Oestrus Pudenda Creative Genius

Newsflash - it seems that our flouncy Welsh friend is determined to prove that he's still as much of a tosser as ever.

I'm sure you've all heard this:



by now and don't need me to point out what a poncy, precious little wanker he is. But I will anyway.

Christian Bale is a poncy, precious little wanker. Fact.

Welcome to the Wall of Shame, Christian

OP out.

Welcome to the Wall of Shame where all the cuntiest, most useless twats in the world gather to celebrate their irrevocable crapness.

Suggest your own and if the justification's good enough you could see it here, on the world's most insightful blog. Here are a few to get the ball rolling:

What the fuck is wrong with some of the dumb cunt clients that approve the godforsaken ads that appear in between the piss poor, unimaginative, run of the mill TV programmes I occasionally have the misfortune to observe?

It's as if they are having a competition to see who could come up with the most unappealing, mind numbing shite for the public to consume or have to succumb to. The fact is that TV is on its way out, replaced by online viewing where the rules of their game don’t apply.

For example, I can remember those shabby Argos ads with Richard E Grant and Julia what’s her socks furnishing a mansion with the Argos catalogue. A few years, months, days, who knows, later in this convoluted, overexposed cultural vacuum called TV the ads are back - but no longer Argos, it's now Yell. Same fucking script, same story, just change the gender and ethnicity of the main characters and no one will notice.

It's such a shameless rehash of the commercial that I am compelled to bow down and salute the creative who managed to sell the same shite twice. What was it guys? Did you have pictures of the client fucking a dog, or have they just not read The Emperor's New Clothes, or maybe they did and the if it ain't broke don’t fix it attitude in the boardroom yet again surpassed common sense and creativity.

Why the fuck does Gillette keep on putting more and more razor blades on a razor? It just seems so fucking pointless. Is there a difference between running a single blade razor over your face four times or a four bladed razor once? Even writing about it pisses me off, not just the balls up of an ad made to go with the crock of shit product.

“OK, let's get three famous sportsmen from different sporting arenas, put them in the same suit and make them walk about a bit then cut to the four bladed razor.” At least the ad makes as much sense as the product.

If they had asked me do it I would have given Woods and Henry the four blade and Federer a Ladyshave, and whoever is left standing at the end gets the loser's fee. Hopefully Woods and Henry would carve up that pussy Federer and then go for each other Double Dragon style. Henry could even use his four blade to slice one of the arms off Federer's corpse and batter Woods about the head with it shouting 'fore' every time he connected. Not only entertaining, but culturally relevant as well, as all the teenagers in London would be reminded of the last time they walked home from school.

Or how about replacing the razor with a big sword so then you could just cut your own head off and never worry about shaving or their shit commercials again?

*not the kind where a bunch of cross dressing Jeremys mince down Tottenham Court Road with a hospital bed, but the shit one that comes round once every four weeks

Why is it socially acceptable for women to behave like cunts and then, a few days or weeks later, or whenever it is that they realise they are/were behaving like a cunt on legs (which in a sense is exactly what they are, except Heather Mills who is a cunt on leg), are they given carte blanche on account of fucking hormones?

I’m fucking hormonal right now. You can tell because my purple headed custard chucker is throbbing, primed and ready to unload. But can I pin down the first bit of fluff that tickles my fancy and release my pent up hormones? Is it acceptable for me to shout ‘cock hungry sluts’ to the nuns on their way to wherever nuns go? Can I smack the fucking head off the grinning idiot who didn’t put chocolate sprinkles on my cappuccino and play in the bloody, gooey brain mush that’s left? Can I even kick the fuck out of the cunt at Virgin Media who promised me 8 meg broadband and produced 1, leaving me custard chucker in hand and nothing to look at but half an Asian babe with 3 litres of jizz in her eye (ASIANBABEJIZZEYE.COM)?

No, because I am expected to be able to control my hormonal urges. So why the fuck can’t they? Maybe it’s because they are inferior. It seems the only plausible explanation. If man and woman are created equal, yet women cannot control their hormonal moods then they must be.

Imagine if God was a woman, and on the fifth day she didn’t create anything. Instead she sat in the corner crying and shoving chocolate into her fat gob between hysterical sobs. There would not be any fucking creatures. But that would be OK because, bless, her hormones were playing up. I think that settles the debate for me, the final nail, if God was a woman and periods are so bad why didn’t she make men have them?

I think the next time any bird blames anything on her hormones they should be locked up until they learn how to control themselves, as obviously they are incapable of acting with sound mind and judgement.

You wonder why there are so many miscarriages of justice? Just look at the menstrual cycle of any of the defence, prosecution or jury and no doubt you will find that someone was on rag week, behaving irrationally. If you think that’s bad, in America they have the death penalty. Imagine that you have just, quite reasonably, finished whipping your latest arrival from Poland with a coat hanger for not turning all the cash over to you at the end of the night and before you know it Judge Hormonal has sent you to the fucking chair.

OP

I’ve decided to start imparting my vast knowledge of advertising to useless plebs like you. Consider yourselves very, very lucky.

I’ll update this blog whenever I’m not too busy being brilliant or shagging some gorgeous bird.

If I can be bothered that is.

Laters.

OP