deal or no deal
I confess I cross my fingers in hope that the contestant walks away with 50p, especially the ones with a sob story about their lucky numbers being supplied from the deathbeds of cherished relatives.
Get a load of his latest pseudo-philosophical despatches.
licence fee revolt
Edmonds has announced that he will not pay the BBC licence fee. He evidently likes to see himself as a defender of the proletariat. This is a rather interesting position for him to take, having spent a career using licence payers’ money in order to fund enriching enterprises such as Mr fucking Blobby.
Edmonds was paid £1.8m by the BBC just to fuck off once people decided they’d had enough of the sensory terrorism that was the lamentably long-running ‘House Party’, yet he won’t cough up an annual £139.50? The cock.
and finally… the sick children
Why is Edmonds forever associating himself with sick children? I know I possess a cynical mind, but doesn’t this strike you as the behaviour of a popularity-craving twat? Why does he not drop the fucking gifts off anonymously instead of filming it for a television programme, designed to milk mawkish tears from bovine Sky viewers?
He surely doesn’t imagine that a terminally ill child suffering from a futile course of chemotherapy will think ‘Cor, at least I met Noel Edmonds from the telly!’ before slipping into fevered unconsciousness?
There must be at least a part of Edmonds that thought, ‘Hey, if I swan into a children’s ward at Christmas with my beard and a sack of presents, I’ll be as popular as Santa! And more importantly, I’ll be quids-in! In years to come, people won’t talk about Santa or Father Christmas, they’ll talk about The Good Saint Noel! I’m even CALLED Noel! This is destiny! Those bastards at the Beeb who cancelled my shitty show’ll rue the day they let me go!’