Hot addendum: Robert Kilroy-Silk video special...

As a valuable supplementary piece to Edward Mantle's disembowelment of Leicester's finest racist orange fox, Hot Rant presents a mini-compendium of Kilroytastic moments.

1)


2)


3) a clip from K-S's brilliantly mean spirited and short lived quiz show 'Shafted'


AC

The New Silk Route

Contributor Fish Stock returns with an assault on the very British disaster area Robert Kilroy-Silk.

Question:

Why is Robert Kilroy-Silk a twat?

Answer:

What do you mean you don’t know? Just look at his face. It’s really obvious...

In his defence I certainly don’t feel the same desire to puke on my cock every time I see/hear/read about him that I do when Morgan or Grylls are brought up. So think of this as less of a Hot Rant and more of a Warmed Tirade. But he is, as we shall see, a massive wanker.

One of my biggest gripes with him, apart from the colour of his skin [/racist], is his lack of any political stoicism. He was a university lecturer with somewhat respected and published work on socialism under his belt before becoming a labour MP, albeit an unpopular one with his backbenchers. I simply can’t understand how the man could manage to lose political direction so drastically in such a short space of time and go from this to this.

Seriously. UKIP. Really? The bizarre relationship that formed between Joan Collins, Kilroy-Silk and Gordon Brown look-a-like Roger Knapman made for brilliant headlines in the UK press at the time and provided no end of free publicity for the party – possibly why they managed to push the Conservatives into fourth place in Hartlepool prompting Kilroy-Silks calls for them to be “killed off”. Long and bland story short, it turns out that UKIP weren’t all he was hoping for so the silver-haired one defected to start his own party, Veritas, which he formed at that bastion of social equality – Hinckley Golf Club.

Obviously this couldn’t last and after leaving his role as a representative of “The Straight Talking Party” he began his current role which seems somewhat confused. Although he was elected to the European Parliament on the UKIP list and is still technically a member of Veritas he stood as an Independent MEP. His election campaign saw him quoted as saying he would spend little time at the European Parliament if elected. True to form he promptly buggered off to appear on Ant and Dicks I’m a celebrity... where he continued to receive his parliamentary wage while on the show.

However earlier this year it was announced that Kilroy-Silks name was not going to be on the list of candidates for election the EP meaning that as of 17th July when parliament reconvened he became technically unemployed. (I’m not sure if he was really very busy anyway, he hadn’t given any parliamentary speeches since 2005)

Not that he ever gets bored. If he’s not watching Everton at Goodison Park (a lifetime ticket holder - twat) he’s making ludicrously offensive comments... Discussing a rise in HIV infections in Britain in the Sunday Express he wrote “The indigenous population is not responsible.... It is the foreigners that we have to focus on.”

Not content on his berating “the foreigners” living in this country, KS finds it just as easy to criticise others around the world, specifically the Middle East:

Back in 1991 he wrote for the Daily Express that “The Muslims are backward and evil and if it is racist to say so... then racist I must be — and happy and proud, to be so.” This was just a sign of things to come as in 2004 the man published not once, but TWICE the same article, again in the Daily Express which contained the following, frankly mind-boggling, paragraph in which he discusses “the Arabs”:

“What do they think we feel about them? That we adore them for the way they murdered more than 3,000 civilians on 11 September 2001 and then danced in the hot, dusty streets to celebrate the murders? That we admire them for the cold-blooded killings in Mombasa, Yemen and elsewhere? That we admire them for being suicide bombers, limb-amputators, women repressors?”

Honestly. What was his brain doing when he typed those words? Was he having some sort of stroke? The man clearly has no desire for a quiet life. He even declared: "I don't do humble."

Actually, I think I take it back. I would like to puke on my cock after all. What a cunt. Fish Stock

Classic aggro from yesteryear...

...in which 90's funkateer and ex-Denise Van Outen's bit of rough Jay Kay (out of Jamiroquai) finds himself on the wrong end of a diminutive cab driver's thrusting pate, after acting like the world's biggest twat. COSMIC!

Please relax and soak in the joy of this remarkably little-seen clip. AC

Hot Rant Health Bulletin: Intern Down

I hate to be the bearer of upsetting news. Like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia, he probably doesn't want everyone to know it, but as of yesterday afternoon, i can confirm that Owain Rhys-Mumford, our beautiful, lazy, 'having-a-job-is-more-important-than-working-for-us-for-free" intern has contracted that most brutal of scabular ailments, IMPETIGO. Sounds jolly doesn't it? WRONG. The affliction most commonly referred to as 'student leprosy' is a vile, socially-imparing shitstorm of infectious stickiness and not, as it might sound expounded in a jovial fashion, a television magician's catchphrase.

We senior journalists here at Hot Rant must implore all our readers to help Owain help himself by avoiding any contact with the boy, even at a distance, and stop him putting any pressure on his immune system by exerting any energy through socialising. This means calling him, emailing him, or even acknowledging his existance if passing him in the street.
Wolfpack may have temporarily lost it's wind, but by Mumford we will return with a gale. Dr. TH

The Scandalous Adventures of Lord Byron - with Rupert Everett

I am currently watching the aforementioned program and will attempt to write a running commentary of lunacy that I am witnessing.

Everett begins by informing us that Byron was a bisexual pervert, who lost his virginity at nine. What is it with literary figures being colossal perverts? As my mind wanders, thinking about James Joyce's scatalogial fetish, I realise that Rupert is now talking to a prostitute in an Albanian restaurant.

Everett: "Who have the biggest penises?"
Hooker: "Probably Brazilians"
Everett: "HIGH FIVE!"

Ok, what the fuck has just happened? He has just high fived a prostitute about Brazilian men having the biggest penises. What does this have to do with Byron?

