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Terrible Ted

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About Terrible Ted

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    New Cunt

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    The Gutter

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  1. While I was busy wooing Eric with a superficial display of gratitude, I was making plans to visit you personally. I was to hide inside a giant party cake and be delivered to your front door in my friend's septic Leyland Sherpa. A hundred Moulin Rouge dancers would burst forth from the cake then, just when you thought it couldn't get any better, I would have crawled out from the wreckage of jam, sponge and butter icing in a sparkly silver thong. The dancers would bugger off somewhere else, leaving you and I free to spend the night together as I fed you Scotch eggs and Laughter in the Rain played in the background, caressing our ears like velvet. But now you've ruined the surprise, you gormless twat.
  2. It's nice of you to offer, but I've already had exactly the same offer from O J Simpson and I'll need some convincing as to why I ought to choose you over him. Obviously he's a filthy, disgusting fucking gorilla whose only contribution to the world besides ridding it of his own wife and some greasy Jewish waiter is being slightly good at a game that emphatically is not rugby, but apart from that, I mean.
  3. That's kind, thanks. In the spirit of goodwill and courtly grace as befitting gentlemen of our estimation, I return the like.
  4. Suffice to say, the only way I'd like to pay my license fee is by impaling the £160 on a spear and ramming it up the BBC's arse, hoping the whole fetid organisation will collapse and die from a combination of tetanus and a ruptured colon. Then again, it's probably already so riddled with AIDS, other STDs and various exotic infections from all the big black cock it's bent over for, it probably wouldn't even notice a few more ailments. Besides that, the old trout insists on having her Casualty and all that shite, so I compromise and pay the normal way. I usually bugger off when she wants the TV (that is to say all evening, every evening) but every so often I catch a bit of it when I have to enter the living room to pour some whiskey or shout through the wall at the screaming infant next door. Every second I see of whatever she's watching is always some subversive, degenerate indoctrination. There's Call the Midwife or Grantchester, that totally implausible programme about an unfeasibly young, good-looking vicar who bumbles about his 1950s Yorkshire parish combining his preaching with also being a shit-hot detective. It seems that every episode focuses on the arrival of some gays or blacks in the area and all the whites being racist/homophobic or at least treating the perverts as somewhat suspect, until they come round to liking them in the end. The message is always that the East End/rural Yorkshire was full of bigots until the banana boats docked and all the nice Jamaicans and gay sailors flooded their ignorant, prejudiced (and yet somehow wholesome and highly functional) communities and, after struggling to gain acceptance, they eventually teach the whites all about how great diversity and sexual depravity is. Now don't get me started on 24 Hours in A&E. Some half-caste girl was in there with a broken leg following a football injury (obviously a lesbian). Then instead of providing the viewer with an education about bone damage or medical practice, the airtime was given over to the girl explaining how nasty whites are to her because she's a bit black, how even the blacks don't like her because she's not properly black and how everyone bullies her because she's inclined in the manner of Lesbos. I'm inclined to suspect this wasn't ever her idea but she was goaded into doing it by the degenerate producers. Fuck off.
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