there to keep them all accompanied and entertained.

So I've been all morose again today, feeling bad I abandonded peoples. But at least there was telly to cheer me up. Colombo repeat, F1, Mythbusters, Once Upon A Time, and now...

...what the blinking flip?!?!?

Halfway through Finding Bigfeets on the tellybox, and they had an ad break so Ranae could have a poo in the forest without the camera's filming her flange or televise her being boffed by Bobo, yet another of them strange advertisementy things came on.

More sick, depraved filth to entertain the blood lust of the masses!

Puppies vs Babies!!

Surely this can't be right. Batman vs Dredd. Megashark vs Mega-Octopus. Man vs Food. No problem - such battles are entertainment. Big ole fights to the death.

Put pitching newborns against savage beasties?

I though we were way past the age of Bare Biting, Cock Fighting and dog fights.

And now, on Prime Time telly, nature red in tooth and claw, and Pampers nappy rash raw!

Animal planet - animaul planet, more like!

¹ ON THE PLUS SIDE, TAKING THEIR LIMPET CLING ON WITH 'EM!

That's hen-tertainment...

"I don't like graveh"

So said Babs in Wallace And Gromit's Nazi Nasty Not-so Grand Day Out. or something.

But I guess someone else ain't too fond of gravy now, either.

Apparently, the OXO mum has been diagnosed with cancer.

Well, what do you expect, force feeding your family gravy for every meal?

"Mum, what's for breakfast?"
"Cornflakes..."
"Yummy"
"...with a gravy boat on the side. No milk for you - get that OXO down yer neck. I got to be a loose woman later this morning"
"Surprised you haven't got quim cancer then, you loose woman slaaaag with yer STD gravelpit gravy. Bitch. I want more than gravy every fucking mealtime. One day, I'll grow up, and I'll go all Jeffrey Dahmer on yer ass. Served up with a pint of OXO gravy. See how you like that, bitchfucker."
"What did  you say?"
"Nothing mum. Just saying how great your lovegravy is! Mmmmmmm! OXO"

I don't know - I blame that Daily Fail. Just about everything gives you cancer these days. Bacon. Chips. Kevin Bacon. Cake. Eating a packets of fags. Even having tits or bollocks.

And now they're demonising gravy!

And I've just polished off some orange sheepherders pie... with gravy! Oh wail and misery! Which will I get cancer from - the poured over OXO, or the onion ring chaser?

Quite how some people stay in jobs is beyond me. I won't bore you with the details of yesterdays still-employed "skilled" retards who still can't figure out how to use eMail, but instead I'm moaning about them there cookery staffs.

A tray with orange Sheepherders pie (urgh), ballbearing peas (urghle), rock hard carrots (bleurgh), and (now cancerous) gravy generously ladled over the top....

...with a cup of onion rings.

Yes - a cup of onion rings! They even have cups of spicy twisty fries!

I'm no Gordon Ramsey, but even I know "Eff me. They've put the effin' onion rings in the effin' cups - the effin' drinks go in the effin' cups, effin' garnishes go on the effin' plates. What the eff is wrong with you? Is it all an effin joke? You're effin' sinking your effin' team! Oi! You! yeah, you - eff-face. Effin' come here. All of you. Get here now. Look at that. Effin' look at thaaaat. It's in an effin' cup for eff's sake. Eff me. The effers over effin' there are efffin' tipping theirs onto their effin' plates, like effin' McFries on that effin' "we all have effin' McEffers in common". Well eff you. you want McEffin cuntyburgers, you can effin' leave right now. You're effin' killing me, for eff's sake. There's no effin' passion. You've effin' given up. Effin' bounce back you effer. Now eff off.."

And then I was ejected from the canteen... 

Cups of comestibles, indeed...

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!

If u wanna be mah lurvah, u gotta lick out mah friends...

One is most confused.

Apparently, that there talentless waste of matchstick Victor Beckham has been crownded Woman Of The Decade at the Glamour Wimmin Of The Year Awards.

And there was me thinking there were at least 7 more years till the end of the decade to allow actual talented wimmins to get voted. But clearly, a decade has been decimated and redecimalised into just a triplicity of annual occurances.

Anyhoo, her "design line" is so atrociously bad, she won't wear her own clothes (coz they're shite), and turned up in a fashion faux pas of visual unappeal.

And her message: "My mum is my woman of the year. I really love women. Dress appropriately."

