I’ve never had a worse morning. I got hit by a car once, walking down High Holborn on the way to work. I’ve vomited my stomach lining into a gutter at 8am due to an apocalyptic hangover while my shirt sleeves dangled about my wrists. Then there was the time I mistakenly locked my better half in the flat, and the time a water pipe burst and flooded the carpet and there’s also the time a swift flew into my front room through an open window at dawn and proceeded to dump birdshits all over the fittings.
All of these pale in comparison, wilt into insignificance and transform into memories of better times when I think back to this morning, June 24th 2008 and the 50 minutes I spent with George Lamb and his zany pals in their 6 Music podcast as I rode the bus into work. My headphones have never had to handle such drudgery.
Lamb and his cronies get a lot of stick for their banter-based show. A lot of people have accused 6 Music of selling out in going for a populist option when they appointed the ex-T4 and current Big Brother’s Big Mouth host.
Conversely, Lamb has been lavished with a Sony award for his services. Mind you, looking at the competition, Jonathan King could have returned to the airwaves and beaten Lamb as the other nominees were largely small-fry. Lamb was the only DJ on the list who’s regularly on national radio and who has adverts on the TV plugging his show. Apart from Kelly Osbourne, who everyone hates anyway.
I like 6 Music, but I’m not precious about it. I find the DJs are occasionally a little bit too muso for my liking but more often than not, one song in three is half decent. 6 Music is undoubtedly a good thing.
The appointment of Lamb for three hours a day is not something that ever bothered me, what with old muggins ‘ere being at work all day and only ever tuning in to the station in the morning or evening. I watched the furore develop from afar – websites starting up decrying the Lambster, other websites starting up and championing him. All this fuss over a Channel 4 presenter with a new radio show? It reminded me of Russell Brand’s ascent from Big Brother’s Big Mouth presenter to small-time superstar – buried deep in the late night schedules then rising on the strength of his popularity to greater heights on the strength of goodwill. Brand hasn’t got websites devoted to disliking him, but he’s certainly got detractors. Maybe this was what Lamb was experiencing… I wanted to give him a chance, at least. So I downloaded his new podcast. Is George Lamb an exciting new voice?
In the event, no. 50 minutes of Lamb’s podcast, with music removed for legal reasons, has confirmed that we’re not dealing with a Russell Brand phenomenon here. We’re not dealing with a Dermot O’Leary either. We’re not even dealing with a Vernon fucking Kaye. We’re dealing with an inept, unfunny shambles fronted by a man with a haircut for a personality and backed by the bottomless cackling of his posse of berks.
I can’t begin to describe how inane it all is. Not inane in the sense of something going nowhere but everyone enjoying the ride. Inane in that nothing is being achieved. No humour. No anger. No sadness. Just nothing. Just minutes, seconds and milliseconds popping by and never coming back as Lamb stutters his way through heavy-handed links, nicked jokes that weren’t funny the first time round and interviews with people who, like the rest of us, are just too smart to find any of this shit funny.
We start off with Lamb and his producer gloating about their award by way of introduction. Giggling at their own jokes, they talk like little kids with catchphrases they’ve invented for the playground that’ll last for a day of bullying before evaporating like humourless silent fart-puffs. Then we’re into the main content. I think it’s a week’s worth of content – 15 hours then – all condensed into 50 minutes (which says a lot considering Adam & Joe manage 30 minutes of material from three hours and Collins and Herring get a solid hour from improvising).
Anyway, here are the standout bits:
- They work their way into a feature where they’re asking people to call in if their name is Aubrey. Sure enough, two people called Aubrey call in. There are no laughs to be found. One Aubrey says his name helps him to get the girls. The other is the Editor of Total Film and he plugs his magazine. The world continues to rotate.
- A film review feature with ‘Philippe De Barnsely’ is essentially a northern man talking with scant knowledge about any of the films he’s just seen. Lamb and his pals ask him how many fags he smokes a day. He replies that he smokes two packets. Everyone laughs and I can’t work out why – because northerners smoke fags? There are no laughs to be found here, either. By now you’re weeping stomach acid from dilated tear ducts and the babble in your ears refuses to stop.
