Monday, 11 June 2007

The Dark Lord screams at me

Fuck. Just had The Dark Lord (AKA PR maestro James Herring) on the phone going thermonuclear in my ear. Saying "how dare I fucking even fucking think" about sacking him over the Guardian piece and that did I not realise "what an ungrateful little shit" I can be at times.

I may be forced to rethink this. Particularly now that Herring is threatening to hold me to my 18-month binding contract (signed in sheep’s blood with a copy filed away with the devil herself no doubt!) which essentially means that unless I can somehow cough up £230k to buy myself out of this legal stranglehold, I have no choice but to keep hold of him.

But boy, he better fucking buck up his ideas.

I may have to prolong this unholy marriage of PR convenience, but that doesn’t mean I can't lay down some ground rules – and fucking fast!


Anonymous said...

I've just seen '' touch me i'm karen taylor ''

sweet jesus ! what's up with your comedy output ?

Anonymous said...

I'm new in this TV lark, someone tells me PR stands for per rectum, what does it mean?
I'm from outside of M25.

Anonymous said...

PR stands for:

proles' royce n.

A stretch limousine with a screeching gaggle of drunken teenage girls hanging out of the window.

I didn't believe there was life beyond the M25, perhaps a new wildlife series could be set there?

Ray Mears' Telecraft Beyond the M25?

I thought it was all Gaelic nonsense, Kirsty Wark and Brookside.