Well,
a) You Mum didn't win the award you dumbass bint! Nor was she even in the running you gormstress!
b) You great fat skinny lezza, loving women! Getting it on down Geri's Hairy Well, and sucking up Melanie Jizzum's flange leakage, more like!
c) Dress appropriately says one of the gash flash five - and turns up in some ill-fitting jumpsuit affair, which at least mainly covered up her usual semblance of Skeletor (resulting in a bin bag rattling with bones look).

Woman of the decade? Woman of the decayed, more like!

So, what else was awarded to other non-entitties to make them feel all empowered?

Nicole Shirtsinger was named Best TV Personality for... um... being on X-Factor, like, ages ago, and appearing in cutaways during F1 watching Lewis Hamilton driving.

Best TV Personality my arse!

Jessie J won The Editors Special Award... exactly what for, I dunno. Sitting in a revolving chair and cutting her barnet off probably.

And Myleene Klass got an Entrepreneur award for promoting camel hoofed nipple defining bikinis in waterfalls. Thrusting your young pert breasts directly into camera whilst lathering yer labia is hardly an entrepreneurial venture!

Honestly, they give out awards for any old crap these days!

Where's my award for this blog, eh? That's what I wanna know! I wants a big ceremonial presentation with hot chicks and groupies throwing themselves at me because of my humongously big Award award for awarding awards to the award winning blog award, and I wants it now!

Screwdriver! (Cha cha cha cha)...

Oh, to have grown up in the '70s!

I'm currently watching Columbo, as you gotta watch Columbo.

Now, The Murderer has done the deed, and fled in panic to a nightclub to confide in his mate.

As all mates did in the 1970's, he told The Murderer not to worry - he'd help cover it up. He'll go straight to the victims house, hide the evidence, murderer calls he house from the club and the friend will pretend to be the victim. Talk loud on the phone so everyone knows you're talking to "her" and thus secure an alibi.

So far, so good.

Now, the friend drives straight over and gets out of the car and puts on the now legendary Giallo Gloves. AsI sat there, I began to lament the lack of Criminals in Modern Drama who forego the use of Argento famed black leather glovesies. All these crims caught out by Fingerprints, Palmprints and Partials, and all for the want of classic accoutréments to be shown in close up fingering a range of slaughterous tools.

But... oh woe and misery! The gate is barred! How can this man help create an alibi if he can't get in?

He reaches into his suit pocket (as all '70s clubs were Gentlemen's Clubs where you worn a smart suit as you tossed back a stiff one to calm the nerves... or was that the hookers sat at the bar?)

Anyhoo, what does he withdraw from his inner pocket? Did The Murderer slip him the key? No - the unspoilt line of his dapper suit only held a screwdriver!

Yes - someone actually went to a club, and happened to have a handy screwdriver about their person! And not only that, a screwdriver you can reach through a gate, tap the back of a lock, and magically release the gate!

And there was us laughing at the improbability of being expected to have a screwdriver upon us to get into the back room of The Marquee t'other week.

So, next outing, my party paraphernalia needs to consist of not only a screwdriver to open music rooms, but also the Shiny Gloves Of Fetishistic Accoutrément caressment on the off-chance I'm asked to cover up a murder after a few £12 pints and vanilla vodka & cokes.

Anything else I need to acquire?  Asylum should be 1st June, so plenty of time to add to my breaking & entering to either get into clubs or mates houses to preserve their reputation attire...

"Hello"...

That's that fucking annoying song they keep playing on the telly ad for the new TLC channel coming soon. You know the one:

Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh
Hello
Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh
Hello
Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh
Hello-a-ow-a-o-oh
Hello!

I think it should be a more of that there sarcastic "Duhr... Hello?!"

So we're getting a new channel, and it's scraping the bottom of the caked-on fæcal arse of Satan's shitbox with the excrement it's about to subject us to.

But the worst...

oh, the worse...

Honey Boo Boo chile!

What foul monstrosity bore this beast? A more foul stain on retarded hillbillery I have never seen!

See, this has to be why them American insist on gun laws, so that sulky EMO teens can cleanse the gene pool of such annoying spoilt brats who are a waste of space and deplete resources of oxygen best reserved for more deserving humans who are actually human, and not small gnomic monstrosities.

I bet the pair who ballsed up the kidnap of JonBenet Ramsey are kicking themselves for not waiting for a more deserving "beauty" pageant pig. I suspect the world would laud the inept kidnappers if they'd deathed Honey Boo Boo to death by deathly death of a deathly nature.

