Why Not Kill...

In this day and age, or actually in this age in general, but in most of its constituent days as well, you can be sent to prison for saying on Twitter that you want to blow up an airport. Notwithstanding that it's only the really beginner terrorists who pre-announce their plans on social networking sites, we have to be a bit careful in case Maurice the Moose finds himself in a special government petting zoo at Camp X-Ray.

That being so, we issue the following bulletin of disclaimerism. The list of assassination targets on this page is not to be taken literally, and is provided for chuckle generation purposes only. Any suggestion that Moose Mansions encourages violence will be met with immediate deadly force.

I am, of course, a philosopher and man of peace. The idea of advocating violence against someone is as repugnant as a night of torrid sex with foppish, bounty hunting Bobby Sixkiller from late night TV's 'Renegade' (I'd give that Lorenzo Llama one though). However, in certain cases I'm willing to compromise my principles for the good of society as a whole. Here's an example.

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    The AOL woman. Personally, when I sign up to an Internet provider, I don't expect a patronising woman with just a touch of a token regional accent and a translucent holographic dress to come into my house and start telling me how to use the Internet and insulting my parents. "So simple, even Dad can manage it!" Fuck off! For all she knows the Dad probably has a doctorate in advanced microprocessor design, six patents and a visiting professorship at MIT. But even if he hasn't, he's unlikely to need your help to plug in a blumming modem, you irritating little cow.

  • Melanie off of Big Brother.
  • Delivery firms that only deliver between 9-5 on weekdays - spookily, the exact hours I'm out at work. Who in the world are those hours convenient for? Nurses on night shifts? Vampires? You tell me.
  • People who stupidly assume their TV remote control has been stolen when it was actually down the side of their chair.
  • The checkout assistants at Tesco Metro in London's Oxford Street, long renowned as the slowest checkout operators in the known world. See their confused expressions when confronted with an actual item of shopping they have to scan. Watch their fumbling to open a carrier bag as though they've never handled one before. Marvel at the amount of time it can take one person to give change for £4.95 worth of shopping from a fiver. Finally, drop dead of old age in the 'express' checkout queue.
  • Dog people. Wake up and smell the Bonios, you fools, great big yappy smelly hairy slobbering kite-eating canines that crap everywhere are not attractive or engaging companions. What are you doing?
  • People who don't get back to you.
  • People who are rude to waiters.
  • People who say 'Mustn't grumble'.
  • People who can shuffle cards really, really well.
  • People who try to get you to eat something by saying 'It won't kill you'. Eating dog poo likely wouldn't kill you. I doubt many top restaurateurs would serve it on that basis alone, though.
  • People who do all their present shopping by the end of November, in order to have a full twenty-four smugging days before Christmas.
  • Minicab dispatchers.
  • People who make a successful comedy series on the basis of their membership of an ethnic minority, not by producing genuinely original and amusing humour that unites different cultural groups, but by putting on vaguely Pakistani accents and trotting out all the lame Asian stereotypes we've seen over the past forty-odd years. And no, I don't have a particular show in mind. Check please!
  • Whoever it was that stole my TV remote control from my flat. I mean who would steal the remote, but not the TV? What an idiot.
  • The entire team of writers on Channel 4's The 11 O'Clock Show.
  • Er...
  • That's it.
  • An anonymous sniper writes:

    Those unimaginative liars who, when asked what their lifelong ambition is, say ``Oh, I've always wanted to swim with dolphins!'' You have NOT always wanted to swim with bloody dolphins, you baboon! You didn't even know that it was possible to swim with dolphins until you read that story in The Sun about those borstal kids being sent out to Mallorca on taxpayers' money! Why would an intelligent and highly sociable creature like a dolphin want to swim with a pasty-faced, stinking moron like you anyway? I just bet that your long-standing love of dolphins doesn't manifest itself when you're buying tuna in bloody Asda! Next time, try to answer the question honestly. Perhaps you really want to drink twelve pints of beer and have sex with the barmaid?