- An interview with The Rascals, a solid enough Wirrall based beat combo. Lamb makes some stereotypical scouser gags when he’s not stumbling over his scripted lines and finds himself able to form a coherent sentence. The Rascals man is affable and basically says ‘yeah!’ a lot as he’s not given time to respond to any of the jibes. They play a song which is cut out due to licensing laws at the BBC. This makes this whole slot completely pointless.
- Lamb and his Producer giggle and snigger, unable to speak as they promote their smashing idea for an anti-festival called… wait for it… Give-it-a-rest-ival! A brilliant play on words that thoroughly deserves three or four minutes of uninterrupted, self-satisfied chortling at their own brilliant gag – one an eleven year old would abandon on the grounds of utter moribundity.
- A chat with an unremarkable member of the unremarkable band Dirty Pretty Things results in him agreeing not to appear at their non-festival which, in case we’d forgotten, is called the Give-It-A-Restival. A joke which bears repeating five or six times in case you still hadn’t figured out the subtle wordplay. By now the listener with a functioning brain is praying for the frontal lobotomy his fellow listeners must’ve endured to put up with this shit.
- Finally, an interview with a sheep-shearing expert powers the highly amusing observation that Alan Shearer’s name has semantic similarities to the term ’sheep-shearing’. The interviewee is baffled and is clearly wondering precisely what it is that’s meant to be so funny. So am I, as it happens. This section goes on for days. Rigor mortis begins to set in.
And then it’s over. It feels like days have passed. You’re more wrinkly than you were before – as though you’ve bathed for weeks in someone else’s urine.
I’m only glad I didn’t subscribe, as that might’ve aided their ride up the iTunes podcast charts. According to the blurb, ‘it took a while but the podcast is finally here’. So we have to ask ourselves why did it take a while?
The idea of podcasts from the BBC is that existing radio shows are pared down to the essentials. Music is removed so that the banter can be distilled and the jokes will rule the roost. Problem is, with Lamb there are no jokes. There isn’t really any banter either – it’s just a few borrowed catchphrases being repeated back and forth as the crew pat one another on the back. The process would involve choosing which smug guffaw to include over which conceited cackle… so editing this must’ve been a nightmare akin to polishing the proverbial turd.
I urge you to continue in your ignorance of George Lamb.
116 Comments
I HAVE SEEN GEORGE LAMB ON TV. ANOTHER FAKE COCKNEY ISN’T HE?
EVEN HE’S A REAL COCKNEY HE CAN GO FUCK HIMSELF. HANDSOME THOUGH.
I am a fuckwit
Thanks Henry, for bringing the debate in at such a high standard.
Moron.
I’m too old to know who George Lamb is. His name brings to mind a 1940s spiv, or a 60s enforcer working for the Krays.
Another masterful observation from Henry there.
It does a bit. I’m not sure you’re too old to know who he is though. He fronts an 11 o clock daytime radio show. Not sure who it’s aimed at but surely kids are at school around then?
By the way, I’ve put John Leslie on trial here. Is he the innocent victim of scurrilous accusations, or a dirty sexual predator who deserves stringing up? You, the jury, must decide …
(Not spam)
I am too old. I don’t watch T4, I don’t watch that Big Brother’s Mouth thing, and I don’t listen to 6music because it’s for you trendy young go-getters, not an old fuddy-duddy like me. When he’s on, I’m listening to the smooth Scotch tones of Radio 2’s Ken Bruce. Then it’s Jeremy Vine and the idiots who ring him up to complain that the immigrants are wrecking this country. No time for this Lamb character in my radio world.
