25 thoughts on “Mike Love”

1. The mystique of The Beach Boys is down to the Wilson brothers (mainly Brian) alone… But there is Mike Love (and his lapdog, Bruce Johnston. Not an original Beach Boy anyway!) touring the world with their chicken in a basket cabaret act… Love claims to everyone within earshot that he is ‘the keeper of the flame’ and that he (as he has done for many years now) ‘is’ The Beach Boys… When all the cunt does is butcher Brian Wilson classics and use the name and songs of a great band to peddle his crappy tribute act, rake in the cash and give himself an ego wank….

   Love also sabotaged and scuppered the ‘Smile!’ project… Brian wanted to expand and progress ever further… But Love wouldn’t have it. Love was hostile to Van Dyke Parks (Brian’s then collaborator), Love openly hated new material like “Heroes and Villains” and Love didn’t want to better “Pet Sounds”: Instead he wanted the Boys to keep rehashing “I Get Around” or do cheesy guff like ‘Be True To Your School”…

   Mike Love really is a monumental Mount Rushmore of a cunt!

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2. I would fucking love to nominate Social Justice Warriors on Tumblr. This unfortunate band of rabid ultra-liberal douchebags came to my attention because a former school friend turned into one in a transformation as hideous as watching Jeff Goldblum turn into a giant house-fly monster in the movie The Fly, except this was a transformation into a giant self righteous cunt.

   Basically this batch of belching cunts claim to be internet activists raging against the injustices of rascism, homophobia, transphobia etc. etc. etc. Which might sound fine but let me explain why in this case it’s not fine, not by a CUNTry mile.

   Rather than trying to make people more accepting and understanding my reaching out to people and stating their case calmly in a way that’s going to get people on their side (like a real activist would) these little fuckflakes spew hate at anyone who doesn’t agree precisely with their ridiculous shit opinions or is a straight white male. Basically if you’re a straight white male you’re too ‘privileged’ to ever possible understand or sympathise with the terrible ‘oppression’ these special little snowflakes suffer at the hands of the EVIL ‘patriarchy’. In fact even if you’re a gay while male you’re also too much of a mainstream member of society for these people and therefore another evil minion of the ‘patriarchy’.

   So how can I be enough of a special case, social outsider for these fucking people [sic: cunts] you might ask? Well you have to identify as some obscure, made up sexual orientation like being Demisexual (whatever the fuck that means), being trans, or genderfluid or genderqueer helps too, as does being a man hating feminist, a vegan, or Otherkin (Otherkin needs it’s own paragraph to explain, so here goes):

   People who are “Otherkin” are people who believe that in their souls there are actually animals or some kind of mythical creature. I shit you not. Not only do they believe that but it’s important that the rest of society should recognise them for it and make them feel accepted, presumably by patting them on the head or something. These people’s sense of entitlement to express their identities extends to barking at customers at work, which obviously doesn’t go down well, so they bitch on their shite cunty little blogs about what a heinous injustice it is that their employer won’t let them express the fact they think they’re a fucking ‘direwolf’, or some such dorky thing, to customers. Which raises the question; are these cunts really this socially inept? Or are they just liars who are making up these fictional injustices to bleat about?

   I’m going to try to put the breaks on this rant, I just fucking hate these cunts so much it’s hard to stop but to summurise why these cunts are such gaping cunts: they don’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves, they assert their identities in fucking bullet points, like only a true cunt would do and try to one up each other in the ‘who’s the most oppressed special little flower olympics’, they use special conditions as excuses for their inadequacies, they don’t really give a fuck about anyone else, they just want the whole world to bend over backwards to make concessions to them because they’re smug, self righteous, bitter little cunts with victim complexes, they’re fucking hypocrites as well, the cunty little shitcunts.

   Basically if you had an actual cunt within a cunt, within a cunt, within a cunt that went on infinitely, cunts within cunts forever, it wouldn’t be half as cunty a fucking cunt as these Tumblr social justice warrior cunts are, the fucking cunts.

   Don’t take my word for it though, check out these cunts in action, leaking their contemptuous, nonsense cuntjuice out across the internet:
   http://wtfsocialjustice.tumblr.com/

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   • Good cunting. I clicked on the link, but I could only stand it for about ten seconds. Still, I can see why you hate these fuckers. They make it so easy.

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3. Meh. I’ve checked my privilege and they’re still cunts.

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4. Ed Queeran.
   Ginger.
   Shit music.
   Ginger
   Ugly fucking spazzock.
   Ginger.
   Mates with some daft niggers like Dizzy Cuntstal.
   Ginger
   Could have shagged Smelly Goulding, didn’t.
   Ginger.