Send that Mick Philpott over there - he could have himself a BBQ hog roast and no-one would complain.

Honey Boo Boo chile indeed.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

Hush ho...

♪ Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John
went to bed with his trousers on
One shoe off
and one show on
diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John! ♫

Nice bush. Might I... take a tuft?

BUBBLY MILK!

I was only trying to arouse your slumbering soldier!

Oh, Geoff...

I was always blessed with a creamy broth.

Let's go green...

Ghosts Of The Killer Cannibals Oven!

Ooooooookay, then!

As investigations go, hunting the unquiet spirits of digested and defacated explorers in longpig barbeque land is a tad extreme.

Not to mention going into the jungle wilds on their say so!

See, in the dim and distant past, some dumbass explorers buggered off into the deep dark Amazonian forest, where they were befriended by the potbellied pygmies.

Naturally, after a night of celebration and fornication, as the explorers slept, the hungry forest folk snuck up, knifed up the intrepid exlorers and et 'em for breakfast. Hence their restless slumbers, and floating about the foresty bewailing their lot at being nommed on by savages.

So what does our team of paranomal investigators do? Make contact with the cannibalistic conmens descendants!

"We met with the tribal spokesman, who assured us that they no longer practice cannibalism. They offered to take me to meet their chief, and if I gained his approval, they would show us the caves where the explorers were cooked up for tea with some Heinz beans and an Iron Bru. fhhhhsfhhhsfhhhsfhhhs."

You fool! Of course they'd say that! That's probably what they told them old Victorian bush-beaters! They just saw that babe in your team and wanted to nom on her jugs, fine ass, and keep the flange for a fish supper later.

Luckily for them, they had a huge TV crew documenting the celebrations, so the heathen savages were unable to trick them into climbing into a pot filled with stock and veg.

We're not cannibals, 'onest Guv!

Up, up, and a gay...

The things they use to promote a choccie bar these days!

There was an ad on last night promoting the new Kit-Kat "Chunky Champion" Superheroes.

Chunky champions? They weren't that fat - Even after scoffing all that chocolate! Chunky champions indeed!

Take that Mintinator - far from chunky, he's as weedy as that bespectacled yellow peril in red on the Sumo Rings element of Takeshi's Castle.

"Happy clappy Jappy chappie slapping Dappy wearing snappy nappies and eating snackies", as Lister would say. probably.

Then we get the Dominatrix, sorry - Coconutrix. Some svelte siren of superhero sexyness in a tight white jumpsuite, who's probably got the job coz ♪she's got a luvverly pair of coconuts♪, and favours four fingers up her flange!, the dirty sexKitten-Kat.

But who's this other superhero of snacks?

Now, we all know Peter Porker was bit by a radioactive oinker and became Spiderpig. Clearly, this chocolateer musketeer was raped by the radioactive ramrod of Mr Big in the showers to become The Fudgernator. Packing fudge at any opportunity!

Well, I guess Real Men have their Man Fuel of Yorkie bars after having to carry a bit of shopping up a slight incline coz they can't be arsed to park outside their house. I guess in these days of SameSexSandwich¹ diversity equality, it's only fair they have a fudgernator to fill their fudge tunnnel with spunkybum homofuel.

The Fudgeatron indeed! Why couldn't Coconutrix have been the Fullsome Funbags Of Fudge, with rivulets of hot chocolate fudge sauce poured over her heaving busom and smeared all over her fudge factory instead?

No imagination these televisual advertising types!

Kit-Kat's chunky FudgeNugder
Sporting the Gay Tash Of Sterotypicity and Giant Turd Onna Stick.

and Kit-Kat's chunky Juggernaut... ...as in pair-of-coconuts jugs-ernaut
Wielding the masochistic mace of mammarial munchies
whilst repressing the pointy nips of pokey-eyes-out. or something.

¹¹ GBLT. GAY BACON, LETTUCE AND TOMATO. THERE ARE THOSE WHO THINK IT STANDS FOR GAY, BI, LEZZA AND TRANNIE... BUT I GUESS THEY MUST BE VEGITARIANS RATHER THAN VAGITARIANS, COZ ALL CARNIVORES KNOW WHAT A BLT IS! UNLESS, OF COURSE, A THE CUMPONENTS OF A BLT SARNIE ARE ALLITERATIVELY GENDER CONFUSED. BISEXUAL BACON, LESBIAN LETTTUCE AND TRANSGENDERED TOMATOES.