6 Music is aimed at people your age. Indie fuddy duddies. Only difference is you’re a rock fuddy duddy, like Piqued.
That’s why I switch over to Virgin Classic Rock or (occasionally) Planet Rock after Vine’s show. 6music plays stuff I don’t like, whereas the aforementioned plays old Rainbow songs. That said, they also play shit like Rush, Yes and ELP – you can’t win ‘em all.
I can feel the Carly Simon conversation ‘coming around again’.
Like the song she did called ‘coming around again’.
See?
That’s still clever the second time around, Swineshead. Isn’t it about time you started your 165th blog, based entirely around your Carly Simon ‘Coming Around Again’ joke? I for one would read its one and only post.
Ah yes – I have many dead blogs.
For example, there was the enthusiastically started Bastard, Chips and Beans which sadly and inevitably fizzled out. Then there was The Bloody EEC, that was good, sort of. Then there was Nigella in Beans (beans again there), that’s going strong. Oooh – what about that one about fascists that lasted about two days?
Hang on…
I’m still doing BC&B and Nigella is updated once a month with smut. I have got other commitments, you know? And ITTODBTBIA is hardly neglected, is it? What d’ye want? Blood?
Anyway, how can you accuse me of littering the internet with dead blogs when you’ve got ‘em all over the place, you lazy scoundrel? Earache got no further than a banner, for example.
It’s a good banner, that.
I watched that Meebox last night – had some classy moments, I thought.
I thought it was unwatchable drivel to be honest. A shame, as I find that Buxton fella an affable cove usually. ‘Orses, courses, etc.
It is a good banner is that. A shame there’s bugger all under it.
The missus made it, not me – obviously. I say ‘obviously’ as if I’d attempted it it’d look shit.
Now you’ve got me wondering what I can out under it. A collection of Carly Simon’s yotube videos might ensure her fame is ‘coming around again’.
Third time and still it’s going strong.
The missus did that, did she? I was wondering how a McDonald’s assistant manager with a big nose and no talent managed to come up with such a good banner. I forget your better half is an artsy-fartsy type like wot I’m supposed to be.
I’ve never worked in fast food. And if I had, I doubt I’d make it to management level. Take that back!
Is it only us talking shit today?
Come on now. You processed pork pies ‘n’ sausage rolls for a start. Admit it! You work as an assistant manager in a McDonald’s. I know these things.
Apparently it is just us talking. Piqued’s become a slave to the International Credit Crunch, Medlo’s off licking an American’s arse and thanking him for hours and hours of quality entertainment, Louche only turns up to talk about handbags, Wagonwheel’s hanging around men’s public toilets, Dave’s off being racist somewhere, Clarry’s avoiding her husband’s farts in a bath, Clair’s trying on crotchless rubber underwear, George is commenting on the wrong post, Paul Groves won’t be back for a year, and Collins is too busy being famous. It’s just us.
There’s Clarys as well – no idea where she’s gone. Roszs has moved to London so she’s probably been mugged. Gilbert Wham has died of sarcasm, Who is having an identity crisis and Wally Bazoom has exploded.
Mr Chipz? Teaching retarded children how to blow phlegm bubbles.
You’re right, it’s just us.
Chipz is trying to find a waistcoat, according to his blog. It must be a nightmare trying to find an item of men’s formal wear in a city as small as London. If EastEnders is to be believed, you only have market stalls to buy clothes from, don’t you?
One market stall. Just the one – it’s run by that whore Stacey Slater, but she’s often too busy looking all wistful as Bradley walks by to sell any clothing. He could always shoplift one, as someone seems to nick an item of clothing every week in order to give the plot a kick up the arse.
That must be a pain in the arse for you Londoners. Six million of you, and one stall to buy your clothes from. I’m not sure I’d want to buy clothes from a slattern, personally.
How d’ye get on buying supplies from The Mini-Mart? The queues must stretch for miles …
If it’s a quiet day and Patrick’s not been hit over the head with a heavy object, it’s not so bad. If the queues are more than a kilometre me and the missus (a vietnamese immigrant who grows marijuana in my cupboard, unbeknownst to me) just go for an indian at Argie Bargies.
