Now that Thatcherite turncoat Judas hellion Cilla Black is number one in the charts her campaign of hate against low-income families can begin in earnest. A second chart topper follows the first as assuredly as a relationshit with a Geldof sister follows a Ryman League indie singer whose band has just entered the lower reaches of the top 100 and she sets light to a sleeping homeless man to celebrate. Greater triumph comes as she plays the Royal Command Performance in front of the Queen – a grotesque parade of servility that appeals massively to Cilla’s class traitor instincts. The public regard her as one of their own but how wrong they are. Perhaps the most ruthless social climber in British history Cilla is the around-the-way girl who will suffocate you in your sleep then sell your children into slavery.
Perhaps the most ruthless social climber in British history Cilla is the around-the-way girl who will suffocate you in your sleep then sell your children into slavery.
Over in the executive bathroom Bob the Prod thinks Brian is trying to Jew her out of some pay but he’s too busy planning 9/11 to stiff Cilla. In any case Brian has plans for Bobby. On the understanding that he will suck circumcised schlong daily for the rest of his natural life Epstein offers him a recording contract. It’s incredible: all his dreams come true and at the trifling cost of a lifetime of sexual slavery. How proud of and delighted for him will Cilla be?
Not at all is the answer of course. She forbids him from doing it because she’s a sociopath and it doesn’t fit in with her scumbag Tory fuck you Jack ethic. Like the dickless piece of shit he is Bobby goes along with it. Good God he’s an invertebrate fuck. After much to-and-fro and a bullshit breakup he eventually gets to put his cock in her at the Grand and her bush is indeed grand.
“Bloody ‘ell girl – it’s like Epping Forest down there” he says.
“Come ‘ead soft lad – put your cock in me!”
Fortunately that’s a scene we don’t get to see. We do get to see the rapid disintegration of Brian however. He’s still getting gay bashed by gays – the worst kind of gay bashing – and popping more pills than Richard Carpenter to kill the pain. When it comes his fatal overdose is but a formality. “I guess he just took one cock too many” says the investigating officer sadly, removing his helmet. Plod may not have agreed with his lifestyle choices but the death of a young man – any young man – is always a tragedy.
It’s a different story when the news reaches Cilla and Bob in New York though.
“It’s Brian, girl” says Bob “He’s dead like a cunt, the big fairy!” and they collapse laughing.
“Bad luck, Bri!” squeals Cilla bashing the table with her hand between choking gales of laughter. “Ta-ra!”
The rest of course is history. Cilla moves into broadcasting and the final stage of her blitzkrieg can begin. She becomes the highest paid performer on British TV. Later in life she aggressively supports the Margaret Thatcher regime that conducted an emotional and legislative terror campaign against gay and lesbian men and women and she will remember her beloved Brian every step of the way.
What a piece of shit.
The verdict: The unexpected hits you between the eyes.
Marks out of 10: 7