Needy Radio Listeners Wanting Attention

Since integrating into your green & pleasant land I`ve taken to having the radio on sometimes and it strikes me that I get annoyed about …
People Who Need A Mention On The Radio
There are two kinds of vagini here …
1) Please tell [add name here] that I love them deeply and always will. You are my rock and best friend. I cannot live without you.
2) Just to let you all know that I`m organising a wedding this morning for several hundred people whilst also doing the cooking & looking after the kids (single parent, obvs) prior to arranging a family holiday later this evening before taking the Range Rover in for an MOT whilst doing a double shift at work.

As per the above, (1) – why don`t you tell them to their face? Seriously, nobody else is interested in your sad little life.

And (2) – yet you still found time to let millions of other fuckwits know via to an inane radio show and tell everyone who again, don`t give a shit about your sad little life.

What is wrong with these twats?

I`m guessing its because they don`t get enough attention on whatever slimy advertising platform they`ve joined on the interweb.

BBC News

Nominated by: Sam Beau

44 thoughts on “Needy Radio Listeners Wanting Attention

  1. It was done for me once, the morning of my fifth birthday .. I recall being completely nonplussed.

    I imagine adults that get a thrill from hearing their name read off a card by some cunt must not have much going on.

  2. I was doing a little job in the garage the other day and thought I’d stick the radio on. It was tuned to Radio 2, as I like to listen to Johnny Walker on a Sunday afternoon, when I get the chance.
    I have no idea who the cunt was that came burbling through the ether that evening, some white cunt pretending to be a black cunt, pathetic.
    The caller he was speaking to sounded just like the person in the nom, absolutely nauseating.
    I turned the cunt off and fired up an angle grinder, for a more satisfying listening experience.

    Get To Fuck.

  3. Just to let you know I sailed round the world, learned to speak Urdu, discovered a cure for cancer and made a documentary for the BBC entitled ‘White Britons are all Far-Right racist scum’, and all before breakfast.

    Morning Sam.

    • I love you Geordie and want you to have my babies.
      Seriously, they`re all yours – please take them.
      👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿👶🏿

  4. And people saying to the DJ ‘love the show today’ in the hope that it’ll put them top of the list to get their name read out on air.
    Cunts.

  5. I suppose that radio is an ideal outlet for the sad, attention seeking idiots.

    They can tell the listeners about their mundane lives without having to cope with the replies of……

    “So fucking what?”
    “Who gives a fuck?”
    “Fuck off and die”

    etc………

    If they tried the same shit on Facebook or X (formally Twitter) they may have to put up with some hurty words or perhaps not enough ‘likes’ which would send them to their safe places.

  6. It’s the same as the bizarre instinct which prompts attention seekers to publish intimate details of their life on Cuntbook or Twatter. Just “me, me, me – look at my lovely life and circle of wonderful friends…my life is better than yours…”. It’s nearly always lies and fantasy.

    But it’s not a new phenomenon. Anyone remember those sad, lovelorn stories Simon Bates used to read out on his radio show in the 80’s, accompanied by that miserable, whining self-pitying music? That always had me reaching for the off-dial quicker than a sand-dweller jumping off a dinghy on Dover Beach.

    • Worked in a factory where one department would be listening to Master Bates with his wrist slitting voice about some pathetic person and I would tell them to get that shite off, or they’ll be getting similar treatment from yours truly.

    • Used to listen to that show, go to work afternoon shift and compare notes on the cunts. Used to pass the time.

    • Simon Bates?
      That just reminded me working on a building site a few decades ago – Master Bates was reading one of those love stories out – the couple who were on, then off then back on then off only for one of them to catch some awful illness and for them to get back together so one could watch the other one die and get whatever the poor cunt had earned etc. Well it was all very sad until the end and Master Bates reads out the twist – of course it was a couple of poofters and one – and I guess the other cunt probably had too – Aids – one of the brickies killed the radio with a well thrown trowel and then threw the remains off the scaffolding. No more Master Bates after that – in fact no more radio at all. Different times eh…..

  7. I love Simon Mayo’s Drivetime Show, unless it’s Friday, and then all it is is people phoning in explaining what they’re doing at the weekend.

    *footnote; just to add another reason why Jeremy Vine is a cunt of epic proportions he wanted the name of drive time shows to be altered as it “celebrates” a form of transport that kills 1700 people a year. I’ll have a beer or two when he is added to that statistic https://uk.motor1.com/news/276013/jeremy-vine-drive-time/

    • The fucking wanker. Does he want to change golf terminology and whist too? He should be driven to suicide, the cunt. I’d take him there in my turbo-diesel car.

