AN OPEN LETTER TO PIERS MORGAN
Dear Piers,
Whatever happened to you at that posh private school you
went to? Were you bog flushed on multiple occasions? Locked in cupboards for
hours on end? Was your teddy bear beheaded? Were you de-kecked in front of
hundreds of people? Did you get forced
to eat the ‘soggy biscuit’?
I ask these questions not because I care about your troubled childhood in the
slightest, but because I wonder what is behind you growing in to a despicable, embarrassment
of a man.
You genuinely make me cringe so hard that my testicles
invert.
“Why?” I hear you ask as you check your Twitter for “top blokey
banter” from Alan Sugar. Because you are
quite literally the definition of an UtterTwunt.
There are a million and one reasons why you are the
definition of an UtterTwunt. I can feel my blood pressure rising just thinking
them through. I will probably end up dead if I write too much.
I deliberately swerve you on TV. As soon as your face
appears doing one of those god awful manufactured life stories programmes with
some FameRat like Peter Andre where you just talk over them anyway and hardly
let them answer, etc – the TV goes off.
But what I can’t avoid is your god awful tweeting, even though
I don’t follow you, it keeps getting retweeted in to my timeline. To be honest, I did follow you one time, just
so I could UNFOLLOW you immediately to see if it gave me any respite from this eternal
hatred. It did, for about 10 seconds, then I hated you even more.
Annoyingly, I am a glutton for punishment, I see one of your
tweets RT’d into my timeline and I just have to open it up and read it. And time after time, I see you doing one of
three things:
1) Namedropping a massive celeb, like a desperate Z-lister would
/ RTing a “praise” tweet from an aforementioned
massive celeb like a desperate Z-lister would.
2) Chatting shit about how great you are, how many followers
you have, how many viewers your chat show has, how many countries it is
broadcast to..etc.
3) Continuing to embarrass yourself by having “top blokey
banter” with footballers that hate you / people that hate you / Alan Sugar who
hates you etc.
What annoys me the most is that you are AWFUL at “banter”.
Your comebacks are just so awful and cringe worthy, you act like a stuck up
rich boy at private school, trying to defend himself from bog-flushing,
de-kecking, cupboard locking and soggy biscuit eating. Hence my opening lines.
You are SO BAD that
you make the likes of Rio Ferdinand, Michael Owen and Wayne Rooney look
good. You make them look like they have
won; which of course makes my blood boil so much that my ears whistle, as they
are all absolute CuntKnuckles.
Stop correcting their spelling and grammar. They are
footballers – they aren’t meant to be able to spell. Stop getting the red pen out and how’s about
you actually lash a proper insult their way.
Tell Rooney that he looks like he got his hair cut in St. Helens for a fiver.
Tell him that you’ve upped the security at your Mum’s nursing home so he doesn’t
go and back end her. And tell Rio that
his top lip proper looks like a slug. In fact, tell him that his mouth actually
looks like a badly packed kebab. Tell him that his Mrs has GOT a badly packed
kebab. And as for the Welsh Midget,
surely you can muster something up about curling out a shit that was bigger
than his entire body or something? Or something about United extending his
contract, by putting a piece of paper at the bottom saying “he’s shit” ?
Meanwhile, the thought of you broadcasting to millions of Americans
in your newfound CNN fame makes me ill, purely because the WHOLE of America
will think all English men are absolute bell ends. Simon Cowell and you are
flying the flag. Good job I’m scouse and not English, isn’t it Piersy?
One other massive thing that infuriates the balls off me:
You called your three sons Spencer, Stanley and Albert. What
kind of chance do they have of NOT BEING TWATS with names like that, and a Dad
like you? And even more annoyingly,
combined, they sound like an utterly thundercuntish estate agents, or
investment firm ... “Good Morning, Spencer Stanley Albert, how may I help you?”
And one last thing, if, heaven forbid, I was an Arsenal fan,
I’d get a petition going to get some kind of court order preventing you from associating
yourself with the club.
Good day to you, you massive massive blert,
Jimmy Corkhill x
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