Sacré bleu! My thousandth post: how else to celebrate but with a Daily Mail best of?



26 times in less than seven months -- and that's headlines only.

I have a proposal. Let's take twenty or so models, with slightly different body shapes and tones, in various states of undress, and photograph them, and post the pictures on a website. Men who want to gape at women's bodies, and women who aspire to feeling shit about themselves, can access the site all day, every day, until they have memorised every curve and cranny. In return, in the mainstream media there will be no new pictures of women sunbathing, wardrobe malfunctions, or dresses that leave VERY little to the imagination.

Then we'll find out if it's really the eternal beauty of the female body that attracts the fappers. Or something rather more sinister: the assembly line of young flesh to be packaged and consumed and disposed of, its 24/7 availability, with an endless supply of new objects ripe for exploitation, ever younger, ever cheaper.

This lot have the nerve to call themselves journalists. A class of primary school children could knock out this shit with ease, and probably make less mistakes in the process.

My point precisely.

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Where there is great doubt, there will be great awakening; small doubt, small awakening, no doubt, no awakening.

It'd be quite refreshing. Instead of a photo, Lindsay Lohan's crotch could be depicted in bits of rice and lentils stuck to coloured paper.

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"Winterval is the favourite myth of the lunatic right who base most of their weekly columns on angry Brie-based dreams rather than looking out of their window." (Robin Ince)

You've seen it, then?

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Where there is great doubt, there will be great awakening; small doubt, small awakening, no doubt, no awakening.

Bloody hell. If Helen Mirren's leaving little to the imagination when she's swathed from head to foot in a giant union flag, she must have been practically fucking flayed alive in say, The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover or any of the dozens of other fillums she's flopped 'em out in.

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I'm a nasty, violent lefty. You cunt.

Brilliant stuff, Ezinra.

Please don't stick at 1,000.

Thanks, Tubby! Perhaps I'll stop posting when the Mail stops churning out the same old shit every day:


Okay, some things Crouch is not wearing: chain mail, a girdle, a grass skirt, a Florida Gators team helmet, a Paul Dacre brushover wig, a pass that says 'journalist', ...

I almost want the Mail to continue printing shit then.

I expect that's one wish you'll be granted

Jennifer Aniston leaves little to the imagination...








I know what you are thinking, blimey, this will be filthy, probably nothing more than a sliver of fabric preventing you from a glimpse of fanny...











At the very least she must be down to her undies...








Phwoar...










I'll be in the shed Muriel...












as she reveals black bra under tight white vest

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/ar ... z1ZM5BYhnT



About the only thing I don't have to imagine is "does she have nipples?"

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I'd rather shoot Paul Dacre than anyone else in the country- Colin Dexter. A direct quote from the Radio Times m'learned friends

What IS The Mail line on smuggling of peanuts?

"Little Imaginations" would have been a good name for what became "Right Minds", I think.

Five days ago: The return of Jordan: Newly-single Katie Price leaves little to the imagination in stockings and suspenders at TV launch

Today: Katie Price leaves NOTHING to the imagination in entirely see-through jumpsuit as she enjoys new-found singledom

By next weekend, if the trend continues, the amount of imagination required to perceive Katie Price's outfit will be a minus number — is this a metaphor for the ice age which the Express assures us is on the way?

How can she protect her modesty AND leave nothing to the imagination?

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Sick Left-wing Zealot.