Sounds like a good compromise. I doubt immigrants and fast-food restaurant assistant managers can afford a meal for two at Fargo’s.
Have you, by the way, reached your verdict in the case for and against John Leslie?
I’ve just written to The Daily Mail informing them that you’ve married an immigrant. Expect to be derided by that erstwhile organ as a traitor to your nation.
I’m not sure how you want me to register my decision – is a jury made up of 12 people?
You go to the comments section of my in-depth trial, and give your verdict. It’s not bloody rocket science.
Don’t make me start disqualifying people again.
Great review! I’ve had the misfortune of coming across Lamb somewhere before, he’s an annoying little prick at the best of times. That is, him and every sniggering-along-with-the-camera-crew-fake-mullet-ironically-apathetic tit that T4 try and groom to emulate Simon Amstell on Pop World (case in point: A**x Z**e).
They seem to have completely forgot that Popworld was put together originally as a by the numbers pop music show to get tweenage bums on seats and that all the humour in the show came from Simon’s sarcastic persona, that worked contrary to the producers wishes. Case in point was The time the Kooks came on the first show, and Simon ripped them apart, and you could literally see the fear in their faces as they realised it wasn’t a TOTP style clone. They refused to do a second interview.
However, the people in charge of Popworld started to run with the cult following it had gathered, making it more overtly annoying, sarcastic and mean spirited, and it died on its arse. And ever since then, they’ve recruited nameless, faceless young stars to try and give Sunday morning television that same kick in the right direction, forgetting that it was Amstell and Oliver acting against the
Great review! I’ve had the misfortune of coming across Lamb somewhere before, he’s an annoying little prick at the best of times. That is, him and every sniggering-along-with-the-camera-crew-fake-mullet-ironically-apathetic tit that T4 try and groom to emulate Simon Amstell on Pop World (case in point: A**x Z**e).
They seem to have completely forgot that Popworld was put together originally as a by the numbers pop music show to get tweenage bums on seats and that all the humour in the show came from Simon’s sarcastic persona, that worked contrary to the producers wishes. Case in point was the time the Kooks came on the first show, and Simon ripped them apart, and you could literally see the fear in their faces as they realised it wasn’t a TOTP style clone. They refused to do a second interview.
However, the people in charge of Popworld started to run with the cult following it had gathered, making it more overtly annoying, sarcastic and mean spirited, and it died on its arse. And ever since then, they’ve recruited nameless, faceless young stars to try and give Sunday morning television that same kick in the right direction, forgetting that it was Amstell and Oliver acting against the grain that made it entertaining, and they’ve managed to bring the format back to what Sunday TV was before; boring, uninspired and patronising to its own audience.
I saw Simon Amstell in stand up the other week, very funny bloke.
Sorry about the first post, clicked too early.
You’re right George, they’re searching for the next Amstell and keep coming up with another Zane. Unfortunate.
I don’t agree with you, George. Sunday morning TV isn’t boring, uninspired or patronising. John Craven and his minions make the countryside come alive on Sunday morning, and The Politics Show is an interesting way of keeping abreast of both local and national issues. I’m not too keen on that Nicky Campbell debate show, but it has its mo … oh, you meant that tawdry, made-for-50p rubbish for braindead imbeciles on Channel 4 was boring, uninspired and patronising, did you? Well, you get what you pay for in this world, old son.
Something For the Weekend’s alright, for those of us over 25 and under 40.
Napoleon, you’re turning into Mark out of Peep Show.
I don’t know what Something For The Weekend is.
Anyway … turning into? The majority of the stuff I’ve always watched is politics shows and history documentaries, to be honest (and shit soap operas and some comedies, obviously). This isn’t to make m’self look high-brow, by the way, I’m just not interested in watching grown-up infants introducing cheap American reality programmes on a Sunday morning. I’d rather watch reports on crop circulation and goose farming.
