L S Lowry

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Talking of useless artists: LS Fucking Lowry, as his poor former friends knew him, should be up for a good cunting. Jesus Christ inna basket! I could do better with a tar brush and five gallons (Imp.) of distemper. If matchstick men, cats and fucking dogs was the best he could manage he should have stuck to lime-washing outside bogs for a pass time and save us having to listen to jumped up toffee nosed twats banging on about: the tonal quality, the textures and the gritty realism. It’s all fucking crap; the King is naked, open your eyes and smell the coffee people.

Not only, but also, he left those two cockney twats an opening to make their cheery-chappy, lov-a-londoner, darn-saarf foot stomper. Stomp on their fucking necks given half a chance. Perhaps Spaz-n-Drivel should be put on community service lime-washing outside shitholes and let a tribute band take their place. Fuck knows there’s enough talentless cockney wankers to fill their shoes.

Nominated by: King Cnut