Frankie Boyle Has A Rant

My hate gourd is full to overflowing. It seems to be a large, poisonous gland located at the bottom of my throat that chokes me whenever I pick up a newspaper. Here we go.

Rangers and Celtic: Massive corporate entities leeching the soul out of their deprived communities. The area round Celtic Park is like Blade Runner without the special effects. In 1967 Celtic won the European Cup with a team where all the players were born within 20 miles of the stadium. If you tried to field a team from that area now you wouldn't find 11 people who still had both legs.

Both clubs have profited massively from sectarianism. Personally, I think everyone involved over the years has shown that they don't have Northern Ireland's best interests at heart and it should now be given to a third party, like Spain. Imagine how little the average Belfast citizen would care for the problems of religion if he could just get a nice bit of tapas on the Falls road. And it wasn't fucking raining all the time. And he still had knees.

Charity Beggars: Not only am I not interested in the World Wildlife Fund, Mr. Charity Beggar, neither are you. You're hired by an agency to represent a different cause every week. Chirpy morons who think that being friendly and extroverted is all it takes to get ahead in life. Middle age is going to hit you like a shotgun blast to the chest. You want to see something really horrifying? Sign off on a direct debit with a Charity Beggar and watch the shutters come down behind their eyes. They're scanning the street for the next weakling. Really, these blank-eyed date rapists might as well be zombies.

Children in Need: Make the kids sit through this pile of shit and then ask them if they really need a ventilator that bad. I'll donate a million pounds if the whole cast touch the roof of their mouths with a loaded shotgun while riding on a rollercoaster. Telethons are horrible. People sitting in a bathful of beans for starving Africans... send them the fucking beans! Celebrities appear on these things to get exposure. Great, climb towards that money pot on the backs of dying children you sick, sick fucks.

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NASA: With all their money, could they maybe have a mission where everyone doesn't nearly die? They should have some honesty and call their next mission OPERATION SPACEGRAVE.

Remember all the unmanned missions they used to send up in the 50s and 60s? You know what they did with the monkeys and dogs that piloted them? They poisoned them! All their bodies are still up there. So an alien civillisation's first contact with earth will be a ring of abandoned spacecraft filled with dead chimps and alsatians. Approaching earth for some sublimated alien race must be like when the police close in on the house of a serial killer and find an outer perimeter of faeces wrapped in newspaper.

The Death of Mike Baldwin: I hate the way the producers insisted they were trying to "highlight the problems of Altzheimers sufferers". Why not just have him turn up in Emmerdale with his trousers round his ankles? Also, as a long term Street heartthrob, it would have been nice for Altzheimer's sufferer Mike to have had a final sex scene. Perhaps involving a bin.

Debt: British consumers are 3 Trillion pounds in debt. You know you're in trouble when they have to call in a stupid made-up number. If you're asking a doctor whether you'll pull through, pretty much the last thing you want to hear is "Your chances are a McSquillion to one!" Don't believe these companies who say they can sort out your debts. The only way to clear all your debts with one easy payment is to buy a shotgun and blow your fucking head off.

Personal Grooming: The average Glasgow guy now looks like he spends more time in frond of the mirror than a pubescent girl. You know what? If you're going to spend 2 hours on your appearance every day why not work out you fat fucks? If you're going to have a haircut that makes you look like a moderately powerful Pokemon, try to make sure you're body doesn't look like something that's just been fished out of a river.

Hoaxers: A wee boy phoned me up the other day pretending to be my long lost son! Let me tell you laddie, you'll have to get up a lot earlier in the morning if you want to get a hold of my bone marrow.

Copyright Frankie Boyle 2006