Tuesday, 13 November 2012

The Motherfucker List

  

My friends, once again the International Motherfucker Panel has gathered to publish its latest findings. Remember, these aren’t just opinions. These are scientifically-assessed statements of fact. Those listed below ARE motherfuckers,whether they like it or not.

Ikea

Have you heard about this place? It’s a furniture megashop on a ring road just outside Satan’s a-pipe. The furniture is made of a material that, I think, is a 50-50 mix of butterfly farts and wet napkins. You have to design it yourself, build it yourself, deliver it yourself – you even have to find it yourself in a warehouse that looks like the final scene in Raiders Of The Lost Motherfucking Ark. It’s an amazing concept. You go there on a Saturday with every other person in the world, and get sluiced along an ever-moving river of human disappointment, past room sets from a house nobody could ever live in.

At the end, you get to eat the world’s foulest meatballs (covered with optional gravy glue made from cow bile and the drainings of the NHS colostomy lake) in a fourteen-acre canteen, bashing elbows with dead-eyed empty-nesters trying to make the back bedroom look ‘funky’ now that their last spunk-sponge daughter has married a cunt called Baz and moved round the corner to a half-bedroomed flat over a slaughterhouse.

Motherfuckers! Or, in Ikea, modderfkkrs.

Tapas-style dining

What’s that, you say? You want me to order two or three very, very tiny dishes that add up to one small dinner but cost the same as three large ones?

Why would you want me to do that? I mean, you can’t be doing it because it helps each primpy spoonful of malignant drool you serve wring another precious few quid out of your punters. That would be wrong.

Oh! It’s because it’s ‘lighter’ and ‘healthier’ and ‘modern eating’.

Listen, you cowcunt – if I wanted something lighter, healthier and modern, I’d  eat a fucking low-energy lightbulb. I go to restaurants to eat massive amounts of things drenched in gallons and gallons of cream, butter, balti sauce, booze and dead baby animals. I want to be brought a plate so big it blocks out the fucking sun and then I want you to fuck off until a) I ask for more b) it looks like I’m having a coronary embolism at my table.

The Spanish might enjoy tapas-style eating, but that’s because they’re hot and randy. I’m not. I’m cold and randy and I want a fucking good feed, you money-grubbing MOTHERFUCKER.

Meeting sandwiches

Leave out of the egg mayonnaise, eh? NOBODY eats them, you stupid MOTHERFUCKERS. And who ordered the ones with just salad? A right motherfucker, that’s who.

'Artisanal'

Introducing this month’s slag word. The word that will do anything with anyone, anywhere. It’ll go with any old dirty self-abuser, wanging its legs open like a wannabe WAG, getting used and abused and reused until it’s bunged in the gutter and forgotten. Imagine Cheryl when the offers dry up. That sort of thing.

Well, ‘artisanal’ is that word.

Coffee is artisanal. Bread is artisanal. Chocololate is artisanal. Fudge is artisanal. Cushions are artisanal. Sofas are artisanal. Glasses are artisanal. Chairs are artisanal. Last weekend, my dinner was artisanal. Sausages are artisanal. Ties are artisanal. Shirts are artisanal. Conservatories are artisanal. Badger culls are fucking artisanal. For all I know, David Cameron is artisanal.

If you want to try making something special, make it fucking special. Don’t prefix it with the word ‘artisanal’ and assume we’ll all go misty-eyed as we imagine a gnarled old grandpa with deft hands working proudly in a dusty workshop as light streams through the window and a wooden boy looks on. We know that whatever you sell, it was clumpily slapped together in a 24-hour torture shop somewhere in a country we’ve never heard of by people who’d rather be doing many things, like, for instance, sticking hot, spiky turds in their eyes while gargling Simon Cowell’s fuckslop.

Artisanal? You cheeky MOTHERFUCKERS.

So, there you have it. A load of motherfuckers.

Naturally, I'm not on the list.

Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!

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