Clarkson's not worthy of having a newspaper column
I really hope that Jeremy Clarkson is sued by Hazel Blears.... for his complete character bash, this is the worst piece of journalism I have seen for a long time. I am not fond of Hazel Blears politics or any labour politics what so ever. How and why did the Sun's editor allow this article to be published? Its a bad day for british journalism and thats for sure.
Now, however, I cannot even watch the show at home because I get so bloody angry.
It’s odd. We are warned when a news item contains blood or flashing lights. But not when an idiot is about to pulp all your internal organs into a frenzy of rage and goo.
In the olden days, most of the country’s politicians were wise old sages whose opinions mattered. Today, however, all their power has gone to Brussels and America so their opinions are worthless.
But that doesn’t stop them sitting there, vomiting tosh into my head.
If my dog could speak, it would make more sense. A few weeks ago, Hazel Blears was on the panel.
It’s almost certain you don’t know who she is or what she does.
This is because she is only four inches tall, so you have never seen her.
Ever heard of Small Man Syndrome? Well plainly, she has it.
She’s one of those people who, you just know, thinks everything you say is a veiled attack on her diminutive stature.
But it isn’t, you short-arsed ginger nut.
It’s because you are a smug, self-satisfied, condescending, useless, jumped-up, bitter and twisted non-entity.
I’d like to say you are also a waste of space — but you aren’t even that.
Someone in the audience asked who the panel thought was to blame for the financial crisis, and Blears somehow managed to make out the fault lay with the Tories — who haven’t been in power since 1560.
Then she sat back in her high chair wearing a face that would have won a teapot lookalike competition. My wife thought I was going to explode there and then.
I was red-faced, my heart was beating like a washing machine full of wellington boots and I was trying to drag the television from the wall and get inside it so I could drag Ms Blears from the studio by her ginger barnet and dump her into a cab to Timbukbloodytoo.
I hope she’s reading this. And I hope she’s dizzy with rage. Because then she will have some idea what it feels like to be me, watching her on Question Time.
I honestly wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that several hundred thousand people with weaker hearts than mine did actually die during her performance.
And I’d like to think that, to rectify the problem, Question Time will now be broadcast only after people with weak constitutions and high blood pressure have been warned to look away.