  • People who, like, don't get stuff.

  • People who lower the suspension in their cars. Manufacturers spend millions of pounds developing these cars, but a wanker in an anorak ten years later knows MUCH better how to get the best ride/handling balance out of it, obviously. Do they bollocks.

  • Anyone who mentions the frigging Millennium just once more in my hearing between now and January. And that includes Robbie Williams, the bastard.

  • People who spell perfectly ordinary names in stupid ways just to look different. For example anyone called Jacqui, Elly, Caron, Teri, Sharone, Debbee, Elanor, Cate, or anyone called Mannering who spells it Mainwaring, or anyone called Fanshaw who tries to pretend it's spelt (for fuck's sake) Featherstonehaugh.

  • Anyone who, when about to explain something technical to you, puts on a silly face and with a little self-deprecating giggle, says "Here comes the science bit."

  • Plumbers.

  • From Steve Clewer:

    Why not kill those bastards that seem to think it's the height of cool to take their mobile phone everywhere with them, and ring people up from unlikely places?

    For example, having trudged up to the top of Pen-y-Fan (the highest mountain in the Brecon Beacons) last week, I stopped for a rest, happy to be out in the countryside in peace and quiet for a while.

    However, just as I sat down taking in the view, some twat with a mobile phone started ringing up all his best chums, and baying loudly about such things as "guess where I am?" in his best stockbroker accent.

    These people should be thrown off cliffs; and it's worthwhile noting that in these locations there are usually a few readily available.

  • Dai Lewis writes:

    I have several more nominations for people who should be shot, specifically advertisers who being so numb-brained can't think of a sensible or original way to advertise shops, so simply make a 'Paul Hardcastle' style jingle out of the name ie D-d-d-d-ixons and Le-le-le-le-le-le-le-o-o-o (Leo's, as if you hadn't guessed), and whoever thinks that renaming stores will make then better, ie my local Co-op, CRS, Leo's and now Pioneer, 4th time in a few years, they'll be fitting a revolving sign over the door soon.

    To go with that, there's always some pedantic git who corrects you ie you say "I'm just off to Leos" and they say "Oh, you mean, Pioneer", and then you punch then in their stupid smug face.

    And finally, there's been much debate on uk.media.tv.misc on 'The 4th Emergency Service' ie the AA, and how people drowning at sea and people lost half way up Ben Nevis must think "Ooohhh, I must phone the AA, and not the Coastguard or the Mountain Rescue, 'cos they're the 4th Emergency Service" and then they take an hour and a half to turn up, when you're broken down in the middle of a roundabout in rush hour.

  • Anyone who thinks shouting "Stop, Thief!" will have any effect.

  • Anyone with a book or poster reading "Everything I need to know about life I learned from Star Trek". Yeah, apart from how to communicate effectively with other members of the human race, or what the world outside your front door looks like.

  • Anyone who has ever been involved with one of BBC2's "dance narratives."

  • The announcer who talks over the end credits of your favourite programme, just after you've been on the endge of your seat and the music's rolling over you they go "Next on Channel 4: NBA 24/7 it's a basketball thing!" totally ruining the moment. Do they have some set of instructions entitled "How to piss off the viewer"? I just want to stand behind one of them and when they start to speak, throttle them with an open mike so that the rest of the country can hear them choking their last. Bastards.

  • A startling number of correspondents have written to nominate the creative genius behind the 'Oh yes, I must sort out that loan' commercial. Few adverts have generated as much opprobrium as this, unless you count 'Nice car. Wanna show me what it can do?' (even now, I sometimes wake in the night, dripping with sweat and crying out, 'Hi kids! Where's your mother?'). Anyway, if you're the advertising agency responsible, consider yourself collectively gunned into oblivion.

