the Barking Murders (now with bonus track)

(Ah they know me well, TV people. I DO enjoy murdering gay men in my spare time. I don’t do anything to them beforehand though, hope they got that right. Also, preferred weapon: golf clubs. Made to measure, obviously. You don’t want to injure yourself swinging the thing. That’d be silly. No, something light, elegant, possibly with my initials on it... But more on that later.)

What an epic age of Stoopid this has been so far, my friends! (Bear in mind I’m writing this in the unlikely event of someone with basic comprehension skills reading it and deriving some sort of grim satisfaction from it. That rules out 99.8 % of you. Yep. Tiny niche. I’d dumb it down, but my aim is not to sell lousy t.shirts. This is not Barkingpawrium, 30% off everything -except music-.)
You probably don’t remember the forgettable phrase ^ and it also probably escaped your notice that it was I who coined it (you can amuse yourself by looking it up in the what are you thinking thread, I guarantee lockdown will fly by!) . You know I do (did) say a lot of things . I erased a lot of evidence of that, didn’t want the Gestapo to ask boring questions later, but yes, I did, including things about Chinese peeps, although I’m afraid those words were misconstrued. Indeed, me, I would never say things like “it smells Chinese!” in a Chinese market. First, because I have no interest in going to China ; which is not saying I’m not interested in Asia and all the mysterious illnesses it has to offer to a European with a sensitive digestive system (although, to be fair, that might just be cancer, how the hell would I know. ) But mostly because I don’t really fancy passing for a patronizing plonker who evidently lost his way whilst on a bald (the dangers of gluing a pith helmet to your head) pub crawl in Marbella. Yes, another one. Is it my fault if all British males make arses of themselves abroad? Yes, maybe. But prove it.

Where does one find such feeble-minded folks, you ask? Well I am equally nonplussed. I mean, statistically, your chances on crossing paths with an idiot on the internet are very high, certainly, but how come the flow of mindlessness is so constant? You have to really make a conscious effort to avoid relaying anything intelligent for such an extended period of time. I picture hundreds of minions working tirelessly behind the scenes to select only the dumbest and ugliest shit available anywhere.

I had no idea Narcissism was so powerful. Well I’ve always known it was a force to be reckoned with, so much so in my case I think it’s better and safer to ignore it, as I’m only a wee thing really, but the strength of that black hole! And how a total arse can aggregate multitudes of morons from all over the world! And how they form intricate constellations that nobody intelligent ever looks at, but that still make the aspiring astronomer intermittently gasp at their otherworldly non-intelligence!
If that’s not proof there is a God somewhere else, I don’t know what is!

Gaze at Moronissey Central, that ceaseless wonder! You’d have thought it’d have extinguished itself by now, burnt out, being so consistently aflame with ineptitude! Oh ye dogs of little fleas! Behold! Behold that Phoenix of Preposterousness!
It is true that every piece of nIncompoopery there gets a new life here, dutifully reported like the Gospel according to St Dork (when it could all have been merged into one big ”the Village Idiot’s Voice” thread really, people would have felt less confused.)

Every time I see Moronissey Central, I want to sing...
Twiiinkle twinkle little ‘tard/ HowI wonder what you are/ Up above the world so high/ like a trust fund in the skyyy...
A deadly trap, Moronissey Central. You avoid all its posts, but one, and after a few minutes, you’re faced with some insufferably bombastic boomer splaining to you that diseases get named after the place they come from. Oh, so, the Spanish flu came free with the tapas? Did it spread to China thanks to the bald plonker mentioned above? I’m only aksing because you really seem to know what you’re talking about, Billy Boomboom.
I felt as if I had just licked a pole in Jesse T.’s favourite dive. Thankfully, I drank a glass of bleach and caught nothing, but that was close.

But that’s just one in a trillion offensively stupid things your unheard hero has given the world, via the dense nephew or some other non entity. Let’s pause here and remember the photoshopping mate and his daily wank over Marylin Monroe, (I am rather surprised that NJB hasn’t come back to haunt that one yet. Probably thinks contemptible twats aren’t worth investing in golf clubs. That’s debatable.)

Then there are the basement boneheads. One time, I saw one actually boasting about stealing a smart, cute photoshopped pic and turning it into something so grossly retarded I almost reached for Betty (my golf club). But decided it was neither worth the stain nor the strain. Still, no harm in wishing that particular thicko the worst for ruining that image of Moronissey as Dr Carter. The only thing that made him human, and you took it away!