The show cuts to Everett riding a donkey covered in a massive bear skin. This seems more like it. He is accompanied by a similarly beclad 'Byron expert' and a lone Albanian donkey guide. They arrive at some kind of cottage and Rupert dresses up as Byron: "I look like a twat but I feel like a twat most of the time anyway" Finally some insightful analysis.

The scene cuts again and our two bear skin clad protagonists are surveying an Albanian castle. They walk by a coke machine and the 'expert' chimes in with a rare observation: "Obviously this is not exactly how the castle used to look." He's making his presence felt.

They walk under a decrepit gate covered in plastic bags full of rubbish. The 'expert' stays silent. maybe this is historically correct? Everett is entranced: "Listen you can hear the cattle bells! You could hear people coming for miles!" Presumably only if they are wearing cattle bells. But he's just getting started: "This is just like the Hollywood movies. This huge mammoth bisexual man with fingers covered in jewels fingering our poor lord Byron." He has officially lost me.

After some rather strange scenes, including Everett talking about Madonna on an Albanian chat show and discussing the merits of communism with some tracksuited kids, we find our host on a sail boat. He quotes Byron's quip that the British favor drinking and whoring whilst the Turks prefer sodomy and sherbet. "I'm quite looking forward to sodomy and sherbet. Sorry granny! sorry mum!" While you're at it Rupert you can apologise for the vest you're wearing as well.

Much talk of buggery shops and guys lap dancing follows, along with a genuinely funny quote from Byron which ends with him describing a naked bath attendant as a man who "never hesitates to lie on his back and entertain a man with his arsehole." Everett does not attempt this on camera.

Suddenly Rupert in the British embassy in Turkey. He literally charges straight towards the visitor's book, signs it frantically and then starts commenting on the size of the Queen's breasts. He wanders upstairs. "I think I'm going to have a bubble bath." I am now looking at Rupert Everett doing a strip tease down to his tighty whiteys, about to get in the bath. He's now in the bath. I am lost for words.

Freshly bathed Rupert goes to a diplomatic do and proceeds to tell the sodomy / sherbet anecdote again and again to incredibly lukewarm reactions from Turks and Brits alike.

After presumably being expelled from the embassy he turns his attention to swimming across the Bosphorus. "Better to die doing this than during a facelift." On balance I think he's probably right. He has roped in some poor Turkish boys into doing it with him. He is swimming in just his tighty whities. He gives up half way.

Undaunted by his failure Everett begins to wax lyrical about Byron's trip to Athens. "The idea of arriving in Athens, the centre of ancient Greece must have been like an acid trip." On balance I think this is complete bollocks. Suddenly we are witnessing a puppet show of a man getting raped by his own penis, engineered by genie. This is like a real life version of a film that Ashley wrote with a friend in year nine called Volcanus. I will let him elaborate in the comments if he wants.

Rupert's back on form. He's standing on a balcony, looking at a picturesque monastery. "I can't think of a nicer place for full intercourse to take place. it's absolutely lovely." This was presumably not what the architect had in mind. It must have been tough on the monks.

I think we're nearing the end. We're in an old mansion house with its owner and Everett is doing some investigative reporting.

R: "Do you have any of Byron's pubic hair?"
Owner: "One of my ancestors burnt it."

Safe grandad. I have so many questions now. But mainly THIS ONE.

This is definitely ending now. Rupert informs us that next week he will be "diving to the depths of pussy-hungry depravity." Tune in. I will. FC

Micro-rant of the day

Drugs are bad...but they're made much funnier with an ironically detached and amused Kiwi voiceover laid over the top.

Proper ranting here from Down Under. 0:30 for serious comedy gold. AC

Travelling: The Inevitable Conversation

Hot on the heels of Edward Mantle's second delivery of hot rage, Jack Collins returns to regale us with a story about how shit a time he is having traveling the world for six months. Or something like that.

I have now been traveling the globe for the past three months, and everyday for the past three months I have had the same fucking conversation at least ten times. It's inevitable. Nobody wants to have this conversation. It just happens. I do it myself; and every time I feel the words shitting out of my mouth, I get a little bit more pissed off that I sound fucking more like fucking Cilla Black. My life is a constant meet and greet, cut from the same mould as Blind Date. "What's your name and where do you come from?" To be honest, I don't care what the answer is. Within two seconds I will have forgotten it completely and your bearded, gappy face will have melted and merged with the other bearded, gappy faces I have already had the displeasure of encountering.



It has even got to the point where I hate the sound of my own travel plans. If I hear myself say the words, "I'm gonna drive up through California to Portland and then swing down to Colorado" again, I'm going to swing for the nearest person who has just asked me what I'm doing next. And what the fuck does "swing" even mean? Am I going to leap between the trees whilst hanging from vines like that "Show Me the Beef" kid did in the latest joke of an Indiana Jones movie? No. Just no.



Even once you have spent enough time with a person that you can move past the whos and wheres, the conversation will almost certainly descend into the abyss of travelers' verbal diahorrea that is- kids TV. Does anybody honestly remember that Knightmare was essentially just a very suspect man, inviting young children into his dungeon and asking them to play with his helmet?



The show was essentially just a shitter version of your favourite RPG on your Amiga, and it was also accompanied by the irksome soundtrack of little scrotes shouting out the lyrics to the latest dance-craze-party-song, "Sidestep left, walk forward, take a small step to your right, pick up the key".

The other day we finally had a heated/drunken debate with another girl about the implications of the potential assassination of Barack Obama. A wonderful occurrence, which also provided the opportunity for me to utter the words "Don't be a twat!" to the girl (who I'd known for just one afternoon) when she was essentially being a twat and trying her hand at being very patronising. Sweet relief. Please send me more douche-bags I can argue with and save me from the niceties. Jack Collins