Cultcow Russell Greer / @theofficialinstaofrussellgreer - Swift-Obsessed Sex Pest, Magical Star Buddy, Now On Probation for E-Stalking, Pipsqueak

[Pip Squeak]

I'm here to defend charity shops, or Goodwill as you Yanks call it.

If you've ever donated and sorted out clothes and thrown out stuff rather than donate because there's a button missing or a stain, don't do that. All these shops have a section called 'rag'. If it's shit, full of holes, falling apart at the seams, stained, dirty or whatever, they go in bags to be sold at like 50p per shit ton to charities providing for poor people in Africa or wherever.

Those tan trousers would never make it to the shop floor. If anyone put that crap out you'd lose customers. I mean, he could have bought them in a charity shop in a decent state 10 years ago and stitch by stitch, like everything he touches, they're trying to escape him. Please don't blame charities who do wonderful things for Dusty Rusty dressing like a hobo.

I also don't care for stun gun arguments and no, the Yovanna song was not the AGT song, it was a different audio assault (which happens to be a great band name for Pipsqueak).

 

[DrJonesHat]

I also don't care for stun gun arguments and no, the Yovanna song was not the AGT song, it was a different audio assault (which happens to be a great band name for Pipsqueak).

"Audio Assault" is good, but I prefer "Russell Greer's Aural Abortions" or maybe "The Russell Greer Disaster."

 

[Iron Hamster]

(There is also other weird shit on his website - such as a repeating clip of an old episode of Friends featuring a monkey).

Kinda makes ya wonder if he has permission to use that intellectual property.

 

[DrJonesHat]

Kinda makes ya wonder if he has permission to use that intellectual property.

Don't be ridiculous. IP rights only apply if it's Russ's stuff. Otherwise he can use anything he wants without permission because he's Russell Fucking Greer.

 

[Blasterisk]

"Audio Assault" is good, but I prefer "Russell Greer's Aural Abortions" or maybe "The Russell Greer Disaster."

"Russell Greer and The Competents"

Because they are and he isn't, you see

 

[A Big Bumbling Black Man]

His court filings mentioned him complaining about trolls ruining an AGT audition.

Am I missing something? I thought we'd all seen the tape Russell submitted to AGT when Dynastia hacked his laptop. Oh well, I'll repost it here just in case.

Spoiler: Totally real audition tape

 

[Sexy Senior Citizen]

By Dickens, you've done it! Russel Greer has secured his place in the high arts thanks to your work, mind that it be in literature rather than lyrical composition, and no doubt to his displeasure as a character in a fiction more true to form than any composition he could hope to achieve.

Since Russell is American, I would've thought they'd go the F. Scott Fitzgerald route and write The Great Gourdhead.

 

[TractorGirl]

Mr dearest Charlotte,

I write to you from my London residence. You may have already received news of my maiden aunt, Jessica. If not, then it is my burden to inform you that she has become intractably wedged inside the only bathtub at Kentings, necessitating my immediate departure, along with all but two of the servants. In my absence she is hoping to establish a fire brigade, who she will call upon to extract her from the vessel that seems otherwise fated to become her sarcophagus.

I must mention at this time the purpose of my communication - a singularly-wretched creature, around whom I have established a charitable foundation that I have dubbed 'The Friends of Greer'; Greer being the family name of the party concerned.

The unfortunate individual possesses the wrinkled, grave-soiled attire and rictus expression of a week old corpse, crowned with a head of hair that would shame a mongrel dog, and a moustache that threatens to unseat this facial adornment as the unassailable and universal signifier of good breeding in men, and in certain mannish women such as Florence Nightingale. He carries about his person a unique stench that those residents in the proximity of the infamous Houndsditch miasma are said to find objectionable.

He has authored a revolting pamphlet which he has titled 'Why no gentlemen of honour may deny the advancement of my roving hands 'neath the skirts and corsetry of his young and unsullied daughter, and why he must wait on ceremony as I deflower her, and afterwards warmly shake my hand while pronouncing me a fine and upstanding fellow and gifting me the sum of £50'.

My first encounter with Greer was a letter of his that was published in the London Times, where-in he complains that Lady Taylor-Swift (of the Norfolk Taylor-Swifts) has responded unfavourably to his romantic overtures by sending him a bag of soil taken from the grave of Karl Marx in Highgate. I believe this to be an unfounded libel; one that is so ridiculous that it is unlikely to be answered.

