Russell sits in his chair. He looks around, whistling, and takes a sip out of his coffee. He smacks his lips a couple of times, and looks confused. He points his finger into the air, before flying it around like an aeroplane, and bringing it down on his intercom button.
PA TO MR RUSSELL T DAVIES
Yes, sir?
RUSSELL T DAVIES
Oh, thank you Jenny. I don’t mean to be a bother, but this coffee… is it gay? It’s just that I asked for gay coffee. And this coffee… well, I can’t tell what it is, to be honest.
PA TO MR RUSSELL T DAVIES
It’s the gayest I could find. The problem is that coffee doesn’t really have a sexuality, sir.
RUSSELL T DAVIES
Doesn’t it? How tedious. In that case, just pop it into an anus and I’ll drink it from a straw.
PA TO MR RUSSELL T DAVIES
Right away, Mr Davies.
Russell whistles happily to himself. A flicker of concern shows on his face, and he presses the intercom button again, this time a little more urgently.
RUSSELL T DAVIES
Jenny?
PA TO MR RUSSELL T DAVIES
Yes, Mr Davies?
RUSSELL T DAVIES
You will make sure that’s a male anus, won’t you?
PA TO MR RUSSELL T DAVIES
Of course, sir.
RUSSELL T DAVIES
Lovely, thanks.
Russell T Davies pats his head and rubs his tummy at the same time, laughing to himself. He is the happiest man in the world.
“Oh, and make sure it’s Welsh bi-racial coffee, the finest beans grown in the Rhonda Valley and have it brought to me by a subservient woman smearing her breasts with John Barrowman’s tears and semen.”
“And we still haven’t cast the part of the transsexual Cybermanwoman. Get Anthony Sher’s agent on the phone.”
“He’d be great”
Log, I don’t wish to be rude, but I’ve been poised with my hands in my pants for days now, waiting for you to post the rest of the pictures of Jimmy Carr’s made-up face (Touche Eclat eh? We all have our beauty secrets!). I’m literally on the cusp and one feather-light stroke while gazing at his moonliness will tip me into the pleasure abyss. So stop posting things about tramps and anusses. Give us the Carr. We are wet and/or erect for Carr.
Log, utterly disgusted that all the women he’s ever known in his life story are pissing themselves silly because his mental associations have all been made to point towards male genitalia, is now going all the way to Limerick in an effort to frigidize all women under the age of consent.
To further complicate matters, all the possibly German thinkers in his life story are pissing themselves silly because he put himself into a German made box (one of a possible three). Log, using his mighty logical skills, is still trying to ad hoc his way into all three boxes at once but that’s all highly illogical captain.
In an effort to stop women getting humiliated so that everyone doesn’t piss themselves silly when their husband is caught having an affair WITH A FUCKING MAN!!!, Log’s out and proud friends put him inside the queer headlock by repeatedly putting their dicks into his third eye. Being a fair minded soul, he thought experimented himself into the pleasures of sucking dick whilst at the same time was harrased into coming out and proud you fucking wimp so that that the old perv could fuck the young teenager senseless. Well, we all knew.
The transsexual is genuinely sexy IMHO, unless she has had her penis inverted in which case I feel he has been screwed because he can’t cum anymore.
Look who’s laughing at that one. I would point and say ‘cunt’. Probably best not to do so.
And as for the gingerbread mans big problem?
Keep running.
Cripplingly-flawed genius or retarded logorrhea – YOU DECIDE
Whoops.
Don’t worry about it, LGTL / THT, you’re not only on the internet, you’re in the rarely read comments of an only slightly less rarely read blog. No-one need ever know about this.
I judge everyone in this thread.
Jenny has promise as a fine ‘impact character’….you can find a full description on this website which is dedicated to the art of ‘Dramatica’….
http://dailydramatica.com/2007/04/12/impact-character-video-montage/
That black homeless dwarf calls himself ‘dude’ (The Big Labowski) and I used to live in his hood (neighbourhood btw!). I find him utterly charming, harmless and humorous esp. when he delights in frightening off the stares of local school girls and working them into a riotous gaggle of geese in ecstatic hysterics who are sensing and announcing the imminent eruption of Mount St. Helens! To book an appointment with the Mystic of Lambeth, you can knock 3 times on the wall of the adjacent twin photo booth at Stockwell, and he may allow you to enter and bask near his majestical throne in the other booth to receive his blessing from a man who manages to keep his life blissfully simple and spirtually fulfilled in a hectic city; Da Dude….commands your respect!
off the string here but i hope that this will tickle your belly…..
MORONS AT HEATHROW
ADMIN EDIT: The rest of this comment can be found here…
That was Chris Morris sometime around the 20th Century, and where are these fucking “speaker symbols” to click on anyway? You cunt’n’paste buffoon.
The first out the door was a Melanie Phillips.
Sitting on a chair, scratching her arms, neck and ears – bat girl. Author?
Germaine Greer met her many years later. Shhh. She laughed.
Come on, throat slitting isn’t that bad is it? Twirling my fingers around a key here.
I know you’re a schizo now. Your brother talks for him, too. Am I inside yet, Jake?
Fucking hell, I’m a fan of mental illness as much as the next guy, but you could at least try to make it entertaining.
Dear Log
It is wonderful you are blogging again.
And look, you’ve randomised your banner too!
I wonder, with all this productivity inclusive of TV writer satire, is it YOU who am this http://thetvcontroller.blogspot.com/ thing I keep reading about in the paper?
I doubt it, but still. You could claim it, no other cunt is.
skinny caramel latte with an extra shot is the official coffee of the gays, i’m told
Ahoy! I am off to Limerick in a couple of weeks wossit like?