Sound of the Muntergroud
By Caomhan Keane • Jul 19th, 2009 • Category: Blogs, Caomhan Keane
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“Let us not forget that she ain’t nothing more than an all singing, all dancing slab of meat culled from the cattle call that is reality television.” |
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“Let us not forget that she ain’t nothing more than an all singing, all dancing slab of meat culled from the cattle call that is reality television.” |
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“They say laughter is the best medicine, and I’m usually the first with my arse out for a shot. But there’s something about the death of Wacko that catches in my throat.” |
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“Kamikaze commuters fling themselves at carriage doors…” |
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“From the size of her lovers appendages to her abortions to her miscarriages to her surgeries to her rivals, on and on and on the stories come, making her look like some kind of pornographic Walter Mitty…” |
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“Struggling to remain upright and impersonal on public transport, we drip like condensation and fan our bodies with crumpled up free sheets…” |
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“With nowhere to get booze, and no where to get birds, those seeking solace in a fat-filled burger better think again….” |
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“Twelve years on from when things were supposed to get better, they haven’t, and Cameron believes it comes from all this pissing about with political correctness.” |
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“Perhaps they would have been happier if Newsround had just announced that Speight had left CBeebies and gone to live on a farm like several of Blue Peter’s cats and dogs…” |
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“A barrage of notes, quotes and scathing criticism is hurtling towards its inevitable end – the dole office. I wouldn’t trade it for all the tea in Tesco. But a party it wasn’t…” |
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“It’s wonderful that you’re here and you’re queer but, quite frankly, I’m tired of hearing this side of the record. Is there a b-side to your life?…” |