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   • And he’s up Taylor Swift… The little ginger cunt…

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   • Nice. I’ll see if ChasC can set it to music…

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5. If I may nominate this BT ad:

   The face of a cunt

   http://sport.bt.com/pages/sport/images/gareth-bale-header.jpg

   Hate the fucking jasper in this picture. Why is this cunt staring out of me newspaper at me every sodding day? No idea who the cunt is. Do not care who the cunt is. Only know that the bugger is the personification of cunt. Little arse lick on the bottom lip. Obviously lower ranks with very little between the ears but accustomed to taking a few big ones up the arse. In fact recall me old mess sergeant in Burma peddling a little squaddie with a very similar piece of bum at a shilling a poke.
   Cunt’s been saluting me arse for weeks now in me khazi. More satisfaction and cheaper than Andrex.

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   • I’ll check it out Limply…

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   • Apparently some cunt called ‘Gareth Bale’. I’d never heard of him personally but he’s the face of BT sport even though he’s reportedly leaving Spurs and fucking off to Real Madrid.

     Seems cunts like this are just impossible to get rid of…

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6. Bale is a pretty good footballer, but he’s way overrated… People talk about him like he is George Best… Bale also popularized the extremely poncey heart shaped hands goal celebration… So he deserves a cunting for that (and he is Welsh!)…

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7. A cunt by any other name…

   I hope everyone realises that the rest of the nation plays ‘Is A Cunt’ but has a different name for it. Everyone else calls it “National Treasures”. Think of all the people routinely referred to as “national treasures” – Stephen Fry, Sandi Toksvig, Miranda Hart, Alan Titchmarsh, even Morrissey, for fuck’s sake. CUNTS! CUNTS! CUNTS!

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   • Absolutely, Fred… Those seen as national treasures are indeed cunts: Sandi Toksvig is a mega cunt and so are the others you mentioned…

     And there are more… Cliff Richard, “Sir” Elton John, Helen Mirren, Jeremy Clarkson and now that cunt who plays Sherlock (Jeremy Brett is ‘the’ Sherlock Holmes and Tom Baker is ‘the’ Dr. Who, so the BBC can fuck right off!).

     Then of course there is there are the national treasures of the arsewipe tabloid press and the riff-raff who read them: The Beckhams, Katie “any which way you can” Price, Simon Cowell, Noel Gallagher (and his cunt of a brother), Peter Kay, Cheryl Cole, Wayne and Coleen Rooney… The national treasure cunt quota in Britain is now massively high…

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8. Indeed, Mike love is not as good as his piers ,and he gave Sandy Shaw crabs in the sixties.

   (Beach Boy puns > explanation for full retards)

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9. Andy Murray

   Right that’s that then. Murray is now back to full ugly gurning scot’s cunt status. Been done up like a kipper by some kid. Temporary British flag bearer award is here-bye revoked. We shall see how long his new dyke coach lasts. What a total cunt.

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   • Did you really have any faith in that sporen wearing, English hating miserable jock cunt?

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     • Won Wimbledon, get over it.

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   • Fucking loved watching him lose. He only won last year because Novak had an off day.

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10. Coldcunts –
    Two years in the making, alternative rock band Coldplay’s new album, essentially a concept piece about Chris Martin’s break-up with Gwyneth Paltrow, has certainly garnered a number of extremely favourable reviews. In today’s harsh critical climate when major groups can expect to be torn to pieces by a fearless music press regardless of the consequences, that’s remarkable indeed. It’s all the more remarkable given that all things considered, Ghost Stories is from its arse to its f***ing elbow, one, long stagnant f***ing pool of premium grade f***ing cockwash! I would rather chew off my f***ing scrotum than ever listen again to this boneless f***ing melange of morose f***ing piss-shit! I would rather eat an entire f***ing yurt, washed down with f***ing beige paint recently shat out of an incontinent yak’s anus! Put it this way; so remorselessly insubstantial is this album that if it were submitted to the f***ing British Homeopathic Association as a f***ing potential remedy, they’d f***ing knock it back, saying: “No good, mate. You’ve over-diluted it, you silly twat!”

    Never in human f***ing history, since fish first slithered onto the f***ing land and sprouted limbs has there been a more nondescript f***ing decade than the f***ing Noughties and never has there been a more nondescript f***ing group than those gelatinous c***lords Coldplay! They made Dido sound like Bessie f***ing Smith! They filled the giant f***ing void in pop culture in the early 21st century because they are a giant f***ing void! Somehow, Martin’s knack for trudging up and down a keyboard like a middle aged man in f***ing chinos strolling to the f***ing corner shop to buy the f***ing Daily Express while singing like he’d just been kneed in the f***ing bollocks caught the zeitgeist of the dullest, do-nothing, think-wishfully generation of all f***ing time! In the rock & roll hall of fame they sit near the f***ing exit like a f***ing birch veneer occasional f***ing table! Getting excited about f***ing Coldplay is like getting excited about the f***ing Liberal Democrat Spring conference!

    Anyway, Martin got married to f***ing Gwyneth Paltrow, that ghastly, gulping, giraffe-necked, sick-making long drink of carb-averse goop, they created their own f***ing hole in the f***ing ozone layer flying around the world with Martin warbling about how concerned they were about the f***ing environment, spawned a couple of sprogs and saddled them with life-ruining names, promoted every f***ing vapid strain of spiritual, anti-materialist New Age nonsense while raking in the f***ing ackers like whorehounds and then finally “consciously uncoupled”, though it’s a f***ing wonder either of them could stay f***ing conscious in each other’s company at all, given that they’re the two most testicle-achingly f***ing tedious people on earth! And now Chris is sad. He feels like shit. And he’s perfectly conveyed that unremittingly f***ing excremental condition on f***ing Ghost Stories!

