Monday, 16 July 2012

Rio Ferdinand's Dictionary

Well well well...  Rio Ferdinand hey?!

It’s usually his top lip hanging there like a badly packed kebab that annoys me..  But now he is deciding to change the meanings of phrases to try and worm out of trouble? 
One could say that Rio is a :

Shithouse (n)  Someone who ‘gives it big guns’ and then retracts and squirms when trouble comes knocking

I was highly amused by Rio’s antics over the weekend. He, by proxy, calls Ashley Cole a ‘Choc Ice’ which every single person on earth knows to be a derogatory term for ‘black on the outside, white on the inside’.

But in Rio’s Dictionary:

Choc Ice  (n)  “Someone who is fake. So there.”

Amusing, in that the could have called that little runt Cole something simple, like a “CUNT”, or, say a “QUEER FAG BASTARD WHO PUTS MOBILE PHONES ON VIBRATE UP HIS ARSE” and no one would have batted an eyelid.

But setting aside that small matter, Rio’s own definition of Choc Ice has inspired me to share a few other ‘classics’ that might be in Rio’s Dictionary:

RIO'S DICTIONARY - Volume one:

Moving House (v) :  Deliberately missing a drugs test after being off your face      *allegedly
Stay On Your Feet (phrase):    A catch phrase launched to pretend that an aging, injury prone footballer is actually at the height of his game and is tackling everything that moves, when really, his back legs have gone.
Murking  (v)  :  Acting a twat and trying to have your mates off with lame as fuck practical jokes, and telling them, “You Got Murked” on TV, but just looking a cunt yourself through the whole process.
What reasons? (question) :   Realising you are too shit, even for England, but instead of taking it on the chin when you don’t get picked, publically questioning the Owl-faced buffoon who manages England, via Twitter.  Cringe.

Ayia Napa Kappa Slappa (n):  the woman who features in the embarrassing porn vid with Rio, Lampard and Dyer circa 2000   *allegedly 

Lamp-roast (v):  To spit roast aforementioned Ayia Nappa Kappa Slappa with your England team mate Frank Lampard

Doing 105.9 (v): the acceptable speed to travel on most motorways, before finally getting banned

Self important twat (Adj):  Description of Rio Ferdinand

Soggy Ham Butty (n):  Description of Rio’s top lip

Slug lip (n):  Description of Rio’s top lip

Badly packed kebab (n):  Description of Rio’s top lip

....And I know its not in alphabetical order.. but his top lip and bottom lip arent in order so why would his dictionary be?

Tweet any submissions for Rio’s Dictionary to  @MrJimmyCorkhill    #RiosDictionary


Thursday, 5 July 2012


Been asked to pen my thoughts on Wimbledon.
A recent tweet of mine sums it up in less than 140 characters:

@MrJimmyCorkhill:    #ThingsIdRatherDoThanWatchWimbledon  be Joseph Fritzl’s daughter

But I shall now, of course, divulge as to why I’d rather be abducted and locked in a dingy cellar for a decade getting back-ended by crazy Austrian who happens to be my dad, than watch said tennis tournament.

Reason 1:  Andy Murray

What a miserable, miserable, miserable twat this lad is.  He’s got all the money in the world, he could have any hot slag he wants given his fame and fortune,  and yeh he’s pretty decent at hitting little yellow balls with a racquet too. So why why why does he look like he owned 50 pet cats that he loved and cherished, and they all just died on the same day of a freak strain of Feline Aids?  

Cheer. The. Fuck . Up.      Gizza smile lad.

Has anyone ever seen him smile?  Ever?  If he wins does he smile then? Or just he just grimace like he’s shitting out a spiced pineapple?

Reason 2 : Andy Murray’s Mum
Ah maybe this is why soft lad doesn’t smile. Imaging having Andy Murray’s mum as your Ma.  Bloody hell.   I can’t decide if she’s a lezza, or if she really needs a good seeing to. Or both.

And imagine your mum rocking up at everything and shouting you on like that ... Do you see Stevie G’s Ma in the dug out at Anfield going “Eeeeeyaaa Stevie Lad .. Go ‘ed there laddd... G’waaan son”

No. No you do not.

