F*** Frank Lampard. F*** Nicolas Anelka. F*** Florent Malouda.
F*** amateur night at Media Guardian. You thick, embargo-breaking fucks. A 10pm embargo means you're allowed to post it when the
Oh wait, that's a lie. You'd just get the boot. I'd be harsher on you except you're probably all about fifteen years old and paid flap all.
F*** rubbish shoes from Next that gave me blisters the size of fifty pence coins and have fuck-all padding in the soles.
F*** "human" "resources" "consultants" whose advice to management is "tell the staff nothing". You evil wankers, I hope you get painful bits caught in a mangle. And then you get sacked as well and no one tells you NOTHING about nothing and you get to freak out about the mortgage on your crappy box in Finchley and the megaloan on the poxy Audi twatmobile, that you tool around north London in, playing your shitey Poundstretcher R'n'B and landfill indie. And f***ing James Morrison and all those other dismal mimsy I'm-so-sensitive buckets of shite.
F*** you, Golden Child, we can't BEND THE LAWS OF FUCKING PHYSICS so you can get the result you want, you over-privileged streak of donkey wazz.
F*** you, RTD, I knew you were lying. The instant you said it I thought "Bastard! That means the opposite of what you're saying"
F*** David Tennant too. Okay, not really. Because God love you, I know you have to do it, but I am still arsey about it as a season of Moffat and Ten could have been constructed of purest win. So f*** you just because I'm feeling that way out. YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE SMALL CHILDREN CRY. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT WILL HAPPEN.
So. How was your day?
Edited for removal of some fail. Not all the fail, clearly.