A Day in the Charmed Life of Jeremy Kyle
Button it Yank, before I kick your face in on National Television!
Monday 25 January, 8.00 am: Kyle Mansions, Gaywood Village. A flunky hands me the phone: its a long-distance call from my US agent, Sally Atan. "We're gold Jeremy!" she drawls in her broad Californian accent. "We're solid gold baby! Just got off the phone from talking to Mort at Debmar-Mecury. We've bagged the deal to make your show in the states. You're gonna conquer another continent!" "Why don't you button it, Sally-boy?" I interrupt. This is my show we're talking about - The Jeremy Kyle Show!" "Yeah hun," she replies, falteringly, "we are talking about you. You best get your limey ass over here pronto darling!" "Don't you tell me what to do, chum," I explode, "on National Television!" "International, baby" she corrects me, mistakenly. "Shut up, you pathetic scrounging scum!" I conclude, with absolute authority. That fucking wanker agent of mine needs to learn some good English manners and ditch her dead-end job.
9.30 am "News 'n' Blues" Newsagents, Gaywood High Street. "How are you, Raj? Still struggling to get by?" I enquire, comfortingly, sitting with concerned familiarity on his counter. "Just the copy of Nuts?" Mr Paneer clarifies, holding up a DVD that seems to have fallen into my magazine by mistake. "I'm sorry sir, Midget Gangbang 7 doesn't come free with that publication. But if you want to purchase Greased Teen Pissers instead..." "Less of your lip, Newsy-mate!" I spit, instantly clambering over the counter and slamming his head repeatedly on the cash register to make my point clear. "Do you know who I am? I'm Jeremy Kyle, the frigging daytime menace! Why don't you stop doing drugs and find yourself a decent job? When I'm finished with you, my after-care team won't be able to identify you without your dental records. Just put it on my account, Sonny-jim!" And with that I storm out, pausing at the door to deliver my parting shot: "On National Television!"
Blake and Monty: burping cool new publicity ideas for Jeremy Kyle.
10.15 am: Flange Towers, where my publicists Blake Several and Monty Flip are holding an "Idea Burp" to generate cool new ideas to market my new show to the Yanks. "Word up, Jezza," Monty greets me, proffering a double demi-skinny vanilla lattecino. "What's happening in your crazy world of moral rectitude? Still fighting for truth, justice and the Kyle way?" "Am I mate?" say I. "Abso-posi-lutely. On National Television!" "Check", says co-founder Blake. "It must be hard being you, constantly twatting up really disadvantaged, uneducated chavs by airing their dirty laundry on National Television on a daily basis, and then forcing them to endure humiliating cod-psychotherapy!" "Spot on, Matey-jim", I concur, "it's bloody hard. Right Monty?" "Right" says Monty. "Right" says Blake. "Sure" says Monty. "Sure" says "Blake." "Laundry" says I. Stand up geezers, those two.
12.30 am: Chasers Wine Bar. "Nice to see you Jeremy!" the itinerant bar-keep greets me cheerfully. "Will it be your usual Salmon Teriyaki wrap and a half-pint of Tuborg?" The cheek of these service industry stalwarts working all hours to escape the poverty trap makes me want to gouge my own eyes out with a rusty spoon. I instantly jump over the counter, grab a bottle of WKD and smash it across his shit-eating mush. "Button it, you wine-stained arsehole!" I command. "This is the Jeremy Kyle show! You speak to the host when he speaks to you. Or when my after-care team tells you that I am ready to listen to your pathetic whining gripes. Now fuck off, Beery-chops, and get yourself a proper job!" How dare that wanker loser prick insult me? On National Television?
3.05 pm: Gaywood Village Green. Deep in thought, chewing over the various names for the new show that Monty and Blake cloud-burst for me: Jeremy Kyle / Kyle: Jeremy /The Jeremy Kyle Show: USA / Button it, Yank, Before I Kick Your Face in on National Television! Suddenly I see a callow youth mugging an old dear at knife point. I instinctively know how to handle the situation, because I'm confronted by this sort of pathetic crap, every day on my show. "Oi! What the hell do you think you are doing, Grandma-jim? This is The Jeremy Kyle Show: USA!" I bark at the old bird, and in a flash I'm perched on the park bench, consoling the confused juvenile. "Look, son, you don't need to take this crap from this scary-faced octogenarian. You've got a future ahead of you, Teeny-mate. I'm calling in my after-care team to help you through this situation." Then I turn to the malevolent old girl. "You're a shitting disgrace!" I scream in her face, in a whole new register specifically reserved for these arseholes. "I represent the silent moral majority in this village and you make me want to vomit my bloody guts out. Why don't you get off the smack and find yourself a job, for Christ's Sake? "I'm retired now, dear", the junkie harridan pleads. "I worked in the NHS for 45 years though." "I don't care if you worked in the freaking NHS!" I erupt. "Your type should know better than to terrorise some poor helpless kid. How could you do this?" I pause for emphasis. "On National Fucking Television??"
