Monday, 5 January 2009


Yes, that's right, DARTS!

dartsGeneric darts player, note the sweat, the ludicrous tattoo of their preposterous nickname and tassled loafers.

Now you may be thinking "Oh yeah, another moan about how crap darts is, fat blokes, not a sport.....blaaaah". Au contraire fucko! I love darts me! It's the ultimate battle of mind over repetetive wrist action, more so even than giving 10s across the board*! There is, however, a dark spectre being cast upon my favourite sport. That shadow comes from one man, his name is Phil Taylor.

Yesterday Taylor won his 14th world title, and he did it with a leering, sweaty, shit eating smugness that made me want to rip my teeth out, bung them into an envelope, send them to his Stokey lairage and have them bite off his glutinous face chops in a frenzy of enamel, decay and pasty flesh. Or should that be pastie flesh? There have often been rumblings in the darts world about the arrogance of PT, most notably a bust up on the oche with Chris "Mase the Ace" Mason (also a terrible cunt, but that's by the by) that ended with PT pretending to almost quit the sport in the post match interview, for being shown disrespect! What a pompous self important dough faced child that man is. His arrogance is only over shadowed by the bizarre proportions of his tiny wee pea head (ironically) to his gigantic barrel chested flesh bauble of a body. He looks like someone's balanced a particularly punchable smug pea ontop of a spacehopper full of chips and chops.

This is of course fact, and we know all these things already. My point is, during the final of the PDC world championships last night Sid "increasingly more like a geordie helium filled senile miner bird" Waddell called PT "The quintessential Englishman, the one to whom we all aspire". WHAT THE SHITTING FUCKING CRIKEY? The day i aspire to be a waddling bag of effluent braggadocio who once compared his omission from Sports Personality of the Year to the struggle (and i quote) "the coloureds" had in the sixties. Claiming that The civil rights struggle was akin to his appalling hardships in trying to convince people that darts is a sport. Effectively, PT believes that he really is a Martin Luther King figure for what is basically a pub sport! "I have a dream, a dream where overweight white men with dubious political views and a questionable attitude towards women will be able to say they are sportsmen, and sit at the front of the bus with the footballers! Snooker players and ten pin bowlers can fuck off up the back though, the lazy cunts!".

Take a look at Raymond Van Barneveld, the man is a class act, he's humble, modest, thoughtful, intelligent and one hell of a fucking dartist. The 9 darter against Jelle "Are you ready for the gabba housin' clog music intro" Klassen deserved the title in itself, and unlike PT he didn't say that if he got a 9 darter he'd give the money to charity, then pocket it anyway, like a pie filled cockmonkey. So next time, forget your national rivalry, do the right thing, support the bloke who isn't a swaggering chimp faced titbox and root for the good guy. "There's only one Phillip Taylor" indeed, one less and i'll be a happy bloke in a frock.

Oh the point has come, the very reason for this....i have become tumescent with rage and can now hardly type, as my head is throbbing like PT's stagnant fetid member as Helen Chaimberlain inexplicably puts up with his inappropriate touching and leering in a pre match interview.

Hurry up and retire you terrible terrible wankhat.

I need to have a lay down in the semi darkness.

as you were.

*Worst, yet favourite obscure euphamism of the moment.


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. Haha.. I love new year resolutions!

    Give up fags, start a blog, etc

  3. Actually it's just laziness, i meant to start this in november, i'm just a heel dragging slovenly tard!

  4. Hey Mushy, I'm looking forward to the bile this blog spews out. Nothing like a little catharsis. You might want to try a little primal screaming if you get writer's block. Hope you don't.