Attention Daily Mail Readers: Kill Yourselves
It's retard debate week once again, where the TV morons all queue up to shoot their talking head mouths off and collect some appearance fees whilst getting nowhere at all. Shame none of them ever get mixed up and just shoot their heads off, but as we all know the soulless can never truly die.
And it's been a tricky series of debates to settle, really.
Social drugs in sport. Anyone spending more than ten seconds thought on this one could easily head for the GTMV queue (change this to whatever the fuck GMTV is really called nowadays, I don't care) and lecture Philip Schofield on the long term effects of athletes injecting ketamin into their pee-pees at their regular swinger parties.
In fact, ten seconds is exactly how long it takes to say "I don't give a fucking cunt" twice (assuming you don't have a speech impediment), which is a perfect summary. Who the shit cares if Paula Radcliffe likes coke blown up her naughties through a drain-pipe, as I've heard? Not me, unless the pictures are on the internet. Nor anybody sane, that's for sure.
Fuck, in a sport where all you do is run around, I'd suspect LSD is mandatory to get some interest out of the event. And everyone knows that the Tour De France is run entirely on magic mushrooms. You try spending eight hours staring at the bloke in front's lycra-wrapped arse, see if you don't fancy altering your mind a little before pulling that tight yellow jumper on.
Drugs should be legal for all, and mandatory for sportsmen, and there's no getting away from this being such an obvious fact that even a child or Sun reader could figure it out for themselves.
The 100 metres on weed? An immense improvement over the shit we have to put up with at the moment.
"And he's crossed the line...in a time of 28 minutes, 46.4 seconds. Congratulations to Dominos, who managed to deliver in under 20 minutes for the first time, a new world record. And in the 200, Maltov Cokestein is on his twelfth false start, but looking promising for this...no, he's run off and started dancing in the crowd again, hopefully someone will confiscate that stereo, else we'll be here for a while yet..."
The same goes for prostitution. Who the fuck cares? Nobody sane, that's for sure. Prostitution has been around for about as long as fucking has, and I'm all for both of them.
Don't get me wrong, I don't want to inject a hooker into my eyeball or shoot a load into some crack, but who the fuck am I to tell people they can't? Who the fuck is anyone to tell me I can't? The answer to both questions is simple; nobody. All the interfering shithounds would be better just cunting off and letting people do what the fuck they want, maybe we'd finally get somewhere as a planet.
There was never a time when there were no whores, when people didn't fuck, and want to make reality a little more tolerable. Never, never, never, happened. So what I want to know is, what imaginary time and place these anti-pro, anti-ho, anti-blow whiny turds are living in? Are there fantasy bus-tours? Does an imaginary cruise ship stop in your non-existent seaport once a month?
Didn't happen in my day? Your day never existed, you fucking halftard. Go read the Daily Mail and shake your head in fake disgust some fucking place else, those of us with the capability to think have toms to feed opium to.
POP NOTE: I should like to draw attention to the fact that I managed to write an entire article without once taking the piss out of the Mail's laughable obsession with The Princess Of Hearts timely death (4th in the SPL, looks like they didn't need her anyway), even given how topical it would be. Pride wouldn't be too strong a word for what I feel right now, a pride...wait...awww, fuck.
And it's been a tricky series of debates to settle, really.
Social drugs in sport. Anyone spending more than ten seconds thought on this one could easily head for the GTMV queue (change this to whatever the fuck GMTV is really called nowadays, I don't care) and lecture Philip Schofield on the long term effects of athletes injecting ketamin into their pee-pees at their regular swinger parties.
In fact, ten seconds is exactly how long it takes to say "I don't give a fucking cunt" twice (assuming you don't have a speech impediment), which is a perfect summary. Who the shit cares if Paula Radcliffe likes coke blown up her naughties through a drain-pipe, as I've heard? Not me, unless the pictures are on the internet. Nor anybody sane, that's for sure.
Fuck, in a sport where all you do is run around, I'd suspect LSD is mandatory to get some interest out of the event. And everyone knows that the Tour De France is run entirely on magic mushrooms. You try spending eight hours staring at the bloke in front's lycra-wrapped arse, see if you don't fancy altering your mind a little before pulling that tight yellow jumper on.
Drugs should be legal for all, and mandatory for sportsmen, and there's no getting away from this being such an obvious fact that even a child or Sun reader could figure it out for themselves.
The 100 metres on weed? An immense improvement over the shit we have to put up with at the moment.
"And he's crossed the line...in a time of 28 minutes, 46.4 seconds. Congratulations to Dominos, who managed to deliver in under 20 minutes for the first time, a new world record. And in the 200, Maltov Cokestein is on his twelfth false start, but looking promising for this...no, he's run off and started dancing in the crowd again, hopefully someone will confiscate that stereo, else we'll be here for a while yet..."
The same goes for prostitution. Who the fuck cares? Nobody sane, that's for sure. Prostitution has been around for about as long as fucking has, and I'm all for both of them.
Don't get me wrong, I don't want to inject a hooker into my eyeball or shoot a load into some crack, but who the fuck am I to tell people they can't? Who the fuck is anyone to tell me I can't? The answer to both questions is simple; nobody. All the interfering shithounds would be better just cunting off and letting people do what the fuck they want, maybe we'd finally get somewhere as a planet.
There was never a time when there were no whores, when people didn't fuck, and want to make reality a little more tolerable. Never, never, never, happened. So what I want to know is, what imaginary time and place these anti-pro, anti-ho, anti-blow whiny turds are living in? Are there fantasy bus-tours? Does an imaginary cruise ship stop in your non-existent seaport once a month?
Didn't happen in my day? Your day never existed, you fucking halftard. Go read the Daily Mail and shake your head in fake disgust some fucking place else, those of us with the capability to think have toms to feed opium to.
POP NOTE: I should like to draw attention to the fact that I managed to write an entire article without once taking the piss out of the Mail's laughable obsession with The Princess Of Hearts timely death (4th in the SPL, looks like they didn't need her anyway), even given how topical it would be. Pride wouldn't be too strong a word for what I feel right now, a pride...wait...awww, fuck.
posted by Peter O'Phile at
2:32 pm
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