Max Clifford’s living room: The behemoth interests of sports and pop music yesterday finally agreed to call time on their ambitious attempts to meld sport, race and teeny-bop music into a symbiotic perpetual wealth generating organism that would live for 1,000 years in the bedrooms of teenage girls and boys, lonely middle-aged men and Anti-Nazi League activists all across the world, says our capitalist correspondent, Fonz Gambaccini.
Speaking from the front room of grim tabloid tittle-tattling hocus-pocus front man, Max Clifford the twin armies of highly polished turds in suits announced that their dream had come to an end after only 2 short years and 300 million dollars in merchandizing revenue.
“We are very sad to announce the demise of this beautiful project”, said the chief blood-sucking shit of both groups, Anna Squats-over-the-Poor, without convincing anybody that she was actually capable of that emotion.
“cunt”
“In our hearts, we believed in this enterprise’s ability to bring harmony, peace and untold riches to all – or at least – us and our clients through the union of a highly polished, utterly fabricated set of warbling, brain-dead models and a negro racing driver.”
“After nearly 3 years of blood, sweat and multi-million dollar merchandising contracts however, we have finally had to acknowledge the venture has come to a disappointing end and have therefore had to give up our dream: we are collectively devastated”, she smiled inanely looking like she not only wasn’t feeling that, but had never and never would ever be able to look or feel like that as long as she drew breath.
Whilst it was functioning the project consistently drew praise from wankers up and down the PR industry: “awesome marketing! The best!” warbled professional cancer carapace Vic Atrocity III, of famed media firm, War, Famine, Pestilence and Danny Dyer whilst the formidable head of ad agency Final Solution, Nancy Shitbags was once moved to call it, “the single greatest achievment in the history of this or any other human century”.
Marketing tosspieces wanted another unqualified money-spewing success like this nausea-inducing bum-rape of a travesty
But ultimately, the writing was on the wall for the 2 promotional silos when it was discovered that there were fundamental compatibility issues with the original PR briefing that ultimately led to its downfall,
“It is a sad day for what could have been by far the most incredible symbiosis of sporting, musical and racial investment since Tiger Woods appeared on the scene but without the music and the infidelity and the wife beating the guy up with a golf club bits,” this worthless piece of human excrement told us, “but unfortunately, they couldn’t get the gay one to like the tranny one: what can you do?” he added, libellously.
