The wedge conked allegedly comic once cutting edge cunt now in premature middle age is about as persistent as a dose orf NSU (non specific urethritis – a cunt pox cunts) and looks like one. First encountered the whiffy bastard in me arse end touring days in the early 1980s when it was part orf a comedy oitfit called The Mighty Boosh on the Student Union/Arts Venue gig circuit. To this day when passing through shite holes like Hemel Hempstead, Crewe and Sunderland Yours Truly still gets olfactory flashbacks orf the cunt’s feet.

The venues are the pits and so are the dressing rooms. Booze sticky carpets exuding body odour and stale fags with khazis encrusted and blocked with shite and gaspers welcome the right-on thesp gagging for a piss at the end orf a long day orn the road. The seasoned pro soon learns to piss in the sink and not use it to wash in.

To return to the cunt in question and the weirdness orf the one nighter touring life, one never sees who has gone before or who comes after – just an old poster, a few cards, some pins in the carpet (bastards) and a blended aroma orf all the previous bodies with highlights orf all the previous cunts personal habits sitting orn top. No mistaking the sickly pong orf the cunt Fielding’s feet. Sir Limply’s Top Tip – strike some matches then inhale/exhale some spliffs and somehow Fielding’s orange tinted body make-up plastered all over the fixtures and fittings and blocking the sinks and shower transforms into perfect karma and eternal truth.

Now this once transitory figment is in yer fucking face all the fucking time – how the hell did that happen? Talking heads, game shows, reality TV, Bake Orf, the cunt is in them all. No obvious talent, no personality, just an insincere little smirk and some cunty prop like bunny ears or an arse hole hat.

Truly the pox that is never cured.

Nominated by Sir Limply Stoke