| Author: | Charlie Brooker | ISBN: | 9780571255528 |
| Publisher: | Guardian Faber Publishing | Publication: | October 22, 2009 |
| Imprint: | Guardian Faber Publishing | Language: | English |
| Author: | Charlie Brooker |
| ISBN: | 9780571255528 |
| Publisher: | Guardian Faber Publishing |
| Publication: | October 22, 2009 |
| Imprint: | Guardian Faber Publishing |
| Language: | English |
Brooker on the BNP Party Political Broadcast: 'Nick Griffin's first line is "Don't turn it off!", which in terms of opening gambits is about as enticing as hearing someone shout "Try not to be sick!" immediately prior to intercourse.'
Brooker on Philip from The Apprentice: 'If it were legal or even possible to do so, he'd probably marry himself, then conduct a long-term affair with himself behind himself's back, eventually fathering nine children with himself, all of whom would walk and talk like him. And then he'd lock those mini-hims in a secret underground dungeon to have his sick way with his selves, undetected, for decades.'
Brooker on Royal Ascot: 'Every year it's the same thing: a 200-year-old countess you've never heard of, who closely resembles a Cruella De Vil mannequin assembled entirely from heavily wrinkled scrotal tissue that's been soaked in tea for the past eight decades, attempts to draw attention away from her sagging neck - a droopy curtain of skin that hangs so low she has to repeatedly kick it out of her path as she crosses the royal compound - by balancing the millinery equivalent of Bilbao's Guggenheim museum on her head.'
Brooker on the BNP Party Political Broadcast: 'Nick Griffin's first line is "Don't turn it off!", which in terms of opening gambits is about as enticing as hearing someone shout "Try not to be sick!" immediately prior to intercourse.'
Brooker on Philip from The Apprentice: 'If it were legal or even possible to do so, he'd probably marry himself, then conduct a long-term affair with himself behind himself's back, eventually fathering nine children with himself, all of whom would walk and talk like him. And then he'd lock those mini-hims in a secret underground dungeon to have his sick way with his selves, undetected, for decades.'
Brooker on Royal Ascot: 'Every year it's the same thing: a 200-year-old countess you've never heard of, who closely resembles a Cruella De Vil mannequin assembled entirely from heavily wrinkled scrotal tissue that's been soaked in tea for the past eight decades, attempts to draw attention away from her sagging neck - a droopy curtain of skin that hangs so low she has to repeatedly kick it out of her path as she crosses the royal compound - by balancing the millinery equivalent of Bilbao's Guggenheim museum on her head.'
