Grown Up Gossip & Internet Villainy
Is it possible that there’s a direct correlation between Readers’ Letters going into hibernation for a couple of weeks and you lot losing your minds?
It certainly seems that way to us. This week has been a bumper Christmas annual of bad form and spirit crushing idiocy and we have you to thank for it. Yes, you the reader. You’re scum and we love it.
Gird your loins, it’s time for a trawl through the foetid hecklerspray post bag.
You’re stunningly dull sometimes, readers.
We toil away, day after day writing some of the most libellous nonsense on the internet and all you have to say is “Ha.” or “Good work.” or maybe the occasional, “Yes, I agree with your pathological dislike of digestive biscuits”.
This week has seen our foetid pouch of correspondence whimper under the sheer weight of your tiresome opinions. Not once did we read something that truly shocked us and not once did we cry out with joy at someone’s obsessive missive. That being said, we have to make a feature out of it so here’s us over-reacting to your comments.
Every week, hecklerspray is inundated with people who have opinions about us, our lives, our right to do the job we do and the celebrities that we take the piss out of. It’s always delightful to sit and sift through page after page of people telling us that we should be killed or have various parts of our anatomies sheered off by a sharpened snowboard.
Of course, those ones are our favourites and they’re the ones that we keep for ourselves and take to bed with us at night so that the burning hatred of the reader can keep us warm in our cold beds.
These ones are for you…
Hello dipsticks. We haven’t done a readers’ letters for a while have we? To be honest, we’ve been busy. Busy lording it up at an award ceremony and, prior to that, begging you for votes and rigging the process so that we definitely won.
Also, we’ve been very wounded by those slating the video. We take all your insults personally and it’s very hard of us… *bites fist and fights tears*… sorry… it’s just… we try our best y’know?
Okay. We don’t. We’re lazy. Very lazy. And unprofessional. And liars. Either way, we’ve waddled back to the foetid sack of letters and correspondence and, Christ, you lot are still as barking as ever. Shall we have a look together? You’ll find some white-supremacy and bad spelling!
There’s nothing weirder than finding people who are so obsessed with something that they’re willing to go to any length of internet-based conflict in order to defend their nonsensical beliefs. It is a trait most often seen in fans of Muse, Twilight, INXS, Queen and, quite inexplicably, Larry David. There are few things that hecklerspray writers love more than these people. The ‘whine’ of fans.
And so we come to our weekly perusal of our post, the time that- for us- is the closest we’ll ever come to having sex with Ann Widdicombe. We approach the post bag with a mixture of terror and morbid curiosity with only a modicum of sexual excitement, we reach out our shaking, clammy paws.
Find out what becomes of us over the jump…
In a week where people decided it was time to overthrow an oppressive regime, the hecklerspray bedsit has been full of rumours that Editor Mof’s reign of terror might finally be coming to an end.
That was before we were all lashed to our typewriters and forced to hammer out words about Alfonso Ribeiro’s career and Kim Kardashian’s vagina. All in a week’s work.
Still, the time has come for us to dig our hands deep into the vomit-soaked correspondence satchel and find the best and worst of our readers’ views.
Every week, the hecklerspray postbag overflows with the kind of putrid bile usually reserved for the Right Wing media telling people of different creeds, colours or sexual orientation how everything they’ve ever done or thought is filth which should be banned and then burned on a pyre while the ranks of middle England’s disaffected gentry dance around in sports jackets, caterwauling into the sky.
Of course, usually we love that kind of thing. All of you people coming over and telling us that we’re poor excuses for both “journalists” and “human beings” really gets us off.
That is to say, it really gets the editorial staff off and once they’ve reassured the writers enough that they stop crying floods of crocodile tears, they have a little fumble with themselves over people calling them “scum” and “Scrappy Doo”.
Hello skid pans. We’ve got our waders on again, which means it is time once more to get stuck into the silage that is the letter bag. And good lord, it really hums this week. Seriously. Imagine the smell of an uncovered war-grave.
Multiply that by ten are you’re nowhere near close.
Of course, there’s the usual abuse and junk this week, just like any other week. And mercifully, the Michael Jackson fans are back again, arousing us with their bile. We’ve also got someone defending Christian Bale in a very amusing fashion, not to mention someone talking about smelling Avril Lavigne’s hair. Let us sift the floating scum together like we’re panning for gold amongst the turds.
It’s that time of the week again where we put on industrial strength rubber gloves, strap on our personal protective equipment, snap our goggles into place and go for a swim in the murky depths of the hecklerspray post bag. There really is nothing more refreshing on a muggy, humid day than going for a swim through the tepid bile that you lot spray out of your brains.
Unfortunately Editor Mof has been forced into mediating a disagreement between two hecklerspray writers which has already seen Kris Silver thrown into a pile of discarded post bags where- unfortunately- his left hand dissolved due to the build up of acid. In hindsight he’ll feel that suggesting to Paul Pencott that he take on the role of Kris’ “business hand” has been his worst professional decision to date.
Nevertheless, while they all engage in a fight to the death, let’s take a look at how many of you have suggested that we die in a fire this week.
Hello skidmarks. How are we all? Don’t answer that because we honestly couldn’t care less. That’s because we’re far too busy sifting through the lunacy of the ‘spray mailbag. And by jove, there are some Grade A nutters about.
Of course, the obligatory Michael Jackson Mentalists are shouting at us while draped in soiled bedsheets, holding a solitary candle aloft in tribute to the world’s most famous freak show.
However, in a weird turn of events, the mailbag got sexy this week with some absolute filth pouring from your dirty, dirty mouths. Seriously. Over the jump you’ll find some appallingly x-rated rants from readers. Shall we? Lets.