  • My old friend and Cymric correspondent Dai writes:

    I have a new minor celeb who should be put to death, none other than the no-talent, implausibly named Claudia Winkleman. Couldn't make it on kids TV, thrown off Talkin' Telephone numbers for having no talent (even compared to Philip Schofield), making appearances on the National Lottery Big Ticket Show, and being newspaper editor and minor panel show celeb Eve Pollards daughter. So which is more embarrassing, being called Winkleman, or being called Pollard and everybody thinking you're related to Su Pollard? Oooh, it's a toughie.

  • People who tell you you've had a haircut.

  • Salesmen (and it is men) who sidle up to you in shops, look you up and down disparagingly, and say 'Can I help you, sir?' as though they suspected you of being a tramp or something. A useful reply here is 'Yes, you can go and stick your head in the cash register and slam the drawer in and out a few times, you supercilious little shit.'

  • People who always say 'What?' when you make a witty remark.

  • People who promise to meet you somewhere, then don't turn up, having not rung to say they're not coming either before, during or after the time they're supposed to arrive, and when you phone them up the next day to find out what happened they say 'Oh gosh. I forgot all about that.' You might think an apology would be in order for making you hang around in, say, a draughty Tube station for three quarters of an hour, but no. A tinkle of merry laughter down the phone is all you're likely to get from one of these wankers.

  • Advertisers who try to blind us with how great their "new and improved" product is whilst slagging off their old product which was supposed to be great and unbeatable before.

    Examples of this kind of advertising are:

    • Washing Powder - who show whiter whites than before - if this is the case then were they lying before about the whiteness of their shirt collars? Why did they say that their product would make our collars gleam when they were lying through their teeth?! Tossers....

    • Nappies - "Now my baby is dryer than ever before," Mrs Badcrumble of Leeds says. Was her baby sitting in piss in her old nappy before? Why didn't she look for another brand? Dirty cow! And why do I care?

    (Sent in by our beloved Zoe)

  • Chris Evans. Unfortunately the queue is considerable.

  • Oh, and people who make screen savers.

  • People who make pop videos, except the Pet Shop Boys.

  • The people who make Nestle Cheerios.

  • The person who thought the jingle

    "Are you in the know
    About Cheerios?"

    would reflect well on the product, instead of filling all those who hear it with a vague sense of constipation.

  • The person who conceived the phrase 'Four-grain nutrition and a whole lot more'.

  • The person who thought the slogan

    Coco Pops! So chocolatey, they turn the milk brown!

    would make people buy Coco Pops, instead of filling them with a vague sense of diarrhoea.

  • Whoever it was that thought a drama series set on a cross-Channel ferry would be a good idea.

  • Bookshops who keep their copies of the London A-Z behind the counter so you can't look at them if you've forgotten your copy and you can't remember how to get to Heyford Avenue, off South Lambeth Road in Vauxhall, without forking out a quite astonishing sum of money.

  • The person who imagined that people calling technical support services would be calmed and relaxed by listening to twenty minutes of a tinny rendition of Mozart's 'Eine Kleine Nachtmusik', apparently played on a Stylophone. Whereas in fact they become enraged with a fury of hatred and blood lust, and start roaming the city with a baseball bat attacking Koreans, a bit like Michael Douglas in that film. 'Wall Street', that was it.

  • Immigrants from other places (especially California) who move to the once- rustic state of Nevada in their yuppie minivans, bringing two tons of stereo equipment to blast me out of a peaceful sleep at 11 p.m. They generally have obnoxious children who wear baggy pants that show off the tops of their underwear, and they rave about how much better it was where they came from. None of them know how to saddle a horse, build a campfire without 2 gallons of lighter fluid, or even correctly pronounce the state's name (hint: it's not Nev-AH-dah). Furthermore, they think lakes are useful only for them to operate their Jet- Skis on, and are appalled when coyotes eat their fluffy little housecats. They see it as their mission in life to have an espresso drive-thru on every corner. And furthermore, mumble, grumble, bitch, piss, moan, groan, snivel, whine, complain, rant, rave...

