(Couldn't find a picture of the worthless tosser but he looks a bit like Mick Hucknall. Same beady eyes, ginger barnet and ridiculous facial hair. Use your imagination)
Barry Egan, so called journalist with the Independent newspaper, is an ugly man. So ugly in fact that upon encountering him in the street you would reflexively vomit up the contents of your stomach while simultaneously trying to claw your eyes out. He looks like some kind of root vegetable that has been crossbred with a particularly vile looking rodent and has somehow managed to worm his way into writing for a national newspaper. His obnoxiousness knows no bounds.
The human equivalent of a wet fart Egan's creepy, sycophantic articles exude the rancid odour of hysterical celebrity worship and shallow status anxiety. Never in my life have I come across a writer so singularly devoid of talent, originality or insight. In a just world, a ridiculous fuckhead like this would be marched out into the middle of a crowded street, shackled to a stock and pelted with rotting fruit for eternity.
Egan's writing seems to consist mainly of articles where he fawns over some airhead celebrity tart, plies them with alcohol and badgers them into spouting salacious comments which he then plasters all over his column in massive typeface. Its an indescribebly creepy experience to read one of his pieces from start to finish. His slurping crawling prose reads like a mixture between a horny teenage boy and a deeply disturbed "bad" uncle. Take this extract from his widely renowned think piece on deranged, jackal faced coke whore Tara Plamer-Tomkinson:
Like an ab fab and size-zero Bessie Bunter on LSD, Tara wolfs down a ham-and-cheese panini before just as quickly ordering another one ("They are amazingly naughty," she exclaims, like Bessie Bunter in the throes of a food orgasm). Like an ab fab Sue Ellen Ewing in YSL shoulderpads, TPT lorries back a Bloody Mary before just as quickly ordering another one.
The show is only beginning. When it is time to leave for the airport, she wants to change her clothes. The PR girl tells her to change in the other room. Tara decides to change in front of me. She strips down to her bra and knickers and puts on jeans and a top.
See what I mean? Both creepy and nonsensical.
When not mentally raping addled IT girls, Egan spends his days documenting the worthless lives of Dublin's biggest pricks. Rosanna Davison, Robbie Fox, some ugly slag called Roz Lipsett (anyone?), Egan seems to think dispicable shits like this somehow represent the pinnacle of modern culture because they have rich parents or own crappy nightclubs.
Egan's crowning achivement thus far has been ghostwriting a weekly column for self styled Dublin socialite/waiter and reality tv star Gavin Lambe-Murphy, a man so utterly detestable that were you to gun him down in a crowded resturant, you would probably be given freedom of the city. Seriously, his grinning twattish features practically invite you to punch him in the throat.
I was going to finish this article with the word cunt typed over and over but I realized that might be boring for the reader and make me look like some kind of deranged mental case so I decided instead to type the word prick over and over.
Prick, Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick,Prick, FUCKING PRICK!!
S.B.
4 comments:
Sing it brother, I couldn't agree more
S.B., so called blogger for this website, is a terrible writer. So terrible in fact that upon encountering his blog, I reflexively barfed up the contents of my stomach while simultaneously trying to claw my eyes out.
He writes like a Z-List celebrity who is trying their hand at writing, along with cosmetics and singing (see: Katie Price),and whose jealousy manages to worm his way into his writing on a blog which he no doubt hopes will get noticed so he can get a well-paid job for a national newspaper (see: Barry Egan). Hardly. His shitness knows no bounds.
The human equivalent of a festering turd, S.B.'s dull, pathetic articles exude the rancid odour of desperate jealousy and shallow status anxiety. Never in my life have I come across a writer so singularly devoid of talent, originality, insight, humour or praise. In a just world, a repulsive arsehole like this would have his hands cut off and be dragged through the streets by goats. Should he ever get anywhere with his writing, (no doubt for a dishrag such as The Daily Mirror)the paper wasted on his articles would not be worthy of toilet roll to wipe my arse.
His lack of ability in writing a decent article with a clever ending leads him to simply write the word prick over and over.
PS. 'Dispicable' is spelt 'despicable' you lousy, emotionally warped excuse for a writer.
This commentary on Barry Egan has made my day... i JUST read todays article on 'Lisa Murphy' being robbed in the Sunday Independent.... and Christ I want to beat Barry Egan to a pulp for this shite - him and who pays him!!! seriously, he gets paid to write the shite he does?
Anyway, THANK YOU for this article as it reflects my every thought...
I agree he is a total twat! Have just read an article on photographer Nicola McClean and although he has corrected the original poster on spelling mistakes he is unable to spell the word "craic". Reading that article is embarrassing and if it was written about me I would be cringing right now. A "mansion" in Sutton! Please.... Talk about an exaggeration!! The whole article is a total cringe.
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