I hope that some day there’ll be an award ceremony for the most stupid contributions during a pandemic. They need to be acknowledged, if only for the education of future generations. (note that I didn’t participate before this entry.)
The award for the stupidest tour manager ever hands down goes to ...Donnie Nutsack, for his “Social distancing, London!” post! Well done Dodo. Shortly before flying home, along with some clueless musos (look mum I’m on a plane! And again!) , still dizzy with success , eager to share their good fortune and a virus with as many unsuspecting Americans as they could. You really can’t get much dumber than show-biz dumb.
By the way, MoronisseyOfficial, do you know the saying "Don’t pass on anything you can’t spell"?
-No, what’s that, coronavirus?
Nah, Dumbasses. ADVICE.

Oh how we laugh.

What can I say, illiterate cretins, they’ll always be special to me. If you want me to notice you, just mispel something inept, I’ll be all over you like flies over a roadie. Mary me Dodo. Oh, you’re ded!

Mind you, I spose a literate person is hard to come by in this day and age... That’s when a ‘orific writer overly fond of licking orifices comes in handy. It’s just sad that nobody can take her seriously after a look at her twitter feed. Coffee and cats.Wow. I’ve met edgier twelve year old goth girls. Plus, their mouths smelled better.

Did Stephen K. really write something like when a virus wants in...It was in that the Outsider which they also discuss epidemics, incidentally...

It’s like that with stupidity. Moronissey’s stupidity really really wants in. But the more it wants in, the more it stays outside. The more it insults our intelligence, ...well, the more it insults our intelligence. Moronissey, even as a virus, isn’t going anywhere.

Writing eulogies for rapists and degenerates and looking like Elton John’s country cousin, shopping for garments he’ll never get to wear because the evol virus the media invented sent him home early and Vegas, like fun, has been postponed, well he might as well be one of us. Why keep pretending he’s anybody? Giving a lecture about Chinese markets after packing people like pigs in the Wembley arena without antibiotics is enough to make a hospital porter die of shame really (no sweat, we’ve established he’s not his real dad, he really has nothing to feel guilty about.)(It’s the local butcher. I’ve already said.)
And how Disdain looks at that poor bloke outside Harvey Nicks. Was it the first time he saw a person wearing jogging bottoms? Long before el Coco came along, Disdain too was afraid he might catch something (which is ironic in his case, as he probably has all the humadiseases in the galaxy. Lice, too.)
I think even Melania would have paused and given a quid. It’s good for an arsehole to have a redeeming feature. An ambassador for the red cross helps people forget. Disdain doesn’t help people forget. At all. And he really has a face made for golf courses (but I suppose he gets that all the time...)

Yep. The only thing I’ve forgotten, in all this very thick time, is to listen to Moronissey.
Although, in, what has it been since the last sound reached my ears, a couple of years? I heard one song, so he does get airplay! It was in a supermaket and he got cut off by an anouncement of some sort just as I was finding that voice grating. Awww. It was that gay* song.
Apart from that, blissful silence.

Millionaires can rest, and ride out the epidemic sauntering through Switzerland with their trophy valet without a care in the world. All their efforts haven’t been in vain: by unleashing all their offensive cretinous worst they have boosted my immune system. I am as deaf as a post but I listen to an awful lot of classical music on the radio. For Science, I’m still an Enigma.

• I know, there’s a lot to choose from, it was the gay duet. With Teddy Nobody or whatever his name was. I’m sorry the Sonderstab Musik’s other efforts will remain a mystery... Well, as they say, you’ll always

Readers, I can’t leave you without a joke.

-How do you spot a narcissist at a funeral? don’t! He’s at the pub!

Having a drink isn’t a bad way to mourn. My only concern would be, will there be enough random dolts to throw peanuts at? At Moronissey’s funeral, I think we needn’t worry, but I am really getting a bit concerned about mine.

After all, we all might be gone tomorrow. I think the guy looking dapper all in black with his two feet sticking out like children’s coffins might soon run out of things to say though. Who knows?

PS quick write-a- letter to Russell B. :
Trying to flog off your wife’s book the other day was a crass move. I can see why your cat packed it in. Love, Baba.


Peepl who say Moronissey is begging for a bullet are absolutely correct. Being unable to refer to Hong Kong Fluey when your last album has "dog" in the title, you have to be a seriously senile, permanently drunk one-gag Krusty. Does he even know what a pun is? "Kung Flu"? Beyond pathetic. Who does that amuse? I bet even Donald has better jokes.

The Hong Kong flu killed one million people around the world. Tragically, it missed its target in the Manchester area. Just like the Asian Flu before.
Can all this luck go on forever?
You'll change your mind.
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