    (Supplied by Chuck and Mr Woofer)

  • People who own complete sets of Sabatier kitchen knives. Sabatier is for people who can't cook, but can write large cheques. You can spot a real cook easily. Shhe has just two knives in hir kitchen. One small delicate one for paring, and one great big fuck-off razor-sharp bastard of a knife, for everything else.

    Real cooks also do not have thirty-five patent gadgets from Argos that claim to sharpen knives, slice eggs or dice fish. If something needs cutting up, real cooks use that big knife I mentioned earlier. This means that real cooks are also faster, as patent gadgets waste more than twice the time they save by being incredibly difficult to wash up.

  • People who tut. Seriously. Think about it. Think back to the time a woman suddenly pushed right in front of you in Smith's and then stopped dead, so you banged into the back of her, and she tutted loudly. Didn't you want to crush her face in a vice?

    There is no place for tutting in the modern world, and thank God I've got the courage to come out and say so.

  • Related to that is people who take it upon themselves to tell people off for doing something wrong that doesn't affect them and which is none of their business. Like the woman who once told me to take my feet off the seat on a Metropolitan line tube train. Or the small children who told me that I was going the wrong way up a one-way street, as I wobbled along on my disintegrating bicycle with a pair of heavy Safeways bags dangling from my teeth and desperate to reach my front door before everything fell to bits.

  • People with big dogs who say 'Don't mind him, he's just being friendly', as their 250-pound killer Alsatian attempts to part your arm from your body. (Sent in by Chris Parker)

  • People who are inordinately cheerful first thing in the morning. Who seem to know when you've got a hangover. Save your first bullet for the announcer at Finsbury Park station who shrieks 'Good morning and welcome to Finsbury Park station on this beautiful bright sunny morning' at a frequency specially designed to grate on the ears of all slightly hung over commuters.

  • People who refer to Personal Identification Numbers as PIN numbers. Especially when banks do it. Watch out for it on TV adverts by banks - "open a Midland account and we promise to have your cheque book and PIN number to you within seven days", etc. You might as well start talking about 'the UN nations'.

  • The entire cast, writers and crew, and everyone who was even remotely involved in or responsible for the BBC2 series 'Goodness Gracious Me'.

  • Bus drivers. Specifically,:

    - The driver of the no. 37 bus who roared past the stop on Clapham Common North Side despite my frantic waving and standing in the road, one rainy and freezing night in 1997. And it was the last bus.

    - Night bus drivers who think it's funny to do about sixty miles an hour round the Elephant and Castle because most of their passengers are drunk, ill, nauseous or a mixture of all three.

    - The driver of the no. 312 bus who saw me running about forty yards down Rye Lane to the bus stop ahead of him, only to then zoom straight past the stop without touching the brakes.

    - The drivers, respectively, of the no. 12 and no. 37 buses who followed him nose to tail straight past the stop, grinning and mooning out of the window at me.

  • Dave O'Malley writes:

    The Budweiser information service man is a fool. Not only is his address budmaster@budweiser.com, (which is just masturbatory) but he is utterly dense. I wrote to him to ask what the music on the Budweiser advert was. He said that before he answered any questions, he needed to know my details, including my date of birth. I sent them to him, upon which point he tartly told me that as I am not old enough to drink beer, he wouldn't tell me what the music on the advert was, as that would be encouraging under-age drinking, and he's not allowed to do that. By which reasoning, of course, listening to D-Ream encourages under-age voting.

  • Eamonn Holmes, the chirpy smug gerbil-cheeked bog-trotting bastard.

  • ... that girl who appears on the TV in between the "newsy" items on Watchdog Face Values. God, she makes me want to get a yard brush and shove it up her arse so that the bristles come out of her mouth to form a pleasant hairdo! She is so annoying. She frolicks around like she's on acid and rubs gravel into her face (or something crap like that) when the "True or False" item comes on and rolls her eyes a lot too.

