Thank Fuck It's Friday [Part 4]

The BP oil spill fuckathon advert is my fucking advert of the fucking week. The best fucking advert I've fucking seen in a fucking long fucking time, just because the fuckers in the fucking video use fucks like they're going out of fucking fashion.

Fucking well brilliant!

PS. Any fucker out there have the fucking resources to help me make a fucking advert like this fucker based on fucked up Broken Britain? Now that fucking fucker would be a fucking good fucker of a video!

+++Coming Soon+++

A new advertising campaign for

I've been busy ;-)

Halal Hath No Fury Like A Pizza Scorned

I was absolutely fucking incensed by this post from Tory Poppins about the range of 'slit an animals throat' pizzas, that have been foisted upon us by those minority loving mongs at Dominoes Pizzas.

According to the President of the Halal Food Authority, "It's good news for Muslims . . . "

So what about the rest of us meat eating fuckers who are still in the majority?

I'm not a particularly big fan of pizzas. I just like to have one every so often but that's not the point. Freedom of choice is what it should be all about.

Read it and weep.

That is all.

At Least I Admit To Wetting Myself Gordon

My thanks go to It's Either Banned or Compulsory for this alternative version of the Smash advert. Nice one!

I'd never seen this clip before and laughed like a fucking laughing fucker, who couldn't stop fucking laughing, when I watched it. Which was good because I had a shit day today and it was just the tonic I needed. In fact I pissed myself laughing!

Derek and Clive.

Fucking brilliant, they were. Proper fucking alternative comedy from the 70's, years before all those other fuckers gave it a try.

God bless them both.

We Are Clearly Most Primitive

The Smash adverts are still absolute fucking classics and can still make me laugh like a fucking ninny, even today!

Don't know about anyone else but I just can't bear to watch I.T.fucking V. anymore. Haven't watched it for years. The fucking adverts drive me mad. They're all crap and there's just far too many of them.

Back 'in the day' though they were brilliant. They were often clever, entertaining and most of all they could be 'pant wettingly' funny. Literally sometimes.

Ok, so there where some dreadful ones too like 'Shake 'n' Vac' but we can still all recall it though can't we? I can remember my mother using the stuff.  Wiggling and jiggling around the house like some demented fucker with rickets. She even had the same fucking Hoover as the stupid bint in the advert, probably still got it now. Tightarse!

Anyhow the 'stuff' looked like fucking talc powder if you ask me. In fact, one time, I caught my baby brother trying to shove some between the cheeks of his arse in an attempt to soothe some 'plastic pant rash' or other.

Didn't work of course. He just bawled his fucking head off until 'mummy' gave him a pink wafer.

Had to laugh though, next time he farted a little puffy white cloud appeared from under his corduroy shorts and sprinkled onto his brown Startrite sandals!

"Great cars and a great deal more"

British Leyland cars, wow, they were the dogs bollocks in those days. I adored the Dolomite Sprint and always aspired to having one. Alas, I never managed it but a friend of mine did have one when we were about 18, cream with a black vinyl roof it was. Jammy bastard! What a fanny magnet that thing was come Friday night. A right pair of 'Jack the lads' we were. Always on the look out for a couple of 'Jill the girls'!

And what about Kia-Ora.

Another classic advert of the time but fuck me though, a stereotypical black kid singing?

Christ, Nanny would probably have a stroke if that aired today, coupled with violent anti racist protests too, I shouldn't wonder.

"I'll be your dog."

Good times!

Brownfingers's Mystery Caller

Gordoom Brownfinger looked a right twat (no change there then) at a top level meeting in Davos today. His mobile phone rang twice whilst he was addressing business and political leaders. The one eyed fat fuck was reluctant to disclose the identity of the caller but apparently they did leave a couple of messages on his voicemail.

"Hello Gordon, Prudence here. Thought it was about fucking time that you and I had  a chat.

Call me, I'm still waiting and I don't like continually being ignored"

"Oi, Gordon, Prudence here again. Why won't you return any of my calls? For fucks sake man, you really do need to listen to what I have to say. You just cannot afford to keep avoiding me any longer. Get your fat, one eyed face out of the sand before it REALLY is too fucking late!

Call me you twat, you know it makes sense!"

Man Cold, Man Flu, I'm Dying

It's arrived. I've got it.

