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Saturday, 31 December 2011

Pissed List
Go get 'em Wayne
Shit on a white hot shovel that's fresh from the bowels of hell. I’ve just had to vile misfortune to read the list of the BBC’s Faces of the Year 2011 which includes, for each month, the name of a woman who hit the headlines. What a foaming bag of bollocks. It’s enough that I hate these lists anyway (what, pray, is the point?) but this transforms my levels of bile into spewing geysers.
The list in question is the most disheartening thing I have read since I saw a three-year old girl’s t-shirt which read ‘Future WAG’. It includes:

Jan: Gabrielle Giffords, shot US Congresswoman
Feb: Adele, singer
March: Eman al-Obeidi, Libyan rape victim
April: Sarah Burton, royal wedding dress designer
May: Nafissatou Diallo, accused IMF chief of sexual assault
June: Jelena Lecic, had identity stolen for a hoax Syrian blog
July: Princess Charlene, married Prince Albert of Monaco
August: Pauline Pearce, riots campaigner
Sept: Rebecca Leighton, accused of hospital saline murders
Oct: Duchess of Alba, Spanish aristocrat who remarried aged 85
Nov: Corp. Kelsey de Santis, attended a US marine ball with Justin Timberlake
Dec: Tian, Tian, the fucking panda

Gripe #1: Five of the women in this list are victims (or in the case of DSK, alleged victims). What the fuck is that all about? Like being raped is enough to bestow a woman with celebrity status. What an inspirational message that is. Oh, and one last addition to the victim list: Princess Charlene who, if reports of her pre-wedding escape are to be believed, is currently being held hostage somewhere near Monte Carlo casino.
Gripe #2: And what the fuck is with this notion that 2011’s women are memorable because of a shag? The Duchess of Alba got wed and Kelsey de Santis had a date with Trousersnake which apparently makes them far more vital to a progressive society than scientists or rising political stars. Tell you what, I’m going to make a bid for 2012’s list on the grounds that I once met Uncle Tobermory, the womble, at an agricultural fair in 1977. Jesus.
Gripe #3: What po-faced, PC obsessed, lank-haired, latte-swigging buffoon insisted on coming up with this list in the first place? Look, if you can’t find enough women go make a decent list, don’t have a list at all. Or start a scintillating debate about why women aren’t represented in society. Don’t just dredge up such bubbling turds as this and present them as a list of female achievement. Perhaps I should publish a list of my BBC people of the year which would include the rats in the basement, the obsessive Arsenal fan who calls Radio 5 every Saturday afternoon and Jeremy Fucking Clarkson.
Gripe #4: A panda? Really? A fucking panda?
I’m off to stab myself in the ears and then send Kraken Junior to Venus where she’s got a better chance of developing a sense of worth than she has in a world that gives this pile of shite any wiggle room. You never know. It might bag me a mention for January 2012. Oh look at me! I’m made!

Fucking license fee-frittering idiots.



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