Gillian 'Fucking' McKeith.

Those of you that know me will be aware of the fact that I am a bitter and unfulfilled little troll of a man. When not picking at the great cosmic scab of theoretical physics I like nothing better than hassling the celebrity parasites currently squeezing the life out of this country.

Of all of these media threadworms the turd-chomping, meddling ratbag Dr (ha ha) Gillian McKeith is by far the most loathsome. In my opinion, she is a charlatan of the most dangerous kind.
One of her outrageous claims is that eating lots of chlorophyll 'will oxygenate the blood'. Lies! My PhD is based on the study of the photo-physics of these compounds and any scientist would know that photosystem 2 produces oxygen by reducing water in the presence of light. Imagining for a minute that these infinitely complex structures survive being digested and are then strangely ignored by our own immune system, there is still no source of sun-light inside the body. Even if she does believe that the sun shines out of her obsessively maintained arse.

Anyway, enough of the science. I believe that it is the God-given right of every human on this toilet Earth to be unhealthy. If I decide to eat nothing but 'Sherbet Dip-Dabs' for a month then I shall do so without guilt. If, on the slightest whim, I choose to smoke crack until my head explodes then no Scotch coprophile is going to stop me.

So I decided to send her a query that would really stretch her dubious abilities.

Dear Dr McKeith,

I am writing to you regarding a most troubling dietary/nutritional problem. For the last few months I have been plagued by a buttock-clenchingly terrifying nightmare.
I find myself crawling through a dark, organic-looking tunnel. I am up to my delicate ankles in sludge and a foul miasma fills the air. I hear the sound of childish laughter all around, teasing me, toying with me. I walk for what seems like hours and suddenly I am confronted by a ghostly lady. She is nude, with full pendulous breasts and weighty buttocks lit by a sickly, bacterial glow. As she opens here mouth to speak a giant millipede emerges and crawls along the fetid floor toward me. The lady promptly draws a gun from out of her curly, greasy hair and forces me to copulate with this giant arthropod.
I wake screaming.
My bookie Ted told me to eat nothing but 'Dairylea' for a week, the purpose of which was to raise the level of my nightmares to fever-pitch, thereby allowing me to confront my chitinous rapist and resolve the issue once and for all.
I now feel rather sick. Please advise.

yours

Christopher Duffy

She didn't reply. I am assuming that a life spent rooting around in poo has left Dr McKeith bereft of basic manners. For shame Gillian.