And doesn't everyone fucking know it.

Especially Pigsy.

Been feeling rough as fuck the last couple of days and have now decided that I have the 'Man Cold'. Serious shit this. I've gone into mega fucking grumpy, old miserable fucking twat mode. 

Moaning like it's going out of fucking fashion, I am.

Pigsy keeps saying "Get over it, you miserable old twat, it's only a fucking cold!" 

Only a fucking cold!

Fuck off. This is serious, I'm dying

David Miliband - It's Just Not Cricket

I have just read another excellent post at The Lone Voice.

The subject of his vent was "the chap who is supposed to represent us on the World stage", Foreign Secretary, David Miliband.

It reminded me of the same nagging question that I've had in the back of my mind since the day the one eyed fat fuck, Gordoom Brownfinger, appointed The Bananaman (boy) to such an important position.

How is it that a 'schoolboy' could possibly be diplomatically astute, worldly wise and multicultural aware enough to be our Foreign Secretary?

In the not too distant past, whatever ones political leanings were, you could generally say that this highly important post was held by a person who was generally perceived to be experienced and respected.

For the sake of this discussion, I'm not talking about how successful they were or whether you actually liked or disliked them, it's more a question of how important it is that a Foreign Secretary appears outwardly 'experienced' to his counterparts on the World stage.

For example Douglas Hurd, David Owen, Sir Geofrey Howe, Franicis Pym, Malcolm Rifkind, Lord Carrington and even, to some extent, Jack Straw and Robin Cook.

Do you see what I mean? Where does David Miliband fit into all this?

Again, leaving politics aside, during his recent trip to India he appeared on television in New Delhi. He was taking part in some sort of question and answer session with students and demonstrated a remarkably good knowledge of cricket, India's favourite sport. He knew statistics, he new the names of their star players. He gave the impression that he was a genuine lover of their game.

In reality, the evening before, he was apparently seen 'acting' like he was taking an 'A' level exam the next day, cramming like fuck from an 'Idiots Guide to the History of Indian Cricket'.

For fuck's sake, if that's his perception of how to conduct oneself as Foreign Secretary then God help us all.

Swatting up like a fucking schoolkid the day before an exam. And on nothing more important than cricket. Don't get me wrong, I really love cricket but it's hardly the answer to the Mombai bombings is it?

Fucking hell man (boy), you're supposed to be the Foreign fucking Secretary not the Sports Minister on some sort of Sport For All junkett.

I find it all so worrying.

Not just the subject matter but the way David Miliband went about it.

Could you possibly comprehend Douglas Hurd swatting up like crazy, from an 'Idiots Guide to The History of East and West Germany', on the eve of a 'big eunification meeting'?

I fucking think not!

Bananaman (boy).

What a fucking embarrassment. 

Whatever next?

The 'Idiots Guide To Osama Bin Laden' the night before a big War on Terrorism meeting?

After me now. One skin, two skin, three skin, foreskin.

Twat!

Carry On Signing Again

Here are a few signs that are utterly pointless,

as far as I'm concerned

but Nanny just seems to love them.

As for this one? Its fucking ridiculous, read it closely . . . 

. . . . the real message is almost lost in amongst

the Health & Safety bollocks.

Twats!

Anyone Not Get A New Year Honour?

The wheels have finally come off the 'gong giving' malarky.

It's all just getting fucking ridiculous.

Any twat that bothers to 'get up of a morning' seems to be getting one these days.

If you won a medal at the Olympics then you're fucking home and dry. Thanks for doing well at exactly what you were supposed to do well at - here, have a gong me old mate!

Oh, hang on a minute you did really well so why not have a fucking knighthood. A fucking knighthood for riding a twatting bike? You must be having a giraffe!

Arise Sir Write A Book, arise Sir Do A Bit For Charity, arise Sir County Council Executive. Sweep the roads OBE, sing a few songs CBE, services to this services to that MBE. As for The Order of the Bath. What the fuck is that all about? What a shower!

Please don't get me wrong. I am not saying that they haven't worked hard or that they haven't excelled at what they do. They have my respect for that.

I am just fucking pissed off at the vast waste of time and money, yet again, at the tax payers expense. And for what? What does it achieve? How does it help anyone?

The recipients have already received fair praise and recompense for their efforts.

Why not leave it at that!

PS. If anyone at the Chancellory is reading this I've just finished doing a fucking nice job of fitting a new bathroom. Customer was so pleased that they had to 'knock one out'. Ok, so I got paid for a job very well done, it's one of the many things that I am good at, but any chance of a gong you fuckers!

That Monkey Paid A Visit

Finally finished counting all the bloody socks, boxer shorts, handkerchiefs and fucking longjohns. Took a bit longer this year due to extended periods of 'eye of the needle' anal aerobics. Must have been something that I ate although solid food hasn't been too high on the agenda in the last 2 days. As per usual my Christmas Day and Boxing Day fayre mainly consisted of fine wines, twiglets, champagne and a selection of single malts.

Ahh yes, I can see the problem there, too many fucking twiglets.

Woke up this morning, still wearing my safety gear, thinking "thank fuck that those 2 days are over".

This was shortly followed by a sudden sense of panic. 

Had the Monkey been?

Bollocks!

I had a pounding headache so things didn't seem too promising.

Then I checked the mouth. Oh dear the signs were there alright.

I ran downstairs to check the bottles. All empty.

The wallet? Devoid of all cash.

"Everything ok? Are you alright?" said Pigsy, in a 'you look rough as fuck' kind of way.

"That bastard Monkey must have crept in during the night", I replied ruefully.

"Oh I see" she said, trying and failing to disguise that 'serves you right' grin that she has in her armoury. "Over imbibed again have you?"

I couldn't answer. I hate that fucking Monkey.

Whilst I was slumbering he must have removed my safety helmet and clouted my head with a mallet. Then he must have lifted my safety goggles and rubbed bogies into my eyes, shortly followed by an urge to deficate into my open mouth. As if that wasn't enough he must have tip toed down the stairs and emptied all my beloved bottles of joy into the sink. Finally the bastard must have removed all the cash from my wallet.

"Fire up the perculator Pigsy!"

"Expresso No.5?" she asked knowingly.

"Yes please"

Almost forgot to mention the Boxing Day Hunt that visited the manicured lawns at Twat Towers.

Unfortunately my blood pressure won't allow me to discuss this subject in depth. All I can say is 'Hunts'. What does that rhyme with?

BBC Scraps Coverage Over Breeding

Finally the BBC  has seen sense,

refusing to sanction the use of inbreeding,

by withdrawing TV coverage of the

annual parade of the diseased and disfigured.

No longer will we have to endure

the fucking ridiculous spectacle

of these mentally challenged inbreds

parading around in their finery

and barking at anyone who gets in their way.

Even The Scrapster wouldn't bone

his own sister/cousin/niece/mother.

He's got more fucking principles

than that pack of overfed fuckwits.

Also heard that the BBC

are scrapping it's coverage of Crufts in 2009.

Tinsel Is Dangerous - It's Official

It's comforting to know that as Christmas approaches we can try and forget how much our pathetic government is ruining our lives by putting up a few cheery decorations.

But no, hold on a fucking minute, some wanker of a jobsworth at Scrooge Council HQ has decided that tinsel is dangerous!

A school lollipop man has been told to remove the tinsel from his lollipop because it may distract drivers and put children in danger. Apparently he was 'reported' to the Council by an anonymous passer-by, who had nothing better to do, the sad twat.

Answer me this, you tossers. How can a piece of tinsel be more distracting than some bloke dressed in bright yellow clothing holding a great big fucking lollipop.

Wake up smell the coffee, get a fucking life and stop wasting Council Tax payers money on small minded bollocks.

Twats!

Barking Mad Muslims

Yet another example of PC madness.

Tayside Police have had to apologise to Islamic leaders after publishing a photograph of a puppy which was deemed to be "offensive" to Muslims.

Apparently Muslims think that dogs are dirty and disgusting.

What the fuck!

Excuse me for stating the bleeding obvious but I thought Tayside was in Britain and
Britain is predominately a dog loving country.

So what the buggery bollocks are we doing apologising

(yet again) to this oversensitive minority of fucking cretins.

Well I've got some free advice for those twats,

with dirty and disgusting beards, who don't like dogs.

Fuck the fuck off to a country that doesn't have as many.

That is all.

Only a Cock Would Buy A BMW

That's according to that twat Jeremy Clarkson from Top Gear.

This of course is a ridiculous statement because Jeremy Cockson is a complete cock and does not own a BMW.