A small group of us have taken it upon ourselves to establish a supportive framework around Greer that will be both nurturing and practical in nature, as is required. Our aim is to raise him above the squalid mire of his own deficient character, his miserable physique and his lamentable life choices, and establish him in society as a gentleman. If we are successful in this philanthropic venture, then it is my conjecture that no man can be regarded as a lost cause and beneath rehabilitation. It is my eventual hope that our motto - 'be friendful to your fellow man however wretched he may be' - will become part and parcel of the social contract that is the hallmark of any nation that regards itself civilised.

I will send you daily updates regarding our progress as I know that such a thing will delight you.

Yours and yours alone


William​

Mr dearest Charlotte

Strike-through those words in my previous letter that relate to the man Greer. Having done so, burn the letter in its entirety, divide the ashes into four equal parts and bury them in isolated locations at least five miles distant from each other.

The unlikeable subject of my previous dispatch has proven himself a most vexing individual, blind to his multitude of flaws even as they loom over him, generous only in the diffusion of his unique odour that, in the space of mere hours, has indelibly colonised my home to the extent that my only option is to set the building ablaze and allow it to burn down past its foundations. He represents a profound nuisance to the fairer sex. Even the ha'penny whores of Stepney, who are reported to launder small articles of linen in their nether parts as they go about their sordid business, refuse to associate with him. A baboon dressed in the style of a Prussian military officer, who was presented to the Royal Court the previous year, on the occasion of the Queen's birthday, plays the harpsichord with demonstrably more finesse than the demented and arrhythmic pounding we have witnessed from Greer, who none-the-less pronounces himself the Mozart of his age.

Indeed, his behaviour is so objectional, that, on more than one occasion, we have been left with no option other than to intervene, to prevent him from being soundly beaten about the coxcomb. That he has survived this long without being bludgeoned into an early grave speaks favourably of the inherent tolerance and goodness of our race.

The aforementioned Friends of Greer, upon realising their grievous error of judgement, have agreed to disband at once and withhold from any further contact with each other for duration of our lives. When we die we are resolved to be buried in unmarked graves.

I am, as I write these words, emerging from a strange hubris, where-in I believed myself capable of righting the wrongs of a man whose existence itself stands as compelling evidence of a flaw in god's plan, so fundamental, that it calls into question whether our creator's intentions can be regarded as benevolent.

It is my intent to travel to Africa at the earliest opportunity, where I will spend the remainder of my days in solitude. In my absence I have asked Captain Mark Saunders to extend to you a proposal of marriage. He has agreed to this arrangement on principle, dependant upon your consent.

Your love, forever removed from your side by my foolish association with the wretch, Greer

William​

Can you please write an entire book!!!!

 

[A Big Bumbling Black Man]

He has authored a revolting pamphlet which he has titled 'Why no gentlemen of honour may deny the advancement of my roving hands 'neath the skirts and corsetry of his young and unsullied daughter, and why he must wait on ceremony as I deflower her, and afterwards warmly shake my hand while pronouncing me a fine and upstanding fellow and gifting me the sum of £50'.

This line gave me the classic choking tears laughs, thanks.

 

[JustSomeDong]

This line gave me the classic choking tears laughs, thanks.

I read it in Malcolm McDowell's voice in my head.

 

[The Great Citracett]

The clip from Friends is a scene where the monkey puts a cassete in the player and one of the characters (Ross) tells him not to and the joke is that the song is "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," and the other characters sort of shrug and start dancing along with it. I think because Russell's references are really outdated he thinks most people will get it but the kind of person who listens to pop music probably wouldn't understand a Friends reference. The dancing gif is sometimes used in memes but it's never really caught on that much.

The scene in question, only available in potato quality sadly.

That Friends meme wasn't even Russell's own idea, actually. It's something Distrokid made in 2019 where you can put your song in and the monkey plays it.

https://distrokid.com/marcel/

I tried to use it to make one with the WOO HOO HOO song, but it requires an account, and your own original song uploaded to Distrokid and possibly some other dumb conditions. I think you have to pay for an account there. So not only did he not make the meme himself, but he PAID to have it made for him.

I almost tried to make one myself using the clip from somewhere but I ended up not bothering because it's just not funny enough to.

 

[Pip Squeak]

"Audio Assault" is good, but I prefer "Russell Greer's Aural Abortions" or maybe "The Russell Greer Disaster."

Pipsqueak and the Plights

 

[Meredith Swift]

Pipsqueak and the Plights

The Mobius Manlets

 

[Constellationzero]

I'm here to defend charity shops, or Goodwill as you Yanks call it.

