I want to batter the lot of them. Michael cunting Gambon was in tears on the radio earlier, reminiscing about Laurence fucking Olivier. Derek cheesy-bell Jacobi, Maggie stinky-clit Smith, Joan sweaty-muff Plowright and Bill wank wank wank wanker Gaskill. And John absolute total tosser fuckwit Hurt. He's another.
Right, all they do is lick each others' arses. The blokes are all queers (and I mean proper queers here) and the women are fag-hags. They put on the most absurd plummy accents and tell each other how wonderful they are.
Fuck the lot of them. They can't die soon enough except we'll have a million repeats of their "finest" productions for months after, along with documentaries where all the remaining cunts wank themselves off over how wonderful the recently departed was and they'll all call each other Johnny and Larry and I'll fucking puke up when I see the scheduling and end up topping myself to escape their arrogant, conceited, affected, pompous existence.
Cunts.