I’m a big fan of comics. Not graphic novel, Spiderman and Manga style comics, but comedians and comediennes, stand-up artists, sketch shows and the like. I love everyone from Billy Connelly and Jasper Carrot to Chris Rock and Bill Hicks and a million others in between. After music, I believe comedy is the most non-medical remedy a human can rely on, and I love it in all its forms. I idolise Tim Minchin, I sing the praises of Jon Lajoie, and I worship at the altar of the greatest among them, Monty Python’s Flying Circus.
[sidebar – a great many Americans have told me they really don’t get Monty Python. Each to their own. But if you’re American, you’re reading this, and you like Monty Python, give yourself a hearty pat on the back – you are a member of an elite cadre my friend. Now go and practice how to defend yourself against someone attacking you with a raspberry.]
Today is not a comedy post though. It is, more truthfully, my homage to one of my favourite stand-up moments, the legendary George Carlin’s “People who ought to be killed”. If you don’t know this, or want to see it again, I’ll post the man himself at the end – where his clinical sarcasm and keen observational humour won’t spoil the below-par version I’m about to write 😉
*I dedicate the following post to Becky, who reminded me with a similar post recently that we both shine our brightest when we have some brain-dead morons to hate on. Strap yourselves in – this ‘aint gonna be pretty…………*
PEOPLE WHO SHOULD DO US A FAVOUR AND JUST DIE ALREADY!!!!!
Over-zealous religious nuts – let’s raise a glass and toast this bunch of pseudo-stalking narrow-minded God jockeys who ought to be tied up in a burlap sack and beaten with a copy of the Origin of Species. I have no problem with religion, of any type or denomination, and will ardently support any person’s right to the freedom of religious expression. This does not mean that I want you to call at my front door to try to entice me to join your particular clique, or to see you spouting religious tracts at me from my television. I know where the church/synagogue/mosque/sacrificial altar is, they’re quite clearly advertised and I still retain the use of my legs, so if I want religion I’ll come to you. Similarly, whilst things are hard all over at the moment, I am not so short of toilet paper that I need you to post half a fucking rain forest through my letterbox every year telling me how sinful I am for not signing up. And as for the concept of the television evangelist trying to convince people that your cash donation will buy you some kind of Willy Wonka Golden Ticket to the fluffy bunny filled afterlife, I swear the first one to meet me in real life will get fuck-slapped with a claw hammer.
Racists – a hearty slap on the back to all racists, who should be thrown in a barrel of razor blades and pushed over a waterfall. Congratulations on being several hundred years late getting the memo that it’s no longer ok to hate someone for the colour of their skin or their nationality. By all means hate them for being lazy, or violent, or mean, or a fan of the wrong sports team, but stop already with the narrow-minded hatred and bile-filled propaganda you are trying to fashion into a lead weight to drag the rest of the intelligent, tolerant world down to your level with. The clock is ticking on your vile prejudices, and before long like all cancers we will rise up and cut you out of our lives. Be warned that I once picked a kitchen porter up by his throat and physically threw him out of my kitchen for racist remarks – he was also fired. I tolerate many fools when I have to, but my tolerance for racists is about as large as the chance of Josef Fritzel being nominated for Father of the Year.
Shopping channel hosts – these slack-jawed troglodytes who should be covered in honey and tossed into the path of a nest of fire ants. Do you honestly believe for even one infinitesimally small part of one freaking second that your orange perma-tan and your surgically enhanced teeth white enough to blind an Eskimo are truly sufficient to convince me that, although I never knew it, my life was incomplete without that 125-CD set of the greatest Pan Pipe music ever for only £75Gazillion???? Because what you have totally failed to appreciate is that not only do you look like a horrific back-room prank at a genetic splicing research facility, but you have the personality of a house brick and sound as sincere as an impeached American president. Thank God you will never breed, mainly because no-one wants to sit through an hour of spiel about why they should opt for the ‘optional extras’ and ‘product cleaning kit’ just to get a leg over with you. When you were born, your mother should have returned you within 28 days for a full cash refund.
Jeremy Kyle – another talentless prick who should have his car stolen and then torched – while he was still in it. The UK’s answer to Jerry Springer but with all the polish rubbed off, this interfering twat-waffle takes the misery and suffering of dim-witted people and makes TV mockery of it as light entertainment. I don’t care how much some of the disgusting reprobates on your show deserve condemnation, there are plenty of people who are capable of doing that without making a profit like you do, you blood-sucking leech of a man. I’m not interested in which of the seven candidates is actually the father of baby Dwayne, or whether Jason will pass a lie-detector test about whether he cheated on Sarah – I’m more interested in how YOU were spawned, you misguided abortion of a human being – did your mother ever take a dump near some nuclear waste material??? Stop peddling your slimy gloating and baseless criticism as concern and guidance and jump off a pier in a concrete overcoat you tosser.
Celebrities with diet plans – another group of feckless muppets who need to be smeared in bacon fat and thrown into a lion enclosure. Does your certificate from the Association of Medical Practitioners hang on your trailer wall next to your graduation from RADA??? Can you provide me with empirical evidence that your ‘new’ diet idea has any pro-active medical benefit to anything other than your bank account?? Because if not, you should stop peddling your ill-conceived placebo in the direction of the over-weight and insecure who are too stupid to realise that your own ‘perfect’ figure comes from the fact that you have a home gym, personal trainer, dietician and surgeon on call, not to mention the lack of a real job to interfere with your exercise time. I’ve got a great new exercise regime GUARANTEED to make losing weight fun – we round up every celebrity who ever released a diet book or workout video and coral them in a room, then arm fat people with baseball bats and let them beat them to a bloody pulp. Fun, good exercise and a service to society in one easy package.
Grammar retards – a special place in hell should be reserved for these morons who need to be shot in the knees and then entered for a 100 metre dash against a rabid grizzly bear. Not everyone can be a genius, but to fail to learn how to use your own language when EVERYONE around you speaks and writes it every day is a crime which is, to my mind, just short of killing babies with a lawnmower. If you wish to sound like your mother was struck in the stomach by a charging bull whilst pregnant with you that is, of course, your choice, but STOP!!! Stop posting poor grammar on sites such as Facebook and Twitter, avoid usage of ‘text-speak’ such as LOL or ROFL in REAL conversation like it were the plague, and cease and desist from dragging our children down to your illiterate, lobotomised level of communication before we all descend into communication anarchy where we merely grunt at each other like cavemen. If anyone reading this paragraph has trouble understanding it (or is confused by what a paragraph is) allow me to translate: Your gunna gt yr fkin hed shovved up you’re ass. SMH, ROFL.
Weekend Warriors – a bunch of angry little cum-stains who should be slashed a thousand times with a straight-razor and then drowned in a vat of lemon juice. I love MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) which some of you will know of by the somewhat incorrect title of cage-fighting. In the last few years there has been an explosion of spotty, steroid-popping nutbars who have watched three bouts of UFC on television and taken a karate class when they were 9 years old going round announcing to all and sundry “Oh yeah, in my spare time I’m a cage-fighter!”. The only cage you ever experienced was the one you were living in when your parents adopted you from the animal shelter you jumped-up little bag of cuckoo-spit. Your ridiculous boast belittles the immense effort real fighters pour into their gruelling training, and frankly whilst your artificially enhanced muscles might look cool to the ladies, they mean nothing when it comes to the realities of combat. The fact that you can bench-press Roseanne Barr is useless if I can kick you in the face before you raise a fist, a fact that I am most willing, nay eager, to demonstrate to you in a heartbeat. Kindly find a quiet corner to beat your girlfriend in, you angry little prick, while you wait for your biceps to explode and your cock to shrivel up and fall off – thankfully preventing you from spawning some mewling brat who will get his ass handed to him by me when I’m a pensioner.
Rich kids who pretend to be poor – If there were any justice in the world these whining little leeches would be beaten with a gold bar in a sock, then choked to death with a roll of £50 notes. From 99%’ers protesting about financial equality then tweeting about it on their iPhones, to college students with access to huge trust funds moaning about how tight student grants are this year, you should all just wise up and grow a pair of balls. We don’t give a toss if you are rich or not, but pretending you’re not so you can join in with the proletariat and complain about society just to gain acceptance from your peers is a heinous crime. If you care so much, withdraw your own cash from the bank and give it all away to the homeless, or starving children, or any other good cause. What’s that?? You don’t see how that would help?? No, I bet you don’t you sycophantic little pleb – frankly I can’t see how repeatedly beating you in the genitals with a roll of barbed wire is going to help improve class equality, but by all that’s holy I’m willing to give it a go. The next time some asshat called Quentin or Arabella with dreadlocks framing their Raybans stops me in the street to ask if I’d like to consider how I’m contributing to global poverty, I’m going to stab them in the eye with the heel of a pair of Manolo Blahniks.
*pauses raggedly for breath……*
This post is still going, so I’ve decided to split it into two parts to avoid it becoming an unreadable behemoth. Part Two will be out very soon, full of more bile-spilling venom and things my therapist says it is good for me to get off my chest. Comments are open as usual people – do share your thoughts with me. I’m off for a cold shower and 24 hours in a sensory deprivation tank.