Hi-5!

Fuck’s sake what were Halifax thinking commissioning this dire piece of shit? None of the characters in it are remotely likable. It doesn’t make any sense. It made me want to bludgeon my balls in with an ice pick and fuck an empty bottle of Hooegaarden at the Television.

The fat ginger bitch in it is worse than Hitler. She’s annoying to even present ‘Loose Women’. Seriously. I don’t know where the fuck they got her from or what the hell they were thinking but she’s the sort of person who lives at home alone with her 20 cats and comes to answer her door in a pair of skidmarked undies with 2 cats hanging off her taps, swinging too and fro like furry pendulums.

As for the fat Chris Moyles/Ricky Gervais/troll lovechild that sits opposite her, I hope he is lynched in his hometown by a bunch of Rugby fans with kebab breath. He should be ashamed for even existing.

Why did they have to soil Spandau Ballet’s Gold too? We all know Tony Hadley is a cunt but what was he thinking allowing his music to be associated with this pile of fucking dirt?

I wish everyone involved in this advert the absolute worst in life. Not that cursing them will have any effect since they are all destined for the gutter.

Cunts.

Who would have thunk it? Ever since Quizmania made the transition from ITV1 to ITV2, I have been unable to fill the massive void left by the show. Why not watch it on ITV2 I hear ye ask? Well, being a technophobe I refuse to acquire one of those fancy set-top boxes. I am happy with terrestial television. You don’t need more than 5 channels on TV otherwise you start channel-hopping restlessly in fear of missing the ultimate T.V. program which just doesn’t exist. Yet you fear it might.

I’ve just been watching The Mint and I must say it’s shit. If Quizmania was your standard tarty hoe, then The Mint is a 30 stone Haitan prostitute strutting the kerbs with only a worn brown windbreaker to shield her massive frame from the world. Not that The Mint is in anyway massive. Apart from being massively shite of course. It lacks the magnetism that pure desperation can only bring.

Y’see the producers of The Mint seem to have pumped more resources into the project. For part of the show they hire a Z-list celebrity to sit in the studio to talk with the host. Well it’s usually a Z-list celeb but tonight it was Jim fucking Bowen. It nearly broke my heart to see him on there partaking in such filth.

Kilroy Silk must make an appearance on The Mint. Kilroy Silk must die on the Mint.

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I hate homemade advertisements for a number of reasons. Firstly, they are tacky as fuck. Secondly, they are annoying as fuck. And last and by no means least, they are shite. The new Junction One commerical is no different. Well……..it would be different if it wasn’t for one section of the advertisement in which a Ginger Kid exclaims “Ahoy shipmates!” for absolutely no reason.

I have nothing against children. I was one once. Free of cynicism and bile. Oh, how that’s changed over the years. Anyway, yeah. I just don’t understand why they had to select a child who was so bloody well annoying.

First and foremost he’s ginger. Secondly, he looks like an elf. Thirdly, he has a godawful English accent. Fourthly, who the fuck shouts “Ahoy Shipmates!” these days? I mean to the best of my knowledge it isn’t International Talk like a Pirate Day. There is no call for it. Fifthly, he probably smells. Sixthly, he made me stab myself in the forehead with a plastic chippy fork, I was that irked by his performance.

Hucknall…….he was once a Ginger kid too. Fuckers the lot of them.

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I remember as an impressionable young boy being quite partial to Sally Webster out of Coronation Street. I had quite bad eyesight at the time, some even speculated that I had tunnel vision which is probably not too far from the truth. But yeah, looking back on it, it’s quite embarassing particularly with her recent storylines in Corrie. Not forgetting the fact that she is a munt-munt of the highest order.

I’ve no idea how the hell she’s remained in that soap for so long. She can’t even act. And not in a redeemably camp kinda way. She’s just shite. It’s hard to tell at times who’s actually worse, her or her mongoloid gorilla-man husband Kevin. They are both as bad as each other I guess. That was a cop out I know, but just thinking about them is enough to make me want to claw my own eyes out.

Webster’s recent nervous breakdown has to be one of the greatest farces of all time. She wasn’t actually acting any differently than normal. She put in the same, drab stock Northern girl performance with the only difference being her voice. She spoke at maybe an octave higher than usual and that was about it.

Last year I received a letter from Granada Television threatening legal action if I did not desist in sending hate letters to Mrs Webster. There was nothing particularly threatening in the content of my own correspondence, it was just that I insisted on using the phrase “get the daft blonde cunt out” at regular intervals. Still it seems that my protests have fallen upon deaf ears.

Sally Webster. She’s like a less shaggable David Batty.

Thankfully she hasn’t been in Coronation Street at late but it won’t be too long until another half arsed storyline revolving around her idiotic goth daughter and the man-slag from across the street arrives on our screens.

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I am a raving insomniac and have been since I can remember. I would therefore classify myself as an expert at judging the quality of late night television. I have seen it all from prison dramas based around Aussie farm girls to documentaries about illicit sex.