The only football player’s mum who gets involved in the footy scene is John Terry’s Ma.  Who, as the excellent rumour that we all like to consider fact goes, got shagged by Carragher’s cousin during Euro 08.   Belter that.   #JohnTerrysMaLovesScouseCock

Reason 3: Ball boys
Seen a belter tweet from @ScouseAmbassador yesterday saying that Wimbledon balls boys are all bad victims who got bullied at school and bummed by a choir master.  How true.  Possibly the most true tweet I’ve ever seen.

Absolute bad quegs the lot of them.

Its nailed on that they are all called Tarquin, Phillipe, Oscar, Rupert (Rupes to his chums) and William. I challenge anyone who reads this to find me a ball boy who is called Dave. Go on.  Find me a ball boy called DAVE and I will blog a photo of me with my bare arse out, cheeks spread, doing a Lauren Goodger style trout pout, finger on lips...  and I will put a tennis ball up my foreskin for good measure.

Seen how they are on best behaviour all the time, crouch perfectly, stand to attention like soldiers, dead quick with everything,  hand fresh towels out like sweets... and have all got the gayest run ever... Makes me cringe so hard my testicles invert.  Get on the ball boys at the match for some tips,  we’ve had some crackers in the Premiership over the years. Stroll round like they’re not arsed, they get the ball when they want. Do they give it back in a rush when Utd are attacking in the 90th minute- do they fuck.  Is right lads.

Reason 4:  The crowd
Another bunch of Tarquins, Phillipes, Oscars, Rupert s and Williams, with some Hermiones, Jermimas, Elizabeths, Margarets and Trixibelles thrown in.   Sat there with their cucumber butties and strawberries and cream. Actual cream. Not that squirty stuff from The Asda. Actually runny cream. Posh fuckers.
And their Robinsons Lemon Fruit & Barley.... in a flask.  Fucking fuck off.

Sitting there Instagramming photos of themselves and tweeting hash tags like  #TotesWimbledonYaaah , before switching from iPhone to their Blackberries to just check up on their work emails.

And there is obviously too much sugar in all them strawberries and fruit & barley  and it goes to their heads and they actually start getting excited at what’s going on in front of them:

  “Ooooh” ... “Aaaahh” ....   “Ooooh”  .... “Aaaaaah”

Are they messing?  A bloke is hitting a yellow thing at another bloke.  That bloke is hitting it back. Oh.. it hit the ground. Oh no. ????

And then you get them ones who actually SCREECH..    “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkk”  all because the bloke who hit the ball at the other bloke ALMOST didn’t hit it back when he got it hit back at him, but then he hit it back. Like, at the last second and that.   Zzzzzzzzzz.

And this crowd sit there ALLLLL DAY.   I get a numb arse in The Kop, if I don’t stand up and bounce to Theeeeeeeeee Fieeeeeeeeelds of Anfieeeeeld Roooooooad every 15 mins.   Can you imagine sitting there ALLLLLLL FUCKING DAY?   In these denims?   Norrrrapnin.

Reason 5 : People who can afford to pay £45k for a ticket for the men’s final

Kind of carrying on from Reason 3.. these posh twats that pay a fortune to go and get a numb arse. Saw an article today that tickets are currently trading for up to £15,000 per ticket, up  £3,000 since yesterday afternoon, and the price is predicted to reach £45k on the day.

Are they messing? Who in their right mind would pay £15k- 45k to watch a tennis match. Its on BBC for fuck’s sake.

For that money, I’d expect a court to be built in my back garden, and the ENTIRE tournament to be played there.  I’d expect champagne on tap, caviar butties, and them jam and cream scones and shit.  I’d expect the balls to be made of a unique combination of a fairy’s tears and a unicorn’s pubes. And an oily wank off Cockovich, or whatever he's called, would be included.

But even then, I wouldn’t watch it.  I would be in my living room with the curtains shut.