In fact the self opinionated prick is such a dick head that he can't even drive anymore because his bollocks are in his eyes! 

Some say that the Twat Gear presenter is currently 8 months pregnant, after being rear ended whilst loitering outside an underground toilet on Hampstead Heath.

Others say he talks fucking bollocks, his brain is the size of an ants foreskin and he is only interested in cars that cost over £50,000.

I say stop wasting our licence fee payers money on fucking shit, you obnoxious fat twat! 

Weetabix

I went to buy a box of Weetabix.

What a fucking performance!

1. I don't like shopping
2. I don't like supermarkets
3. What's fucking super about them
4. I don't like change

First of all I have to avoid all the morons tear arseing around with their trollies - where's the fucking fire! Nobody told me that Tesco are on the F1 Grand Prix calender. 

Then there are the kids, those snotty nosed little shits with no manners whatsoever, who just seem to do and say what the fuck they like. Its no wonder when you see their chav mothers, in velour shell suit bottoms, trying to decide how many cans of vodka Red Bull to buy. Those Katona lookalike bitches make no fucking attempt to restrain those twatting little Whitney, Britney and Shitney bastards. I fucking hate 'em, mainly because those brainless tossers have got loads more money to spend than I have because they're all on fucking benefits!

Coffin dodgers!

Dithering about the place whilst conducting a master class in how to be frugal.

Have you ever seen them buying one rasher of bacon, half a sausage and 3oz of tripe? At least they don't need bog roll - they're still using a commemorative copy of The Daily Telegraph that was published the Sunday after

The Titanic sank!

Finally I get to the breakfast cereal aisle! No shit!

There must have been ten different types of fucking Weetabix on those shelves.

What the twatting, bollocksy, fuckwank is going on here?

I just want an ordinary box Weetabix!

Weetabix Gold

Gold? Gold what? Is that why it's so fucking expensive.

Weetabix Organic

Please don't tell me it's got cow shit and sheep piss in it.

Weetabix Fruit & Fibre

If we needed a good shit we'd have had a curry last night.

Weetabix Minis

Fuck me, they make small cars out of this stuff now.

Anyone seen one on the road?

I bet they're fucking useless in the wet!

Weetabix Bitesize

What tosser decided how big a bite is then?

Kids bite? Adult Bite? Love Bite, Fucking dog bite?

Weetabix Chocolate Crisp

A kids birthday party feast all mixed up together in a bowl.

That's sure to make the little bastards puke all over their Wii.

Weetabix Honey & Nut

For fuck's sake put honey on your toast, like any normal person and scratch your nuts whilst your eating it you tossers!

Then there's all the cheap shite Tesco versions

and the Oat-a-fucking-bran-a-nutri-wank-a-flake versions.

Don't even start me on

Cornflakes, Ready Brek and Special K.

Talk about a head fuck!

Weet-a-fucking-leave-it-as-it-was-you-tossers-

I-don't-like-fucking-change-you-twats-abix.

Ahh, at last, that's the one I'm after!

Just need to go through the checkout now

(tell you about that another time).

What-a-load-of-twats-abix!

No One is Safe

Apparently a thief stole a blank cheque from a company where he worked.

He made it out to himself for £895 because he wanted some holiday money.

His boss found out and marched him off to the Police with a sign around his neck which said "I stole £895 and am on my way to the Police Station"

With me so far?

All sounds fair and square doesn't it?

Hold onto to your fucking hats!

The thief was let off with a caution and the boss was arrested and charged with false imprisonment. Along with 3 other employees who helped to restrain the offender.

What the fuck is going on!

It gets worse, apparently the offender (who now seems to be the victim) is threatening to sue his boss for 'humiliation and upset". (Looks like he'll still get his holiday then).

Somebody is having a fucking giraffe here!

If I was in the same situation (I have my own business) I would expect to be able to apprehend the offending piece of shit and seek judicial recourse.

By all accounts that'll be a waste of fucking time then because instead of being the one who has been fucked I would undoubtedly become the fuckee!

British Justice? Pah!

Waste of fucking time unless you are a

benefit claiming asylum seeking lesbian,

with 9 kids (all from different unknown fathers),

living in a 6 bedroom mansion,

paid for by Haringey Council.

Fuck the fuck off you twats!