If you've ever donated and sorted out clothes and thrown out stuff rather than donate because there's a button missing or a stain, don't do that. All these shops have a section called 'rag'. If it's shit, full of holes, falling apart at the seams, stained, dirty or whatever, they go in bags to be sold at like 50p per shit ton to charities providing for poor people in Africa or wherever.

Those tan trousers would never make it to the shop floor. If anyone put that crap out you'd lose customers. I mean, he could have bought them in a charity shop in a decent state 10 years ago and stitch by stitch, like everything he touches, they're trying to escape him. Please don't blame charities who do wonderful things for Dusty Rusty dressing like a hobo.

I also don't care for stun gun arguments and no, the Yovanna song was not the AGT song, it was a different audio assault (which happens to be a great band name for Pipsqueak).

Well...here in America they fuckin' do. At least they do in my state. Goodwill, Saverz, Salvation Army, even private ones like Crusader Thrift Shop have/do/and will put out shit like the frayed Dockers that butternut is rocking with his New Balance tard trainers.
Yeah, there are USAgain boxes (for profit) that "collect" RE: shit up parking lots at stores everywhere, shit clothes with holes, pulled hems, stains, and tears for "rags," but as a caseworker who has frequented these places for tard wrangling drunks, reprobates, whores, druggies, losers, freaks, weirdoes, and YES, literal TARDS for "job coaching" and "job retention," They do this here all the time.

Plus: Russell is stupid and very lazy and he puts no pride in appearance beyond some cartoonish parody of what he thinks a "gentleman" is to impress whores at a brothel and tween pop stars who probably think a pair of Manolo Blahniks are too "basic."
And the fact that he "works out" in these clothes, doesn't shower/bathe, drools and slavers and spits all down the front of hisself (see DankNet's video about 11 minutes in), could also have much to do with the... hobo--esque nature of his clothing choices. I'm just glad he's several states away from me so I don't have to smell him.

 

[StinkySnack]

Am I missing something? I thought we'd all seen the tape Russell submitted to AGT when Dynastia hacked his laptop. Oh well, I'll repost it here just in case.

Spoiler: Totally real audition tape

View attachment 2115210

This is one of the funniest things I've ever seen on here.

 

[Hollywood Hitler]

Pip and the Squeaks

 

[Andrew Neiman]

That Friends meme wasn't even Russell's own idea, actually. It's something Distrokid made in 2019 where you can put your song in and the monkey plays it.

https://distrokid.com/marcel/

I tried to use it to make one with the WOO HOO HOO song, but it requires an account, and your own original song uploaded to Distrokid and possibly some other dumb conditions. I think you have to pay for an account there. So not only did he not make the meme himself, but he PAID to have it made for him.

I almost tried to make one myself using the clip from somewhere but I ended up not bothering because it's just not funny enough to.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who was mildly surprised by the fact that that clip was competently put together. Now we know, I guess.

Mr dearest Charlotte,

I write to you from my London residence. You may have already received news of my maiden aunt, Jessica. If not, then it is my burden to inform you that she has become intractably wedged inside the only bathtub at Kentings, necessitating my immediate departure, along with all but two of the servants. In my absence she is hoping to establish a fire brigade, who she will call upon to extract her from the vessel that seems otherwise fated to become her sarcophagus.

I must mention at this time the purpose of my communication - a singularly-wretched creature, around whom I have established a charitable foundation that I have dubbed 'The Friends of Greer'; Greer being the family name of the party concerned.

The unfortunate individual possesses the wrinkled, grave-soiled attire and rictus expression of a week old corpse, crowned with a head of hair that would shame a mongrel dog, and a moustache that threatens to unseat this facial adornment as the unassailable and universal signifier of good breeding in men, and in certain mannish women such as Florence Nightingale. He carries about his person a unique stench that those residents in the proximity of the infamous Houndsditch miasma are said to find objectionable.

He has authored a revolting pamphlet which he has titled 'Why no gentlemen of honour may deny the advancement of my roving hands 'neath the skirts and corsetry of his young and unsullied daughter, and why he must wait on ceremony as I deflower her, and afterwards warmly shake my hand while pronouncing me a fine and upstanding fellow and gifting me the sum of £50'.

My first encounter with Greer was a letter of his that was published in the London Times, where-in he complains that Lady Taylor-Swift (of the Norfolk Taylor-Swifts) has responded unfavourably to his romantic overtures by sending him a bag of soil taken from the grave of Karl Marx in Highgate. I believe this to be an unfounded libel; one that is so ridiculous that it is unlikely to be answered.

