Another pint of rosé, mate, please, no I know, I’m only drinking it to piss off those bastards at the BBC. You know it’s Clarkson’s favourite, that’s why he hit the guy. Few too many rosés, could have happened to anyone, and now look, over a split lip, nothing to do with alcohol, mind. You think the rest of them don’t drink, look at the state of their expenses. They’ve been trying to get rid of him for years. First up, he’s friends with Cameron. Fact: you don’t get through reception at the BBC unless you’re a Trot. Second off, he talks like a member of the human race, not a fully paid-up member of the PC gestapo. That Eeny-Meeny thing? Tell me one person who doesn’t say that. Third, they hate Top Gear because blokes like me watch it, that’s why they got him so drunk, so he’d hit that producer with that stupid name, leak it, get the media to lynch him.
Course they planned it, anyone normal would have done the same. Thing was a dream come true for them, end of. Anyone but Clarkson, they would have sorted it quietly – am I right? – told little Master Lefty not to palm the main man off with a lentil for dinner after he’s been testing cars all day? Guy’s a genius. My Lexus, brilliant, best car I ever had, well, before I was banned. That was down to Clarkson, though of course the BBC loons will never forgive him for singlehandedly propping up the entire motoring industry that basically pays all their wages. You know that controller wants to turn it into a multicultural cycling show with Clare Balding? And we’re meant to keep on paying out, well, good luck with that, sonny, no more shekels from me.
Same again, thanks. You are winding me up, everyone hits people, you have a laugh later over a drink. Oh, spare me. You a feminist or something? Let me guess, you’re a trade unionist? Clarkson would’ve had your number. It’s idiots like you want shooting, oi, steady on, no need to turn nasty, hey, come any closer and I’m calling the plod. You a mentalist or something?