    She can't sit still for more than two seconds without wobbling her head around in a "coquettish" manner (which actually makes her look like she's really pissed). Also, on the credits, she wanders around, trying to look amusing, cute and stylish, but she just ends up looking like a pathetic underage girl in a nightclub trying to pull a bouncer. She makes my skin crawl. She makes me want to hurl!! Kill Fido, kill! (courtesy of Z.K.)

  • People with silly little fluffy goatee beards. Almost invariably students.

  • People with unfeasibly huge neon-coloured rucksacks who stand in front of Underground ticket barriers looking vaguely lost, and impeding up to 70 peal-time commuters per rucksack.

  • People who ask you if you've got 50p for a cup of tea while visibly swigging from a can of Special Brew.

  • Anyone else who tries to do their Christmas shopping at the same time as you.

  • Assistants in music shops. They seem to regard it as their duty to humiliate customers, expose their ignorance of the subject to every other customer, and finally drive them cowed from the premises, muttering "Sorry to have troubled you."

  • Customers in music shops. Sorry, but it's rare enough to see anyone in a music shop who's there to actually buy something, as opposed to (a) fingering very expensive synthesizers and saying 'Nice action', (b) spending all afternoon making the long-suffering assistants dance on their every whim, 'trying out' guitars they couldn't afford if they won the lottery, and (c) leaning moodily on the counter talking interminably to the equally long-haired retail operatives and eyeing other customers suspiciously.

  • Shops which start selling Christmas stuff in September, and advertising agencies which start showing Christmas-related commercials (Old Spice et al) in October. This appears to be based on the observation that people buy more stuff at Christmas, therefore if we make Christmas last three months instead of three weeks, people will buy four times as much stuff. Wrong! They'll just be four times as pissed off by the time Christmas (the real Christmas) actually arrives. And suicidal by New Year's Eve.

  • People who refer to the Parliament of the United Kingdom as 'the mother of Parliaments'. Firstly, and sufficiently, it's a very tired cliché. Secondly, it's plain wrong. England is the mother of Parliaments, as anyone who can be bothered to check the quotation would know. (It makes more sense, for one thing.)

  • Anyone who goes to a pop concert by (a) a boy band, (b) Oasis, or (c) any tribute band, without first covering themselves in the protective cloak of irony.

  • People who use computers for 8 hours a day, every working day of their lives, who still haven't figured out how to use floppy disks, double-click or copy a file.

  • People with mobile phones. (Clearly I'm not counting myself in this, since I only have one ironically, as a cynical joke against society, and I'm laughing up my sleeve all the time I use it.) Especially the people who set them to generate the really appalling tunes (Nokia 5.1 owners will be interested to learn that "Ringing Tone Type 7" has recently been voted the worst tune ever by a panel of international judges). Other deserving double-trepan recipients include the people who sit on trains giving their (presumed) sexual partners a running commentary on the journey. "Yes... we're just coming into Charing Cross now... A man's telling me to shut up... Yes, he's punching me in the face..."

  • People who go on and on obsessively about how good the Beatles were, even though they personally hadn't been born when the Beatles split up. We know! We know they were good! We don't care if you've got a rare bootleg rehearsal tape of 8-year-old John Lennon playing the kazoo! Shut up!

  • Anyone involved in any kind of marketing, in any way whatsoever. I realise that they probably do an important and valuable job, but I simply don't care. Pass me that box of bullets, would you?

  • The person responsible for that Bird's Eye advert:

    Well, everybody's heard, about the word,
    Bird's Eye Chicken's like dippin' a turd...

    Personally, when I bite into some processed frozen poultry and start hallucinating singing cartoon farmers, I reach for the jar of thorazine tablets with one hand and phone my solicitor with the other. I'd advise anyone else to do the same.

  • Anyone who works for Connex South Central who doesn't actually do anything, e.g. driving trains, or selling tickets. This appears to be most of them. The average CSC employee's whole job seems to be standing around in a ludicrous pierrot-style uniform doing nothing and being unhelpful.

  • Rappers (indeed, they frequently are).