I came home from Dublin late one night exhausted. It had been a great day, much beer had been consumed and I was feeling rather merry. I decided to chance my arm with the television in the hope that something passable would be on. I changed the channel to ITV. And there it was in all of its tacky glory.

Quizmania is like nothing you have ever seen before. It is a “quiz show” where viewers get to play by phoning up a premium rate number in an attempt to get through live on air to have a chance at winning a cash prize.

The games are brain meltingly simple. The most common form is a quiz where you have to give the name of a famous person with the first name they present you with. The other night it was “David”. Of course none of the really famous David’s were on the list, so even if you got through to the studio you still have about a 500000/1 chance of winning.

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Des and Mel is a weekday British talkshow enjoyed by the unemployed and students. It is presented by legendary swinger Des O’Connor and well known dimwit Melanie Sykes. The presenters pride the show on being joyous with both protagonists laughing hysterically throughout the program to the detriment of any actual content.

Alright I’ll concede, it’s good to have an optimistic show to counterbalance the gloom and doom of the news and soap operas. In saying that it you can go too far and that’s certainly the case with The Des and Mel Show.

Sometimes I find myself running over to the T.V. in hysterics shaking the television to and fro screaming “Stop fucking laughing!!! Just stop it!! Its highly offputting! It can’t be that funny can it? Does Mel have a weasel in her twod or something? Stop it!!”

It does not help matters that Desmond acts like a complete slut throughout the program demanding that viewers tell their friends about it. How desperate is Des? Does he get paid by the viewer? Is he trying to reel in as many people as possible so that he can later bed the more desperate ladies who may be watching at home?

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Miss McKeith should rightly be dubbed the bastard chipmunk royale of all television surpassing even Gail Platt of Coronation Street fame.

Her program “You Are What You Eat” is utterly tired bollocks. In case you haven’t seen it she visits a new fatties house each week and starts stalking them everywhere, hoking through their bins to find out just what they eat in a week. Usually fatty rightly plays down her claims that they are sending themselves to an early grave.

McKeith being the ultimately bitch-hound from hell will not give up until she wears this weeks victim down by showing them pictures of what they’ll look like in 30 minutes if they keep eating 50,000 calories an hour. Her aim is to destroy the persons mind so that they will cave into and absorb her lettuce munching propaganda.

Hi Satan!

McKeith seems to hate any foods that are not lettuce. I mean have you actually seen her? She does fit the role of a chipmunk very well with her abdomen resembling that of a squirrel. An ugly rat-bag squirrel. Who is she to talk to others about lifestyle changes? She probably sits on a tree stump trying to crack open a nut with her razor sharp teeth. To no avail.

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Never has any theme tune depressed more than the Hollyoaks effort. I’d be lying in bed after watching an episode of the Simpsons and I’ll be drifting off to sleep.

I’ll reach the twilight zone when suddenly my nap is interrupted by a disturbingly vulgar riff on the guitar and by-fuck I know whats coming next!

The most distressing thing about it is that I ate my remote control for the T.V. so I either have to get up and switch it over manually or just lie in bed and suffer it. Usually I just turn over and attempt to smother my head against the wall to stop me from hearing any of it, but it is not always successful.

I cannot believe that the same fellow who was responsible for Brookside is also responsible for this absolute toss.

Introduce both Jimmy and public beheadings to the show. That is all.

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I used to be in love with Jeremy and his show when it first replaced Trisha on the 9:25am slot on ITV. It’s hard to truly understand why in retrospect as the man is a gremlin creature of the highest order. It must have been that Trisha had outstayed her welcome.

Kyle’s guests are completely repugnant in comparison to Trisha’s. The amount of drug addict wife beaters that appear on early morning television has risen to an all time high.

I find myself throwing slippers at the television shouting “Ger off with ye” half the time. And usually I am rather apathetic towards such broadcasting.

Jeremy tends to bring on a snivelling whalewreck of a woman, who weighs close to 30 stone, has one tooth left and has craters the size of golf balls in her face where her hubby has beaten her with a spiked running shoe.

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Bang and the grease is gone.

I must confess that I do not know what the fuck Cillit Bang is. I’m usually too fixated with trying to evaluate different means and methods of suicide which might allievate me from the pain of watching that fucking advert.

I could of course switch the television off – however that would be the coward’s way out and I love nothing more than a good bitch. Particularly when and where it is warranted. And this is definitely such a case.

Whatever the fuck Cillit Bang is in the end of the day it’s shite. What the fuck is the deal with this Barry Scott fellow? Is he human? He looks like more of an android to me.

An android sent by the antichrist to kill off any of our hopes of living in a world free of scatty twods who ruin everything for everyone.

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Am I the only one who fails to understand why channels such as i-Buy, Jewellery Vault and Gems TV exist?

In case you have never encountered one of these channels the premise is an item such as a diamond ring is put up “for auction”. It starts off at a ridiculously inflated price – dubbed the “start price”. Once the auction has begun the price gradually decreases until it reaches the final price which is usually the price you’d pay for it on the high street.

And whats more everyone receives the item at it’s lowest price. Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of an auction? I mean what the high-fuck!

I am eagerly waiting for the first televised suicide on a TV shopping network

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