Holy Christmas – It’s Empire FM’s annual review of all our programming in 2009 type thing!
So you've eaten your fifteenth serving of turkey and there's absolutely nothing else to do than to curl up on the sofa and watch Victoria "Dead" Wood and listen to Auntie Sheila involuntarily break wind, eh? Wrong! Because as a special end-of-year treat (because we couldn't be arsed writing anything new) Empire FM is proud to bring you the highlights of all its traditional, i.e. racist, output over the last year. So sit back, actually come a bit closer to the screen, bit closer still ... STOP. Now grab your mouse and start clicking through to multiple pages of FUN!
News that's twice as nice: Empire FM!
Britain's Favourite Radio Station* kicked off the year with a brand new breakfast show that brought you all the news you didn't know you needed to know, just when you didn't have any time to listen to it! Presenters Patrick Creeper and Stephanie Slapwell soon enamoured themselves to their listeners with their unique blend of inane banter and clueless interviewing, whilst their intrepid reporter in the field, Martin Hammertime, asked the difficult questions no other station was prepared - or bothered - to ask. Thanks to Up and at 'em England!, we found out ten fail-safe remedies for swelling of the joints, and why Adamski is now yodelling for a living. But we still have no idea what we were doing in Iraq, so it was probably a good thing we left when we did.
In April Empire FM celebrated St George's day the only way we knew how - by devoting 24 hours of impartial programming championing the best of British, and explaining why all the rest are a bit backward to be honest. Plus we got to find out what a Komodo dragon looks like. May brought you important government advice about bringing you neighbour (who is essentially a fanatical terrorist minus the beard), to justice, and we found out that the UK was now on a burnt sienna terror alert. So we should all be thankful that we are even able to read this review of the year in one piece.
Gerry making merry, down on the farm.
That month we also heard the first outing of Escape from Goldenmeadows Homestead, where presenter Gerald Wuthering-Heights invited two city slickers to his farm in Cornwall, and forced them to duel with pigs and learn to make nettle soup. Luckily, plenty of Gerry's famous homebrew was imbibed and everyone had a great time, apart from Gerald who spent most of his time utterly depressed and desperate for a nice donner kebab and a bottle of Blossom Hill from his local Costcutter. Unfortunately, the end of that series saw Goldenmeadows burned to a cinder after a particularly drunken Bonfire Night special, and Gerry now spends his days singing for booze in a theme pub in Twatt.
Of course Empire FM's schedules would not be complete without live broadcasts of England's most vicious and least-known professional sport, Heathen-rules super-agnostic-league reticulated cross-sticks. We were hanging on the every word of legendary commentators Sid "Wife" Beater and Jonathon "Jonno" DeBouvedere as they brought us a thrilling Chaffinch Cup final between the Bandits and the Tits. Would the referee's common-in-law partner allow that Upper Lip Pansy in extra fisting time? Why was there an alsatian on the pitch? To be honest, we would never really find out.
I'm back, cunts!
In June Empire FM scored another exclusive by bringing the nation's finest night-time news ranter - Baxter "Bisto" Bistock - out of seven year retirement from a Home for the Unpredictably Volatile, and back onto the airwaves. Bisto lost no time in showing that he was still cheesed off with the big guns - and gunning for the big cheeses - and as he trained his sights on Gordon Brown, Tony Blair and Bob Ainsworth, then knocked back a Tequila Coconut Sunrise over their mutilated corpses. Oh, and he said "cunt" a lot.
We kicked off the Autumn season with a brand new slot Ask the Experts, courtesy of renowned makeover experts Jamie P Spoon and Daniel McSpaniel. What links Jimmy Choo, Karl Largerfeld, Victoria Beckham and rotten aubergines? You wouldn't know, you're just a useless fashion casualty with bad hair and saggy boobs: only experts have the answers.
Wifred Mimsy: extending a hand to the buttocks of loneliness.