On a similar subject, that awful, awful, awful June Thingy woman (the one who sounds like a strung-out heroin user with a throat infection) was on Question Time the other week. The first time in my history of watching that show that I’ve had to switch it off.
I switched over and noticed that she was on. It confused me for 10 seconds. Then I switched over.
Stewart Lee once described her as ‘half cat’, which is pretty accurate.
Yeah Napoleon, I was just trying to point out the irony in the programme’s makers realising that the show has become very popular for doing something that they never intended it to do, and then when they try and run with what makes the programme popular and force these changes into the programme it becomes just as bad as it was before they even bothered.
Sunday morning TV is still a youth oreintated goldmine waiting to be tapped, to quote ED Byrne it’s kind of like needing a fork for a job when all you have is ten thousand spoons, giving up on the job and then realising you could have done the job you intended to do with a spoon all along.
Or, more precicely, it’s like rayayain, on your wedding day…
That, by the way, should lead you to conclude I’m more like Keith from The ‘Stenders than Mark off of Peep Show. I certainly smell like him at the moment.
That sounded a bit ironic, George.
It’s like a traffic jam when you’re late for work, Napoleon.
Never heard George Lamb, he looks like a cunt so fuck knows why I’d listen to him, SH review seems to bear this out
They should bring back John Peel
Nice to see, by the way, that rampant homophobia is alive and well in Great Britain today with Heinz’s decision to withdraw its gay mayonnaise advert (or should that be ‘gayonnaise’, bwa-ha-ha-ha). Just 200 complaints was all it took to have the advert withdrawn – 200 out of a populace of 60,000,000. Well done, Heinz, you made the right descision there.
Zombie Peel.
At least Half Man Half Biscuit would get more airplay.
The bones of John Peel? That could make for an interesting three hour’s worth of radio.
(Silence)
Teenage Kicks by The Undertones
(Silence)
Teenage Kicks by The Undertones
Etc.
Bones?
OH MY GODSZ HAS HE DYED???????????????
He bloody has n’all, the selfish swine.
I have to admit that, much as I enjoyed Peel’s radio show and the diversity of his record collection, I always found him a shade too grumpy onscreen. It was unrealistic, how grumpy he was. And if he really was that grumpy yet was able to sit alongside Jo Whiley without strangling her, then it must have been a ruse.
Only televised interview I ever saw with him was when he said that Moyles was a nice guy but his radio show was the worse thing on Radio 1. Good call, but grump like you said.
The only time I’ve ever heard or see Moyles do anything was that Top Gear where Clarkson puts him in the back of his ridiculous Fiat Panda stretched-limo. I’m obviously not getting a rounded impression of him, because on the strength of that one show, he came across as an affable sort of chap. I understand I’m probably wrong here, as everyone else on earth seems to be falling over ‘emselves to point out what an arsehole he is. Is he?
I didn’t find him at all grumpy
I was disappointed he couldn’t get a bonk on though, I fiddled with him for ages
He was on that Grumpy Old Men. They’re all really really grumpy on there. The miserable shower of old grumps.
Awww, I’m touched I was noted as an absentee! Nothing very exciting, I was on a training course to learn how to hold a focus group. Fascinating stuff!
Anyway.
I HATE George Lamb, he gives me the fucking pip. Almost as much as that sodding Zezi bird who I’ve seen about 20 seconds of on BBLB and had to rip my arm off and gnaw on it, just for something better to do. ARGH.
That Zezi woman (is that her name? christ… ) isn’t even worth thinking about for more than a split sec…
Who were we talking about again?
There weren’t really ‘grumpy’ though were they, more pithy…
Actually, come to think of it, they could’ve ditched all the other talking heads and called the show ‘Pith ‘n Peel’
Hopefully they’ll bring it back as ‘Grumpy Old One Man Down’
…notice Clarys mentioned that Lamb gives her the ‘pip’
What is it with these fruit related witterings?
Sorry, it’s a northernism from my Ma.
They did bring it back without Peel, and it was called ‘Grumpy Old Men’, same as before. Keep up, spud!