All in all, it is quite simply, a terrible spectator sport.  It really is.
Its just so .. uninvolved. You can’t follow a team, you can’t go at the weekend with your mates or take yer lad..  (Unless you’re called Tarquin or Rupes etc and you lad is a queg)

And there is no drama in a game of tennis. None.  No sending offs .. No fights.. No swearing at the ref...
Worst thing that can happen is a bloke will break a string on his racquet, or accidentally twat the ref with the ball and him fall off that funny perch.  That would actually be a laugh that, I’d watch tennis if the aim of the game was twatting balls at the ref and knocking them their high chair  - I vote Maggie Thatcher as first ref.

Yes you get the odd surprise, like when a shit guy beats a good guy and that..  but that’s about it.  

I’d quite honestly get more enjoyment out of watching Joey Barton sitting on the loo reading a dictionary.

Wimbledon in a nutshell: Its a CuntFest.  And a BoreFest.  And Venus Williams has got a cock.


Tuesday, 3 July 2012


Greetings trout-lipped slaggamadaggama,

Which brand of pink velour tracksuit are you lounging around in today? Juicy Couture or Versace And have you got your glittery Uggs on or your diamante Converse?

My reason for writing is of course not to establish what god awful ensemble you are wearing, but to question a few things that have been bugging me.

1) What the utter fuck have you done to your lad’s hair?

Poor lad. Poor poor lad.

As if he’s not got enough on his plate?  He’s Dwight Yorke’s lad for fuck’s sake. That’s punishment alone.  Then he’s got that Peter Andre tool crying about him that he misses him and that ..

And lets face it – not the best looking lad in the world is he? Bless him. He was about 3 stone when he was born or something wasn’t he?  And you go giving him a hair do like that? To help him “blend in” ? To help him “be normal” ?  Has he not been sent home from school?

You’ve basically drawn all over his head with some chalk?  A load of white lines and then a frog.  A fucking frog. What lad wants a frog on his head?  I’d sooner see a Nike tick and an undercut.
And then... you’ve got the cheek to tweet that he “loves it” ???  How on earth can he love that monstrosity .. ???

Is he blind??  Oh...  Soz about that...     Bit sly doing that to a blind lad? Right?  I'd have to go to prison if I'd done that to a blind kid.

2) The things you tell the press

If I did a survey now about whether you are an attention seeking media whore or not, I’d like to think that the results would be unanimous.  You’ve had more desperate reality TV shows than The Osbornes, more publicity stunts than any other ‘celebs’ I can think of, and you rock up at the opening of cereal boxes and that don't you, forever launching a new perfume range / make up / awful book / own range of tampons in 'bucket fanny' size etc..

But girl, why do you have to tell the press this? :

Q: “What’s the rudest thing you’ve ever done in the name of love?”

Katie Price: “I fucked Alex Reid up the arse with a vodka bottle.”

(source: Now! magazine)

REALLY?  You have got three kids. Fuck’s sake. Do you really want your 3 kids knowing that?
Granted they’ll have seen your tits and flange in every lads’ mag going, and they’ll know you’re an absolute dirt valve.  BUT do you really want them knowing that much?

I can’t even express how fucked up I’d be if from a tender age I knew that my Ma goosed my Dad / some bloke up the arse with a bottle of Voddy.

And Alex Reid? Of all the people.. Chimp faced, sawdust brained, ubercunt Alex Reid. Was he dressed as his alleged alter ego Roxanne at the time?

To be fair, I’d sooner see Peter Andre with a bottle up his arse.  Preferably a broken one.
And you know what the aftermath would look like?


3) Your Range Rover

All the money in the world, and you’re driving round in this eye sore:

I wouldn’t step in that if you paid me.

If it was pissing down, freezing and I had no shoes on and I needed to get somewhere 100 miles away and I had no money – I wouldn’t step in that.   I’d walk.  I’d crawl.   I’d even get dragged by a sledge of Huskies attached to my foreskin, before stepping in that god awful contraption.

And your number plate??  Really?   KP11 HOT?  Fuckkkkking hell.

Here,  I’ll give you a heads up when I see B4D SL4G come up at the next DVLA auction.


Right that will do for now, as I can’t even be bothered spending anymore time on you.
But on a genuinely serious note – stop acting a twat, for the sake of your kids, you've earned your money so just settle down and be grateful for what you've got...  They deserve a more normal life – where they will never ever ever ever hear about what depraved sexual acts you perform on your boyfriend(s).. Ever.