    So, track one ‘Always In My Head’ sets the f***ing dolorous tone. “I think of you/I haven’t slept.”, whines Martin, while f***ing George, Ringo and Ringo or whoever the f*** the other three are try not to fall asleep at their f***ing instruments. Next up, ‘Magic’. No, sorry, it’s not about actual magic. Tommy f***ing Cooper retrieving the f***ing ace of spades from a pack using a f***ing blindfolded wooden duck, not that. Nothing remotely entertaining. No, as f***ing ever, Chris Martin’s here to suck all the f***ing joy out of the room like a giant f***ing Happiness Hoover! A wan swirl of keyboards, like that pink water you get at the f***ing dentist’s swilling down a f***ing metal hole, and Chris is all about how he f***ing “can’t get over” you know who.

    At which point you have to say: For f***’s sake, why, man? Gwyneth Paltrow no longer being in your life is like having a 14 inch long celery stick that’s been stuck up your arse for years surgically removed! You should be f***ing delirious! This album should be a series of f***ing honky-tonk piano-driven upbeat bangers with titles like ‘Wahoo!’ and ‘Thank F*** Almighty, Free At Last!’ and ‘I Don’t Have To Knit My Breakfast No More!’, all accompanied to the sound of six-shooters fired into the f***ing ceiling with both hands! All your f***ing friends hated her, were you not aware of that? But no, Chris is sad, so on we f***ing crawl through the cesspools of f***ing self-pity. “All I know is I love you/so much it hurts.” (yep, that stench coming from Stratford-Upon-Avon isn’t the drains, it’s f***ing Shakespeare shitting himself in his grave). I’d suggest you drown your f***ing sorrows, Chris, but it’d probably be best all round if you f***ing drowned yourself!

    Next up; ‘True Love’, to a tune akin to watered down elephant smegma slowly dripping into a f***ing plastic bucket. “I wish you could have let me know/What’s really going on below.” No, kids, he doesn’t mean genitalia. Martin and Paltrow are like 1930s Disney nymphs, they don’t f***ing have genitalia. He means f***ing feelings, the c***. Cue also the worst, truncated f***ing guitar solo in f***ing history – like a dying kitten mewing for help, then remembering that this is a world with f***ing Coldplay in it and deciding not to f***ing bother. Now “Midnight” – and guess what? Chris is alone, alone. I’m not f***ing surprised. Any evening out with him’s gonna be a f***ing brief one, with mates making their excuses and back home in time for f***ing Channel 4 News!

    ‘Another’s Arms’ begins with an androgynous, anaemic yelp that is quite possibly the whitest moment in all of popular f***ing culture. Shirley f***ing Temple serenading the f***ing Ku Klux Klan with ‘White Christmas’ during a f***ing snowstorm could scarcely be any f***ing whiter. Next ‘Oceans’. Seriously, just f*** off, you insufferable f***ing streak of twatrot! ‘A Sky Full Of Stars’ breaks into a disco house groove but it’s funkless like a f***ing HSBC staff party – “wave your arms in the air, finish your f***ing mineral water and be back at your desks at 7.15 sharp tomorrow morning!” And so the album wends on – imagine Christ, instead of having to carry the f***ing cross to f***ing Calvary having to carry a giant, ten foot long flaccid penis instead – that’s how listening to this f***ing album feels by this stage!

    Finally, the f***ing title track itself. Chris wonders if he himself is “just a ghost”. Tell you what, Martin, you woeful f***ing waste of a snail’s time, here’s one way of f***ing finding out – why not run into that f***ing brick wall head first? Twenty times, just to be f***ing sure?

    There was another track but the f***ing CD physically f***ing evaporated before I could play it. Coldplay? C***grey, more like! There’s only one f***ing substance on this earth more colourless and full of f***ing nothing than Ghost Stories and that’s f***ing Gwyneth Paltrow’s urine!

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    • Coldcunt is I am sure a very apposite description of what it must have been like to shag weirdly macrobiotic Gwennie. I salute the lad for doing his duty.

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    • That, Sir was the cunting of all cuntings.

      Thank you. You have made my last night of the first holiday I have had time to take in three years a fuckload less depressing.

      I bow to your cunting superiority.

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    • That is an exemplar of a cunting.

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    • Rather long – but then Coldplay are monumentally cuntish. IMHO their latest album is appalling and by a mile their worst so far…

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11. Ryan Giggs is a cunt. A dirty monkey with the IQ of a tattooed slag that has sex with black smelly syphilis apes.

    look at retarded monkey bastard:

    http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/A4kKDR8ZAPc/0.jpg

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12. I reckon his real name is Mike Hunt

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