Posts Tagged ‘Wee’

The Wild Gourmets

October 4, 2007

Wild Posh Wankers 

Before we’ve even fucking begun, the names of these two hooray henry arseholes is enough to warrant crimes against humanity, she is called Thomasina and he, Guy. Of course Guy calls her ‘Tommy’ but being the upper class twit that he is he pronounces it ‘Tom-air’, because he’s so fucking well to do he can’t be pissed to bleedin’ talk proper like what the rest of us peasants does.

Tom-air looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, she’s so bloody horsey-trot-on, she can’t even be bothered to run a comb through her fucking hair.

Permanently maintaining an expression on her face of ‘yar?’, only he, Guy, can rival her in terms of being the most vacuous, pointless git on the television. In my life, I’ve never met a Guy who doesn’t deserve being doused in an accelerant and being set alight. This one is no exception, though an additional kicking would make me feel better.

The premise of the show is dangerously banal, take two privately educated Country Life inbreds and make them ‘live orf the land’. So far they’ve largely failed to meet any of the necessary criteria that justifies the words ‘gourmet’ and/or ‘wild’. Guy has seamlessly failed to catch fucking fish. Even when they do get permission from Daddy to shoot mammals they wind up buying them orf the landowner. Actually, they buy most of things they are supposedly foraging for from passing lower class ruffians.

When they did actually catch and cook something it obviously tasted like shit –Tomair caught some eels which she cooked there and then. Guy actually spat them out, the cunt.

Obviously Channel 4 has been watching BBC2, specifically the Sunday evening joy that is Ray Mears who fucking lives the life for real. Ray actually trains the fucking SAS in survival techniques. These two I wouldn’t trust with directions to the nearest Waitrose.

They permanently impress on us that living outdoors doesn’t mean that you have to rough it. Guy spent most of last week’s episode making Tomair a chod bin out of saplings; she ended up having to climb a 6-foot pyre of birch in order to lay a cable. Ray would just shit in a hedge, Tomair needs a fucking throne (though I reckon Guy needs it more so he can watch all shit coming out, probably from the privacy of, and ironically, a hedge).

Just to ram the un-roughness of living outdoors we left the over privileged trust funders languishing in opulence in their ‘shelter’. The bloody thing was decked out with chairs (chars) soft furnishings (sarft farnourshings) and a fucking huge wood burning stove with a fucking chimney if you please (a beeping whooge ward barning steeove weeth ar beeping cheemnay)

It makes me fucking SICK.

Clearblue – Digital

August 9, 2007

When a man loves a lady very much, he gets a strange urge to put his winky in her lady-bits. If you do this at the right time of the month you get the lady ‘with child’ – which means she gets large and eats more. After nine more months a baby pops out, which is the signal that all fun has stopped and you have to start wearing cardigans and talking about mortgages.

With this threat facing people every day, you need to have a test to see if a lady has been brought low, to let you know if trouble is on the way. This is probably so you can change your name and flee the country.

Clearblue are doing the world a service by making one of those sticks that the lady pees on to tell if she is up the duff – and boy are they proud of it.

A computer generated model of the device sweeps across the screen, while vaguely Star Wars-ish music plays in the background and a booming voice says:

“It has arrived, the next generation of pregnancy test”.

He then rambles on about how ace this test is and how it is the besterest test ever, then he says my favourite line.

“It’s without a doubt the best piece of technology you will ever pee on”.

That’s quite a claim you know. I’m a boy, we pee everywhere, especially when we are outside. What makes the line more dangerous, is that it’s delivered like a challenge.

This advert is a slap in the face for every man who has ever dreamed of widdling on an Xbox or a wah wah pedal. They’re saying that even if you get cryogenically frozen for a 1,000 years in the future you won’t get to piss on anything more technologically brilliant than this.

Well fuck you Clearblue, I’m off to pee on a jet, then I’m going to Japan to wee on a robot.