Thanks to newbie GrimSqueaker for his first post here on TR: an excellent new take on the Russell Brand Death Through Nature series.
It just so happens, actually, that I just caught last night’s Have I Got News For You. Usually it’s very easy: I think “Shall I watch last night’s HIGNFY on iPlayer?” and then I think “Yes.” Not this time though. This time was an amusement minefield. On one hand, Charlie Brooker. On the other hand, Russell Brand. I decided to risk it, since I thought I might give Russell a second chance.
I’m now confirmed in my belief that Russell Brand is the most awful fucking twat the world has ever seen. If everyone else in the whole world died, and I was left alone to repopulate the species with Russell Brand and Michael Winner, I’d feed the former to the latter and then close my eyes and think of England.
So anyway, today’s post: a completely unrelated story about a tiny, twatty little monkey.
Russell’s Booky Wook (Preschool version)
Once upon a time, there lived a mentally ill monkey called Russell. Russell was always mocked by the other monkey-wunkies for his sticky-uppy hair, which he spent hours and hours back-combing until he looked like a shit-coloured peacock.
Soon Russell was plagued by depression, realising the innate futility of his deformed little excuse for a life, and quickly became addicted to Tixylix. One day, rifling through the bins outside Lidl for half-empty bottles of alcoholic mouthwash, he came across a thesaurus: the only book he would ever read.
With his thesaurus, Russell became the Next Big Thing. He soon realised that all he needed to do was memorise all the very long words and use them as often as possible – all the other very stupid monkeys were impressed by the dazzling, flashing syllables rattling through their empty heads, and threw pennies at him in a gormless manner.
Before long, Russell had access to a constant stream of under-age girls to play with. He had more hairspray than he could drink, and was creating even longer words than ever before (even managing to maintain a completely abhorrent lack of grammatical know-how). Russell was officially a
complete and utter cunt success.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t to last. One day, whilst travelling home on the Tube from his TV show in Bundon’s Pesto Square, he was spotted by Minnie the wise. Minnie saw through Russell’s evil, twatty ways, and promptly removed from her bag a bright pink Filofax, with which she began to beat him about the head and body (kneeing him in the balls for good measure).
As he lay dying on the piss-stained seats, chewing gum adhering to his bruised and rotting excuse for a body, Russell had a revelation: every intelligent being on the planet despised him.
…What happens next? You decide. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org with your suggestions.
By the way, we’re still accepting entries for the Teasmade Revenge Fantabulous Photoshopping competition. Again, email your entries to me and you could win some prize or other. Don’t know what. Something cool. Whatever. Do it for the fame and glory.