Let’s have a look at Britain’s worst.
Hate is a very powerful word. To feel such distain for somebody, to feel the most extreme level of negativity for a single person is an idea that I feel should only be expressed on very rare occasions, otherwise it loses its impact. I am not someone who intentionally looks to loathe people purely on aspects of their personality that don’t suit my own; it’s a waste of time and gets you nowhere. But as with everything there are exceptions. There is always an exception to the rule… and if the rule was that every person was born with a soul then in Piers Morgan you have a perfect exception.
Armed with an ego of an etonian on coke and as self-righteous as Jeremy Kyle, Piers Morgan is a television personality that just will not die down. As if infecting our Saturday night television with his unwanted judgement wasn’t enough he’s taken himself pretty much round the globe as he so delightfully boasted in a puerile battle with Gary Lineker of Twitter. I was once watching a premier league fixture covered on an American sports channel when all of a sudden, during half time, the presenter says “Now, Piers Morgan, what’s your view on the situation?” and sure enough the fucker is there telling him how Beckham should have got his head more in the game when you know that he has no valid point to make on the football in the first place… he’s a talent judge on ITV, for Christ's sake.
His roots were unsurprisingly in the scum of British journalism: between 1989 and 2004 he worked as an editor for The Sun, News of the World and Daily Mirror. I mean even from the start this guy couldn’t be anything other than a douchebag. As you would expect this gave him a tendency to start feuds with other famous figures on the grounds that the snake was trying to gain information about their private lives for his own personal gain: Ian Hislop was forced to make an example out of him on Have I Got News For You, as well as a subsequent series of events that created the impression of all-out warfare on Morgan’s part, and Jeremy Clarkson deservedly emptied water over him and punched him three times over his paper’s coverage of his personal life. In fact Piers reported on a rapprochement with Clarkson I his book “Don’t You Know Who I Am?”… seriously who the fuck does this guy think he is?
He is a media virus and a vaccine has not been synthesised yet. Every year he seems to be parading the same ‘look at me I’m on TV’ smugness on a new show or sporting event. He just won’t stop. It’s almost as if he’s oblivious to what the common man thinks of him because he’s got his head rammed so far up his arse to the point where he physically can’t hear a criticism or read a tweet, unless its from Gary Linekar or another big celebrity. The only thing we can do is take a leaf out of Jeremy Clarkson’s book and give this c u next Tuesday the smack he deserves on the off chance you pass him on the street. Until then, Great Britain must hang its head in shame while this man still roams the earth.
Editor's note: Jack Baron's rants have quickly become the highlight of our weekends in the office. The passionate hate he harbours against all things phony and rotten reminds us of Holden Caulfield or Huck Finn, not to mention it's hilarious. Although he might be serious in his own right, we urge the reader to not take him that way, as most of the time he's bent on cheap whisky and low grade skunk and hardly realises the consequences of his actions. Enjoy your weekend and see you tomorrow night at The Horse and Groom. Jamais Vu is the best fuckoff you can give Monday - in London at least.