Tales Of The Gurrier

Can there be a fouler creature ever spawned from the duplicitous wombs of woman? When they were handing out souls in heaven Affleck got the scrapings from the rotten wing fungus of whatever pox ridden, leprous cherub was stuck with the job that day.

A big open face like a side of beef hitting a barn door. A physique struggling to contain the latent pieman within coupled with an innate knowledge that his time is short. How long before he bifurcates his insides from digit induced vomiting and laxative abuse. How long before Jennifer finds him crouched in the Jacuzzi pie in one hole a slippery vaselined tube in the other. All of it painfully appearing on the Smoking Gun as Jennifer tearfully flees the divorce courtroom. Affleck forced into rehab, appearances on Oprah and supervised visits to the ice cream parlour.

The Affleck, not content with shilling his pie eating face in every fuck damned place on God’s green earth shitting up every wrong headed film he is in. Now the dirty shite is on my telly every five minutes shilling Lynx’s latest magical snake oil spray on ‘gash magnetism’.

What a match; Affleck and the Lynx goblins. Apart from the fact that this caustic air stench has an aroma resembling bleach and sulphur flavoured with Fairy Liquid. Apart from the fact that it contains enough aluminium to render your brain cells into an Alzheimers mush. Apart from the fact that some poor fucker actually sprayed himself to death using this crap.

Apart from the fact that for well over a decade now the Lynx marketing department has attached itself like a hagfish to the concept of hawking their disgusting product to hygienically challenged fuckwits with skulls of hollowed out tureens of testosterone where there brains should be. Now, after all this, after years and years of watching their horrible adverts featuring gormless monkeymen drooling over pneumatically enhanced titsnbums who automagically want to leap on their flaccid pigeon chested physiques upon snorting up the irresistable sexual manscent that is the chemical cosh of LyNXEFFECT. Witness the tiny female mind imploding with fucklust as their genetically preprogrammed pudenda set a heating seeking course directly towards the crippled sex organs of the alpha male drenched in aluminium sulphate and thinly disguised bathroom cleaner.

As if putting up with this garbage for years was not enough. Now they have put THE AFFLECK in my living room every night with his CLICKY, CLICKY LADYSEX COUNTER. Look at The Affleck with his ladycounter.  Tee, hee, hee he clicks it when ladies give him the look that says ‘Hello’s vile and creepy Hollywood douchebag I am lady who wants job in Hollywood shitpile. You like get me drunk and paw at my mimsy with hairy meat hands?’ But poor Ben he clicky good but stoopid monkey man with face like monged up ratboy and job sucking turds out of blocked toilets he get more clickys than you Affleck. Why that? HE PUT LYNXSEX ON HIS UNDERPARTS FOOL!

Hear me Lynx Corporation I am coming to find you. You are doomed. I am coming to find you with my fish knives and dig out your kidneys through your special cavities. I will make you eat your piss stinking guts and burn every copy of that advert in existence and then I will make you eat The Affleck, gobble him up piece by lardy piece until he is gone stinkhole and all.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 23rd, 2006 at 1:24 am and is filed under Bloggery. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.