A small group of us have taken it upon ourselves to establish a supportive framework around Greer that will be both nurturing and practical in nature, as is required. Our aim is to raise him above the squalid mire of his own deficient character, his miserable physique and his lamentable life choices, and establish him in society as a gentleman. If we are successful in this philanthropic venture, then it is my conjecture that no man can be regarded as a lost cause and beneath rehabilitation. It is my eventual hope that our motto - 'be friendful to your fellow man however wretched he may be' - will become part and parcel of the social contract that is the hallmark of any nation that regards itself civilised.

I will send you daily updates regarding our progress as I know that such a thing will delight you.

Yours and yours alone


William​

Mr dearest Charlotte

Strike-through those words in my previous letter that relate to the man Greer. Having done so, burn the letter in its entirety, divide the ashes into four equal parts and bury them in isolated locations at least five miles distant from each other.

The unlikeable subject of my previous dispatch has proven himself a most vexing individual, blind to his multitude of flaws even as they loom over him, generous only in the diffusion of his unique odour that, in the space of mere hours, has indelibly colonised my home to the extent that my only option is to set the building ablaze and allow it to burn down past its foundations. He represents a profound nuisance to the fairer sex. Even the ha'penny whores of Stepney, who are reported to launder small articles of linen in their nether parts as they go about their sordid business, refuse to associate with him. A baboon dressed in the style of a Prussian military officer, who was presented to the Royal Court the previous year, on the occasion of the Queen's birthday, plays the harpsichord with demonstrably more finesse than the demented and arrhythmic pounding we have witnessed from Greer, who none-the-less pronounces himself the Mozart of his age.

Indeed, his behaviour is so objectional, that, on more than one occasion, we have been left with no option other than to intervene, to prevent him from being soundly beaten about the coxcomb. That he has survived this long without being bludgeoned into an early grave speaks favourably of the inherent tolerance and goodness of our race.

The aforementioned Friends of Greer, upon realising their grievous error of judgement, have agreed to disband at once and withhold from any further contact with each other for duration of our lives. When we die we are resolved to be buried in unmarked graves.

I am, as I write these words, emerging from a strange hubris, where-in I believed myself capable of righting the wrongs of a man whose existence itself stands as compelling evidence of a flaw in god's plan, so fundamental, that it calls into question whether our creator's intentions can be regarded as benevolent.

It is my intent to travel to Africa at the earliest opportunity, where I will spend the remainder of my days in solitude. In my absence I have asked Captain Mark Saunders to extend to you a proposal of marriage. He has agreed to this arrangement on principle, dependant upon your consent.

Your love, forever removed from your side by my foolish association with the wretch, Greer

William​

If there were a Patreon attached to this project, I would donate to it.

 

[RussianParasite]

he's Russell Fucking Greer.

That may be, but nobody, and I mean nobody, is fucking Russell Greer.

 

[Pip Squeak]

Well...here in America they fuckin' do. At least they do in my state. Goodwill, Saverz, Salvation Army, even private ones like Crusader Thrift Shop have/do/and will put out shit like the frayed Dockers that butternut is rocking with his New Balance tard trainers.
Yeah, there are USAgain boxes (for profit) that "collect" RE: shit up parking lots at stores everywhere, shit clothes with holes, pulled hems, stains, and tears for "rags," but as a caseworker who has frequented these places for tard wrangling drunks, reprobates, whores, druggies, losers, freaks, weirdoes, and YES, literal TARDS for "job coaching" and "job retention," They do this here all the time.

Plus: Russell is stupid and very lazy and he puts no pride in appearance beyond some cartoonish parody of what he thinks a "gentleman" is to impress whores at a brothel and tween pop stars who probably think a pair of Manolo Blahniks are too "basic."
And the fact that he "works out" in these clothes, doesn't shower/bathe, drools and slavers and spits all down the front of hisself (see DankNet's video about 11 minutes in), could also have much to do with the... hobo--esque nature of his clothing choices. I'm just glad he's several states away from me so I don't have to smell him.

Oh god, that sounds awful. You'd actually struggle to buy crap from them here. My daughter picked up a brand new branded top for a fiver a couple of days ago, brand new is not unusual here.

To be fair, you could give Pipsqueak endless cash for clothes and he'd still find a way to wear it all wrong and filthy it up. Homeless Lucas Werner is better dressed ffs. He's just so repulsive.

 

[DrJonesHat]

That may be, but nobody, and I mean nobody, is fucking Russell Greer.

God, I hope not. No one deserves that.