An early Easter wish

I don't ask much of life; generally something along the lines of "leave me alone to get on with my stuff" But I've got a little request. Just a small one. Would the Halifax please take Howard "Bloody" Brown and put his head under a train? Will he please just f*ck off and die? Is that too much to ask? This corporate marketting whore with his Himmler'esque haircut and five o'clock shadow (take a look at a picture of Himmler in negative and be very afraid), his cocaine smile and his eyeballs inflated by helium has done one advert too many for my grinding teeth to stand and now must be put forward for a Dando Doorstep Challenge. Howard, your f*cking fish with a voice sounds like an Aryan Thatcherite nightmare from a Steve Bell cartoon. It has that sort of Vanquish driving, Surrey living, gated drive, "job in the city quality" about it that really makes me want to break it's bowl open with a baseball bat and watch it expire slowly in the air. Stop it. Lay off the LSD. This has gone too far. If your junk mail is talking to you with a little zizzy voice, it's really time to take a break from the acid. This is what happens when financial burnouts turn to drugs. It's bad enough that it happens in the toilets of high price bars in the financial district every day, but whatever you do, DON'T PUT IT ON MY BLOODY TELEVISION TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAY!!!!

Phhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhew............