Waking up to a breakfast of chilled cucumbers, kale flakes, lightly sauteed kippers and a gallon of 100 year old piss from a barrel stored outside an Old Kent Road gin palace, I set aside my tray and look over a range of journals perusing some of the highlights and notable events, both political and cultural, of 2016.
F*** me sideways with a f***ing unwashed elephant dildo, 2016! That was a dead dog’s arse of a f***ing year, wasn’t it? Pure, unmitigated f***ing c***rot from start to f***ing finish! From one appallingly dozy f***ing edition of Jools Holland’s f***ing Hootenanny to the even boogie-woogieing f***ing duller one that doubtless awaits us on New Year’s Eve, just barrel after barrel of tragic f***ing monkey bollocks hurled down a Niagra of grade A, uncut f***ing shite! Politics? The f***ing worst. TV? F***ing celebrities rifling through f***ing lock-ups was as good as it f***ing got! My TV set is now submerged in a f***ing cesspit with a boot through the f***ing screen! Pop? Well, I guess something probably happened in the UK Top 30 but like a tree falling in the f***ing forest, no c***’s to f***ing know these days, are they? A random f***ing generator of autotune sodcast netting a 37 trillion spambot hits and a collective annual revenue of f***ing £15,000!
Have there been worse years? Than 2016? Well, let’s take a look in the f***ing history books, eh? What have we here? Circa 72,000 AD. It seems that around this time, a giant f***ing volcano erupted on the island of Sumatra in what is now Indonesia. Exploded with the force 1.5 million times bigger than the atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Rock and magma were hurled like thunderbolts across thousands of f***ing miles, as far away as East Africa. Six inches of f***ing volcanic ash settled like a carpet across Asia. A permanent darkness shrouded the earth and global temperatures plummeted. Food stocks dwindled and the human population was reduced to fewer than 10,000 people. Cast your mind across the aeons and imagine these f***ing wretches, terrified and scavenging desperately in the charred dirt for food, huddling for warmth, wondering what they could have done to incite the f***ing wrath of the Gods they dutifully worshipped and whether they would ever see green fields or f***ing sunlight again. Well, we should f***ing envy them! Envy them, I f***ing say because for all the f***ing trauma and misery visited upon them, at least they didn’t have to put up with the f***ing tenth hand, caterwauling crock of unmitigated f***ing cock that is Rag’n’Bone Man!
Christ’s f***ing wanksock, this c*** was Brits Critics’ Choice Award? What was the other f***ing choice, a bucketful of piglets squealing as they drowned in their own f***ing blood? We need another fat white, gravelly twat with a beard vomiting f***ing sincerity on us from a f***ing great height like we need a f***ing nuclear winter, you f***faced lump of f***!
2016 was also the year in which, despite polls suggesting the contrary, outspoken Republican candidate Donald Trump was elected President of the United States of America.
God’s f***ing armpits, I thought you f***ing Americans might just be stupid enough to elect Hillary f***ing Clinton but I never f***ing thought you’d elect this f***ing Tropicana-coloured f***ing wank baboon! The oldest, and yet by every other mental f***ing measurement, the youngest person ever to be f***ing elected President! What’s up with you braying f***ing burgerheads? Trump is a f***ing bloodbrained, badly blow-dried f***ing molesting machine! The gurning, leering, tiny-handed end of the f***ing world! He’s a f***Ing rampaging, shitting bull in a f***ing china shop, except it’s not china the f***er’s messing with, it’s the actual f***ing China! A f***ing shitstain on a f***ing motel bedsheet would make a better f***ing President than Donald Trump. A penis, severed from the maggot-ridden f***ing corpse of Jimmy Savile, painted orange and sellotaped to a f***ing stick would make a better f***ing President than Donald f***ing Trump! F***ing hell, Donald Trump would make a better f***ing President than Donald Trump . . . shit, what am I f***ing saying? He’s the twatboil you actually f***ing elected, you ruinous bunch of f***ing red, white and blue-arsed reality chimps! You have now officially forfeited the rights to the letters “o” “r” and “y” in your description of yourself as a f***ing country!
In domestic matters, 2016 was the year Owen Smith mounted a challenge to oust Jeremy Corbyn from the Labour leadership.
You know, how f***ing bad would you have to be to lose a f***ing leadership election to a useless, hapless, email-from-Emily-from-Doncaster-reading f***ing scarecrow-cum-crowperch like f***ing Jeremy Corbyn? Owen f***ing Smith bad, that’s how f***ing bad! “Socialist solutions”, you said you were f***ing going to provide. F***ing hell, I bet f***ing Karl Marx was kicking himself in his f***ing Highgate grave that he didn’t think of that one! “Solutions”! Brilliant, except we’re talking about the f***ing Labour movement here, not a f***ing scaffolding firm operating out of Stoke-On-Trent, you fraudulent dark blue pillar of pure f***ing twat-suet!
March saw a notable departure – the death of former First Lady Nancy Reagan, aged 94.
How can I f***ing put this delicately? You were an emaciated astrology nutter and your husband was a Brylcreem-brained, stupid c***. Hope the both of you are f***ing enjoying it down there alongside f***ing Pinochet, Thatcher and the rest of your f***ing mates!
James Corden went from strength to strength in 2016, starring in his own American show Carpool Karaoke.
You know, when it comes to gurning, deafeningly twattish, self-obsessed f***ing c***s who sum up the 800 pound “Waaauughh! Celebrity, me, me, famous, waauggghhhh!!” spirit of a f***ing age, it takes a f***ing lot to make f***ing Chris Evans seem like John f***ing Peel but you’ve managed it, you human f***ing airbag! You’re lucky that there’s a country as superf***witted as America floating this f***ing earth like a giant lump of transfat, Corden, because over here you’re as welcome as an outburst of f***ing scrapie!
One of the notable films of the year was Kids In Love, a study in “gap year angst” starring one Will Poulter, the merits of which can be assessed in this trailer.
We’re living in two f***ing countries, aren’t we? One that’s living on potato peeling soup, working either seven or seventy hour weeks for f*** all and having to take out a f***ing mortgage to get in a round and the f***ing pub and the other populated by this flower-haired, flabby-faced, super-entitled, drawling gaggle of f***ing Trustafarian tosspieces! Never mind “God help us if there’s a war” – I f***ing hope there is a f***ing war and that the likes of f***ing Poulter are gassed like f***ing poets in the f***ing trenches!
Euro 2016, staged in France, was one of the gala sporting events of the year – England went in with high hopes but were just pipped in the knockout stages, going out 2-1 to Iceland.
At this stage I’d like to pay tribute to the hardworking and dedicated staff of the NHS, particularly in their testicular unit, and their sterling efforts in sewing back on the f***ing bollocks I laughed off watching this shower of f***ing superheated, misdirected f***ing pig sputum! F***ing Iceland! Four professional outfielders, three part timers, three postmen and a f***ing puffin at left back, all of them f***ing related! F***ing Rooney running around like a f***ing Spud-U-Hate that’s been left too long in the f***ing microwave, and a masterclass in useless, clueless c***ery from Harry Kane, who played more like f***ing Harry Worth, a reference you won’t f***ing get unless you were alive the last time England won any f***ing thing at international level! We’re gonna do f***ing great outside the EU, aren’t we?
Kanye West was among the shining stars of 2016. Not only did he release the album The Life Of Pablo but he had a high-level meeting with Donald Trump, who he endorsed as Presidential candidate.
Face it, C***ye, in the NCP of our collective consciousness, you are a f*ing stretch limo parked diagonally across ten f***ing spaces! You are such a vast f***ing waste of human and media and natural energy resources you’ve probably personally f***ing shortened the expectancy of human life on earth by about 20 f***ing years! You belong in some sort of f***ing hip-hop home! Instead, God f***ing help us you’re probably gonna end up as f***ing Attorney General and getting us into a f***ing beef with North Korea that will ensure our next generation of kids are gonna be born with three f***ing eyes and no limbs. Seriously, everyone needs to stop marvelling at you as of today. You’re a pitiful little c***! Locate your private hole, using both f***ing hands and f**\ off down it!
Despite the censure he suffered in the Chilcot report, Tony Blair has contemplated a high-level return to British politics.
Sure, and Rolf f***ing Harris is contemplating a return to f***ing Royal portraiture! F*** off back to the tanning lounge, you glassy-eyed, chinless, Christian f***ing Ozymandias, Prick of Pricks, we need you back in f***ing British politics like we need f***ing penis fungus! Seriously! Shoo! Get the f***ing message, you f***ing catastrophe on legs! F*** off as far as a f***ing cannon will shoot you, you unbearable, greasy, corporate, war-loving, cocksucking c***!
The BBC Music Awards were one of the highlights of the musical calendar; they saw Coldplay being voted top in the Best British Artist, ahead of David Bowie.
I wonder whose f***ing clueless arse they pulled out the envelope of for that f***ing one, eh? F***ing Coldplay! Like plodding through piss in ever f***ing decreasing circles! But face it, that’s the f***ing BBC for you across the board, isn’t it? The f***ing current affairs equivalent of Coldplay! Desperately f***ing tepidly “Please don’t privatise us!” – inoffensive, except when they’re indulging their f***ing ratings-hungry f***ing cocksucking hard-on for fascists like f***ing Marine Le Pen! I bet if David Bowie had never f***ing apologised for making those fascist comments, they’d have f***ing made him artist of the year all right, and had him on f***ing Question Time once a month till the end of his f***ing life!
Another big political upset this year was “Brexit”, in which 52% of Britons voted in a Referendum to leave the European Union.
Yes – the British f***ing people have spoken. Hatchback, Daily Mail, ironed jeans, area with good schools, Muslims-suspecting, Daily f***ing Mail, Strictly-loving, queer-fearing, Clarkson worshipping, Daily c***f***ing Mail, sensible, police-trusting, political correctness has gone too far, Dacre’s shit-eating, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, suicidally stupid f***ing c***shitting Britain has spoken and f***ed us forever right back to the f***ing pre-Norman age! Seriously, there’s nothing about this f***ing country that banning anyone white, over 40 and living in the f***ing countryside wouldn’t f***ing cure! But it’s too f***ing late for that isn’t it? We’ve got Cruella De F***ing May as Prime Minister, a fat, smirking, disgusting blob of attention-seeking, disaster-courting pigshit as foreign secretary and a f***ing upcoming generation whose best life prospects involve f***ing swimming to f***ing Albania!
Finally, 2016 has been a year in which many much-loved celebrities have passed away, in most cases long before their time. Here is a roll call.
Rupert Murdoch.
James Murdoch.
Nigel Farage.
Robert Mugabe.
Paul Dacre.
Boris Johnson.
Michael Gove.
Jose Mourinho.
Henry Kissinger.
Morrissey.
Donald Trump.
Mike Pence.
K*** H*****\
Bono.
Nigel Farage again.
Here’s to great f***ing things in 2017, eh?
