Y’ALL DON’T KNOW ME! Y’ALL DON’T KNOW ME! FUCK YOU! EH! FUCK YOU!
I caught the last ten seconds of Jeremy Kyle this morning. There was probably more to go but by the time I’d smashed the fucking telly up ’cause his face on it I’d drawn a significant line under the matter.
British television is like a rather large and valid excuse to get fucking Euthanised. If it’s not that cunt Jezza all up in the Granada studio’s like “PUT SUMMINK ON DA END OV IT YER PLANT POT” then it’s that other twat Eamon Holmes patronising his wife and scoffing steak.
Why can’t we have good things on the television? Bring back Tots T.V so we can all proudly proclaim “I knew that green haired one was going to be addicted to something! But addicted to rubbing up against lampposts! WAT DA FUK YO’?!”….. Or whatever.