Alan Sugar's world of incessant bullshit

LORD Sugar, an unbiased impartial BBC employee and billionaire business wanker, details the pointless bullshit he fills every day with.

Twitter rants

When I tweet, the world listens. I like to point out the travesty of people ‘working’ from home. The fact that I’m a commercial landlord in no way affects my views on these bone idle snowflake scumbags who need their bollocks cutting off with a rusty hacksaw.

Rehearsing for The Apprentice

The Apprentice just keeps getting better and better, and has definitely not become a tired parody of real business with a bunch of delusional sales twats. In the months before a new series I make sure I’m word-perfect with my much-loved catchphrases: ‘You’re fired’, ‘Toot off the market’, ‘I’ve got a hole in my bloody arse’. It’s like being Laurence Olivier and Shakespeare rolled into one.

Being a member of the House of Lords

A few times a week I like to get out the old ermine. I don’t actually go to the House of Lords, hence my abysmal voting record, I just like to look at myself in the mirror and feel important. Lords are the top people in England, like the Queen. I could probably have your head chopped off.

Watching GB News

It’s the only channel not afraid to tell the truth about the woke hellhole Britain has become. Apparently children can’t say ‘Mummy’ anymore, they have to call them ‘Non-gender specific small person incubation unit’. If you disagree you’ll be tried in front of a Sharia court for transphobia. I’m not sure how that would work, but it’s not what I pay my bloody taxes for!

Inventing new Amstrad products

My video phone wasn’t a piece of overpriced, pointless crap as critics claim, it was just ahead of its time. I’m always sketching out new products like the AmFax, a fax-enabled mobile phone with a built-in printer. The faxes are tiny, but it’s got a holder on the back for a magnifying glass.

Looking for my next challenge

Billionaire, TV star, owner of an electronic components wholesaler – yes, there isn’t much left for this boy from a council flat in the East End to achieve. Except becoming an omnipotent deity. I’ve always thought I could do a better job than God, so every night I pray to Him offering to buy a 50 per cent share of the universe. I’ve not heard back yet, but no one’s going to turn down a chance to work with Lord Alan Sugar.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday
privacy

The middle class guide to melodramatically wondering if you're going to survive the crisis

ARE you too affluent to be genuinely worried about energy costs, but want to join in the drama? Here middle class mum Charlotte Phelps explains how to pretend to worry.

Make a fuss about not putting the heating on

The news is full of people saying they won’t be putting the heating on this winter, so I’m going to do the same. Well, at least not until the end of September. And the underfloor heating in the bathrooms must stay on, of course. It’s a lifesaver.

Insist everyone wears extra layers

‘Heat the person, not the home!’ I’ll cry dramatically, before carting the whole family off to John Lewis to buy nice, thick cashmere sweaters. Ooh, maybe we’ll get matching ones. That would be a bit of a giggle on this year’s Christmas card.

Switch off lights

Will we be able to afford to keep the lights on this winter? Well, of course the ones in the house, we’ll leave those on willy-nilly. But I’ll do a sad Facebook post about how we’ve been forced to switch off the high-powered spotlight for the oak tree in the back garden. Though of course we’ll be getting out the illuminated life-size Santa Claus for the festive season.

Tape up the dishwasher

Heating water costs a fortune, and then it’s literally washed down the drain. All washing up this year will be done by hand, even after we’ve had 16 friends round for dinner and we’ve used new plates for all five courses. I must remember to tell our cleaner.

Shop somewhere cheaper

‘We can’t afford to buy all our food at the farmer’s market and the local organic heath food shop anymore,’ I’ll tell my friends weepily. ‘We’ve been forced to go back to Waitrose.’ They’ll think I’m terribly brave, and hopefully that bitch Francesca won’t go one better by deciding to slum it in Sainsbury’s.