Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Hate Crimes

Goddammit, I can’t help it, and I’m not sorry either. Either you get the Blog of Hate for the foreseeable future, or you get nothing.

So, Hate it is.

I fucking hate ITV. All gearing up to celebrate their 50th Anniversary. For what? Being the first UK TV station to air commercials? Fuck that. For the bottom-feeding bullshit they vomit into the eyes of viewers night after night after fucking night? For treating each and every viewer with the utmost loathsome contempt with an endless parade of evil shit masquerading as entertainment as it rots your eyeballs straight out of your goddamn head? This year alone they’ve inflicted such foul and disgusting televisual napalm at the minds of the public as Hell’s Kitchen, Celebrity Wrestling and now Celebrity Love Island. Fuck them, and fuck their tenuous grasp of what a “celebrity” actually is. Celebrities are supposed to be actors, or writers, or athletes, or politicians, or people who have actually fucking achieved something in their careers. They aren’t people who have been on Reality TV shows. They aren’t people who have unfurled their rancid tits all over the newspapers. They aren’t people who have fucked genuine celebrities, with the jism of fame curdling in their necrotic wombs. Fuck off, ITV. The only good thing you have ever given me in your entire, pathetic wasted life is Rising Damp. It’s Harold Pinter with better jokes performed by the much-missed Leonard Rossiter. Apart from that, you can crawl into a corner and violate yourself with a Coronation Street DVD until you prolapse and bleed to fucking death.

What else?

I fucking hate the imbecilic cine-illiterate HMV customers who took it upon themselves to vote Bridget Jones’ Diary as their third favourite British Movie of All Time. Fuck. Off. Right. Now. Even taking into account a narrow view of British cinema with no sense of history, the last couple of years have given us such vastly superior fare in the shape of Shaun of the Dead and Layer Cake and Dead Man’s Shoes. Fucking morons with no taste who deserve to have their eyelids stapled to their foreheads whilst Hugh Grant squats over their faces and uncurls a link right into their stupid eye sockets, whilst Renée Zellweger smashes her head repeatedly into a brick wall.

What else?

Oh yeah. I hate my employers for giving me a letter today that states that it is now almost a 100% certainty that I will be losing my job in exactly one month from today. With nothing but a month’s paid notice to show for it. I hope that, whilst the company directors are rolling around in their millions, masturbating themselves into a gleeful frenzy and laughing at their windfall, their hearts give out and they die in a puddle of their own blood and faeces.

And, no, I don’t feel better for getting all that out.


Bert said...


Leeeeeeeeeeave IT!

AKA said...

Leave it, or leave I.T.?
By the way, yes, we do have to get our shit together and meet up at some point soon. I just need to get through the next month and see where I stand then before populating my social calendar.