Pyro Hag! Ready!

Please let this Gladiators naming contest be real. Scroll to the bottom, Charlie Brooker is awesome.

My humble suggestions:

Women
Beast Face
The Tank
Fist
Pyro-Hag
Ice Witch
Burka
Bratwurst
Stockport
Lobster
Snooker

Men
Tool
Sir Apes-a-Lot
Sex Pest
Prince
The Raunch
Prison
Stalin
Apartheid
Cattleprod
Bulimia

Better that, honk jobs!

Chapter 1 of 'Captain Bastard Beard Rocks Time Itself'. Hollywood or independent filmmakers on the brink of greatness get in touch

"Gadzooks!" exclaimed the rapist as the Captain steered the ship straight between the eyes of the enraged sperm whale. Locked trance like in the beasts' solemn gaze, he noticed the faint yet masculine smell of Brut Por Homme that he'd splashed on for the Cabin Boy or the Spanish or his dead wife, he couldn't remember now that he realized he was in the eye of the tropical storm; both a metaphorical storm of misunderstood good will that usually ended in merry jig accompanied murder and vitamin B deficient scurvy, and the face lashingly real storm of the intense tropical weather system with a well-defined surface circulation and maximum sustained winds of 74 mph or higher.

All Captain Bastard Beard could hear in his good ear was the cackling of that damned Ice Witch and her mocked challenge. "Battle the mighty whale and take his proud fire breathing phallus. For it grants eternal raunch and feral badassery!". This really put him off as he was trying hard to look hunky and suave in front of his cowering, sea weary men. "Was this just a sexy, no holds barred threeway tease or was the story true?" the Captain pondered, suddenly losing his boner with the memory of sucking her honey lubed scab.

"Oh Captaaaaaaaaaaaaiiinnnn!" screamed Jimmy McCrabs as he hurled the Captain's mighty instrument from the galley. In a powerful lunge, the Captain caught his electric guitar, strapped up and proceeded to shred solo after electric solo literally thrashing the wales' stupid big face off with his rockin' riffs. "Ahaha I had a wale of a time!" the Captain quipped. "You can really wail on the axe!" said a deck hand, slapping his master on the back.
"Stand well back, boy. Now I must teach the storm itself a lesson with my rock fury". With hot whammy bar action, Bastard Beards' axe skills start to bend time and space itself...

:(

Have you ever had the kind of news that makes you feel like you're being torn in a hundred directions? Being ripped to pieces by the flesh lusting undead, cold and indifferent in their binary motivation? Neither satisfied nor forlorn once their grisly goal is met. Now that you're becoming necrotic bile, you have passing through rotten tract to look forward to, mixing with putrid semi digested foodstuffs and the freshly devoured flesh of your loved ones/neighbours' annoying pet. Then hopefully when you're finally stuffed through the decayed sphincter of your reanimated gourmand, you get to become a ghastly waste product of your own repugnant body, save only for the fact that your dream hasn't come true and you're suddenly horrifically aware that the mess you realize your life is in, is entirely of your own doing?

This is my pitch for a new kids tv show called Timely Epiphany of a Coward. I'm in talks with known sex offenders The Chuckle Bros and Toblerone addict Chico for the theme tune.

(PS. Any legal minded people, please be aware that these are simply dirty lies regarding Messrs Chuckle and Chico. All three are sexy and humble upstanding citizens and not related to said activities.)

Hot Sugar, Mother Fuckers!

In my spare time I like nothing more than to radicalize mankind in my thrash sleaze fiendish moist rock outfit Hot Sugar. As well as melting faces and parting lips, we were recently honoured with key to the city of Peru following the dispersal, capture and subsequent rehabilitation of highly intelligent misanthropic battle chimps. HS Frontwoman Dawn Rodgers gave the following statement to local media: "They're basically good kids that got mixed up in the world of baboons and alcohol abuse. Happened to me in juvie."

If your crotch can take it, come on down and lick my itch on our official Fanbase. Remember, I don’t want you to cry, just want your pie. If you can't be good, be fast.

Highly Sexed Raunch Mutant

I've decided that I need a hot danger woman to tame my ways. Well, maybe a harem of sultry sauce wenches to exhaust me through lust-capades.

In fact, that’s how I want to go out – death by an Amazonian raunch game gone bad. On the gravestone “It’s what he would have wanted RIP sauce ape”. Etched in Helvetica I think. Classy and timeless, like a reach around from Stephen Hawkings. Survived by strong midgets.