Well can you stop it please, it’s just not very nice
…and tad upsetting if I’m honest, we fought for your lot in the war
Sorry NC, I think I was out
Who fought for whose lot in the war? The Scotch? If so, it wasn’t bloody worth it.
You would have been out, yes. Getting predictably drunk in a pub every night of the week, as you alcoholics tend to do.
John Lesley?
Dave – If you’re interested in John Leslie, you might be interested to know that he is on trial for his freedom in my specially-convened kangaroo court. Please visit my blog to deliver your verdict on the dirty, raping bastard.
http://bpperry3.blogspot.com/2008/06/ittodbtbia-trial-by-jury.html
please to hear Simon from popworld ripped it out of the Kooks. I hate the Kooks they’re gay. Amstell’s gay and i hate him too actually.
I am a fuckwit
Henry, would you fuck off quietly please? You’re a fucking moron.
‘You would have been out, yes’
Having friends does that, yes
SH, just abort the fucking twit
Because he’s gay, Henry? It’s disgusting, isn’t it? The way they all lust after cocks and bums? And I’ll wager you had no tolerance for that recent mayonnaise advertisement that they’ve just banned?
(though I have to say I’m with him on The Kooks)
Piqued – I take orders from no man. Unless I’m behind the counter at the branch of McDonalds where I work as Assistant Manager.
Recent mayo ad that was banned? Which one was that? Unless I’m being all gullible over here, which isn’t beyond the realms of possibility.
I have friends too, Piqued. Unlike you, with your betting shop gambler’s lifestyle, we don’t feel the need to go out and drink everyday. Have you heard of this thing they invented called ‘the telephone’? It’s a revolutionary device that allows you to speak to your friends without also wrecking your liver.
*uses your loo without buying anything*
Clarys – The New York Deli mayonnaise where the lad’s mum’s turned into a New York Deli chef. It’s been banned thanks to a mighty 200 complaints from Henry Dead and others of his kind living in 1690.
A friend of mine called me last night, as it happens. It’s been so long since I took a social call on one of those things I’d pretty much forgotten how it worked and kept muddling my words up and groaning before hanging up on him.
Telephones are for talking to your mum on because one can’t be arsed to visit…
OH, I see…
And SH has just confirmed what I already know
(actually that was me SH)
So you didn’t take a leaf out of Piqued’s book, then? Get a tattoo and then meet him in the pub for the umpteenth time that week? Then go home and write about how you’re going to have to tighten your belt a bit?
Is Henry Dead dead to this site now, by the way?
I haven’t been in a pub in weeks and weeks.
Last time was back in May. Piqued was there, funnily enough.
I’m pretty sure one of the kooks was with Katie Melua. Poor thing.
That doesn’t surprise me. Reading his blog, it’s plain he’s in the pub on any given day you’d care to mention. You get set in your ways when you’re getting on a bit.
I haven’t been to the pub in a while as you have to sit outside to have a conversation these days. That’s not really going to the pub, is it?
i love gays. i used to know one.
the kooks are playing on radio next to me. i started temping here today so better leave it on. my boos is blind too, this is the easy life…
I am a fuckwit.
It bloody well is NC
boss is blind i meant boss.
I am a fuckwit.
Henry – get lost.
It’s not my idea of going to the pub. Call me old fashioned, but I always enjoyed being inside the establishment, not outside it trying to convince myself it’s summer in a howling gale. Anyway, we flogged that dead horse the other day …
You now love gays, Henry? Make up your mind.
It’s been summer for while in London NC, spent many a good hour whiling away the evening in a beer garden smoking and talking to myself
I think Henry should be our next Prime Minister.
Well done, Piqued. Meanwhile, in the other 99.8% of the British Isles, the weather’s been its usual changeable self. You really are the most provincial man I know – not bad considering where you live.
“Clarys – The New York Deli mayonnaise where the lad’s mum’s turned into a New York Deli chef. It’s been banned thanks to a mighty 200 complaints from Henry Dead and others of his kind living in 1690.”
Because the husband kisses the deli chef? What a load of bollocks! Christ alive.
i prefer salad cream to mayo. although i’m all for gays and marketing of food products. Swineshead is a fat fuck cos he probably has mayo on everything. i tolerate gays
That’s right, Clarys. Dum-dums (to steal from the rapidly disappearing from memory Michael Sophocles) can’t figure out that the chef is actually a woman who’s turned into the NY deli chef thanks to his mayonnaise. Outraged at what they thought was a promotion of homosexuality (that accursed scourge of our age), they bombarded the ASA with 200 complaints.
Well of course, faced with so many voices crying in the wilderness, Heinz, the makers of this ‘gayonnaise’ (a term I doubt I invented), have withdrawn the advert from our screens. A victory, I think you’ll find, for good old fashioned, bullet-headed British intolerance and ignorance.
How can that be? Roughly a 5th of the UK population are in London… So at least 20% of the UK populace are enjoying the same weather as I.
Provincial? Me! How titillating. You work in your room and don’t go out in the evenings, apart from going to Iceland you never leave the fucking house…
Henry – Swineshead’s not fat. This year he’s representing Great Britain in the triathlon at the Peking Olympic Games. You can’t do that if you’re fat, you bone-brained donkey man.
(And, yes, I know it’s Beiijing)
On a serious note I think the Mayo situation is actually disgusting
Right – I reckon it’s time for a bit of comment moderation, don’t you Henry? You fat, fuckwitted arse? You illiterate, tedious cunt?
Bye bye.
Is six million a fifth of sixty million? I’m stupid at maths and genuinely don’t know if that’s right or not.
And anyway, that still leaves 80% of the population not enjoying the same weather as you. That’s a hell of a lot more people.
And yes, you’re provincial. You’re incapable of seeing a world outside of London. This puts you in the same category as a cud-chewing local yokel who’s never left his isolated rural village. Provincial doesn’t refer to not going out, idiot.
It’s 14 million when you include greater London.
Your definition of ‘Provincial’ is the metaphorical one, it implies narrow mindedness (I may be many things but that’s not one) but actually means ‘local’
To be honest, in a weird way, I think it’s worse then the stereotypical American Christians opposition of homosexuality; however blind-sighted, moronic and sheer pig ignorant it is to claim you believe homosexuality is immoral, at least they’ve got a lot of other strange beliefs (creationism, for example) in a strange way you can’t really cut parts out of the bible that you don’t like (please don’t think for a second I’m excusing their beliefs though) but the British ‘I hate queers, it’s disgusting’ just seems more cruel as there seems to be no reason whatsoever behind it. Homophobes that I know, for instance, don’t even have a reason for hating apart from ‘it’s disgusting’, it’s like banging your head against a wall arguing with them.
London’s population make up 10% of British people. Interestingly, Alberta, Canada, has a population of South London and is three times the size of France.
*thinks he’s got rid of Henry Dead*
He’ll turn up using a different name, I’ll bet.
He’s welcome to, so long as he brings a different personality.
Who the fuck is this Henry Dead character anyway, he says nothing of worth, pisses people off, but doesn’t appear to desist?
People are fuppin’ weird.
Fuppin’? Eh, we’re not getting rid of all the f***ing swearing, are we?
What the f**k?
F**K!
No, no, fupping is just my non-swear of choice, fret not.
Cunty fucking fucksocks. There we are!
Test:
Fuck
Alright, I’ll admit I done did that for laffs.
Fupping… Heh, that brings me back to days of orange website glow.
It’s almost as good as the word “fwapping”, for me.
Nice to see Henry Dead did my job for me.
Thank you all very much for the excellent laughing matter above. I think I’ve possibly had some form of prolapse, however I’m willing to overlook it in light of the pain:guffaws ratio.
P.S. I object massively to being predicted -in vector form- as a blue dribbling triangle. Please amend.