Finally in the last two months of the year we brought you spiritual fulfilment in the form of Rude Thought For The Day, presented by The Unquestionably Reverend Ernest T Spatchcock and The Slightly Reverend Dr Wilfred Mimsy, who urged his aural congregation to consider the important moral conundrums of the modern world: can you pray in a utility room? Does God drink Um Bongo? And what would Jesus have made of Midget Gangbang 7?
So what's in store for you lucky lot in 2010? Well to start with, we are all aching to find out What Gerry Did Next. We've also got another thrilling instalment of Jonno and Sid's coverage of the four-day final of the Chaffinch Cup, and a brand new three-parter from our resident experts Jamie and Dan, called (not unreasonably) Being Irritated By Some Experts. But that's not all: we will also be showcasing a hard-hitting documentary about UK knife crime, featuring Celine Dion and Barry Manilow and entitled Sharp Knives in A Flat. Clever, and tasteful. That's all on 33.9 Empire FM, the radio station for bigots, fascists and Boris Johnson.
Happy Yuletide Seasonings from everyone at Empire!
*Right Wing Ranters and Ranters' Mates, readers' poll 2009.
Cup of Pee Vicar? Introducing the Slightly Filthy Dr Wilfred Mimsy
Sl. Rev'd Mimsy: bringing sexy back to St Titmus.
This week, we are delighted to add a slightly more savoury and certainly more spiritually fulfilling column to the swathes of purile innuendo-laden smut-bloggery that regular How Inapropriate readers are used to, courtesy of the good priests on Empire FM's Rude Thought For The Day. The Unqestionably Reverend Ernest T Spatchcock is unfortunately away, tending to the needs of his party-loving 'Young Evangelicals' flock in the Bahamas, so this week we bring you a family-friendly festive homily courtesy of the Slightly Reverend Dr Wilfred Mimsy. Now for Christ's sake put that away.
And now on Empire FM, Rude Thought For The Day, with The Slightly Reverend Dr Wilfred Mimsy.
Good Um Bongo, readers, and, do you know, they do drink it in the Congo. As the days draw in and our thoughts turn to scoring a quarter of tasty bud in to blaze merrily through the winter nights, I often wonder what the Good Lord would have made of some of the homely comforts that surround us this Christmastide, had he been born into our world today. How would the infant Christ, in today's venacular, get down on it in his crib? And it is with that question that I turn to my text for today's column, taken from the the Video of Spunky Monkey Productions, Volume 12, Disc 2: "I'm so horny, I'd really love to fist a midget."
I'll admit that it isn't a traditional biblical passage that directs my thoughts this week, but it certainly did get the old Mimsy cogs a-whirling, readers. You see, this Thursday, when I had finished replanting my Fragrant Spreader pansies in the St Trinians Rectory garden and prepared my sermon for the Sunday Family Eucharist, I went inside and watched a few hours of hardcore pornography in delightful High Definition. And this line - spoken in the opening scene by the heroine of a particularly gripping edition of the Spunky Monkey Wankarama Box Set, Midget Gangbang 7 - brought home to me that many of us have, in a very real sense, never actually fisted a midget.
Churchwarden Lech: Forgive her father, for she has sinned.
I speak with some authority on this matter, because I discussed the issue with Miss Lech, our wonderful Polish churchwarden, and proud owner of St Trinian's ample Community Chest, and she reliably informed me that she has never so much as rubbed off a person of decreased stature, still less engaged them in the act of starfish arm-diving. And if you cast an eye over the Gospel According to Mark, I'm pretty sure that the same can be said of the disciples of Jesus; even Judas. But then again, is what the star of this beguiling production really saying is: aren't we all so desperate for God's love that we wouldn't all share five-fingered pleasure with a short-arse, given half the chance?
And maybe also, readers, we need to look at it from the other perspective. After all, we all love a bit of cream pie action, not to mention water sports, or indeed drunk teen spanking. But what must it feel like to be the little fellow? Not much of a look in at the party most of the time I'd guess. He probably has to finish himself off with a lubed marigold in the utility room when the rest of the averagely tall guests have had their fill. And that's very much the challenge for us, in this madcap modern world. We all need to lift our height-restricted neighbour up, and make sure that he gets a piece of the action: extend the Christian hand of love to the tiny buttocks of loneliness. That's something for us all to think about in the run-up to Christmas, and indeed in the New Year, should they bring out Midget Gangbang 8, and we certainly hope that they do.