Friday, March 14, 2003

Buggering Nora! It's sodding Comic Relief Red bloody Nose Day again! I hate this biannual (or whatever it is) charity fest. If I had my way it'd be Broken Nose Day with a couple of black eyes, a ruptured spleen and a fractured knee cap for every twat in a clown's outfit that accosts me in Iceland with a bucket. If there's one thing I can't stand it's being pressured into giving to charity. Public humiliation at the hands of some sexually twisted tosspot in a big fucking nappy! I'm not rich you stupid bastards! Leave me alone and donate more money yourself if it's that important to you. Or better still pay a bit more tax and stop voting the tax-reducing parties into power! If I want to give my last few coppers to charity I'll give it to the RSPCA or some other worthy cause...not to some BBC sponsored load of PR crap!

Not that I particularly disagree with Comic Relief in principle. I don't mind the hastily written sketches that go on all night in which various British 'humorists' show how unfunny they actually are when put on the spot. I don't particularly lose my temper at Billy Connelly getting his dick out every year or tired old hacks like Gryff Rhys Jones (or however that's spelt) trying to summon up some publicity for their latest books. What I do object to, however, is the horrible cash-in, ingenuous promotions made by ASDA and the Midlands Bank and other such tossers. "Our staff members all dressed up as penises for twenty-four hours and managed to raise fifteen quid." You're a fucking bank for Christ's sake! You deal in quizillions of quid every hour. I should know...most of it's the interest on my mortgage. You can buy yourselves publicity mates...but you can't buy ethics or a moral conscience. Now fuck off and stop trying to make me feel guilty about being poor!

Of course the other thing I can't stand about Comic Relief...the other really, incredibly, desperately annoying thing that makes me want to vomit blood and spit acid in their the plethora of retarded gits who take to the streets with buckets dressed as schoolgirls, nuns, commandos or any other sexual fantasy that they're daren't admit to their bloody spouses! It isn't funny! It isn't entertaining! And it isn't going to wash with me!

Having said all that, this year I'm going to take part. I've decided to sponsor myself. I'm going to donate fifty pence for every 'Comic Relief Charity Worker' that I manage to drench with urine. Fifty pence for every ginger wig that my piss removes from some wanker's head. Fifty pence for every lipstick freckle that gets drenched, for every pair of baggy trousers that gets ruined and for every bucket waving pervert that gets thoroughly soaked! It's for charity you understand, so I'm sure you won't mind...