  8. What’s wrong with these people, there is a time and a place for that sort of thing..

    Anyway ISAC, just become a fully paid up member of the far right, fire bombed a migrant hotel last night..

    And can I get a shout out to Anders Breivik’s and Brenton Tarrant love you guys..

  9. People talking inane bollocks……

    It’s The Oscar’s this weekend?

    Hours of listening to last year’s slightly above average performers giving thanks to God, their families, their partners, the film producer, the script writer, the other slightly above average people in the audience and of course, the people that voted for them.

    And then God….. Again.

    • Not to mention climate change, having a go at The Don, and this year’s topic of fashion, Gaza probably.

      Unbelieveable degree of bellendery.

  10. I remember my now dead father phoned into one of these Radio 2 Valentines “Hey everyone I’m so in love” shows, to declare to the listeners how devoted he was to my mother.

    He was dying of cancer at the time and she was still beating the shit out of him on a daily basis, as the vicious bitch had done for the duration of their 50 year marriage, a union that was distinguished only by the purest vacuum of love between them, the mortar gluing them together being purest hatred. He’d made the call to the show under the threat of “walking into another door”.

    So that’s what I tend to suspect is going on half the time when we hear these nauseating tributes on the radio (and if that’s not what’s occurring, it’s what I nonetheless wish on the narcissistic wet wipes making these entirely unsolicited saccharine, moistened declarations).

  11. I’ve always been intrigued by those ‘busy, working mums’ who proliferate on some radio phone ins.
    Always ‘juggling’ this and that, whilst stoically soldering on.
    Yet they somehow manage to find the time to sit in a call queue to a radio station for fuck knows how long in order to have their whinge.
    Meanwhile, there’s probably an even more busy dad, working his plums off in some shitty job so he can put food on the table, who wouldn’t dream of complaining to a two bob radio presenter.
    So what if it’s a struggle to get Jonty and Jemima to gymnastics on a Wednesday.
    No one gives a flying fuck!

  12. Dont use radio at all now.
    R4 now shite. Packed in Today programme during lockdown (all cunts) Rest of it seemingly run for and by effniks.
    Music radio dreadful – autotuned XFactor tripe or old stuff regurgitated.
    Presenters all moronic.

    Anyway, they wont give me a mention for being a horrible cunt.

  13. I tend to get stuck into a really good play on radio 3, just the right length whilst watching a football match l don’t need the boring sound of the commentary, with its limited superlatives for a thought out move to a goal. Some Peter Tinniswood comedy drama for when doing the housework. An interesting topic from File on 4 about why did a couple of teenagers murder a boy who prefers being a girl, whilst I’m preparing to make myself a meal. Loads of interesting radio to take ones mind off whatever you might be doing to help things along.

  14. I have mine tuned in to radio Iman,to hear the latest chants and hate rhetoric that’s climbing the peacefulness charts ☪️…… also to keep up to speed for when I have to start taking off my 👟 at the local mosque….this week’s number 1… Galloway & the currymen singing ‘Tha knows we’re ont top’ 😵‍💫

      • Ron, if you are reading this, it`s nice to re-visit older comments. And yours are some of the better contributions. A site like this can easily degenerate & become a forum for the vociferously stupid, actual racists & hate-mongers among us.
        I like to think that this platform gives us the freedom of expression to articulate thought-through arguments with added humour & humility®™

  15. Though this goes against the nom, I would like to put a shout out to missing contributors of this great site..

    Willie stroker, Freddie the frog, cuntybollocks and many more..

    Come back, MNC reign of terror is over..🤣

  16. I could never be doing with Simon Bates and ‘Our Tune’.

    What a pathetic pile of cunt that was.

    My brother was at Nottingham University in the late 80’s and somehow Simon Bates was booked.

    Apparently he was trying to be funny and hip taking off Harry Enfield saying I’ve got loads of money and you’re all just poor students.

    So a group near the front all started spitting at him so much he had to leave the stage.

    I don’t condone spitting at people but there are a few exceptions.

  17. Single child syndrome (did i just invent that?).

    Needy, insecure weebles. No one else to talk to.

    Offended? I’m not sorry about that.

    The Cat has spoken.

  18. Let’s not forget those cunts that text in to let everyone know that they were “dancing around the kitchen” to the last song .
    Fucking bell ends.

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