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|Brain Candy Celebrity Insults Collection|
insults about famous men
clever celebrity sarcastic comments about famous men
|Insults about Athletes||Face to Face Confrontations||Insults about Actors|
|Insults about Writers||Excellent Put-downs||Insults about Politicians|
|Insults about Musicians||Miscellaneous Insults|
He is racist, he's homophobic, he's xenophobic and he's a sexist.
He's the perfect Republican candidate.
A sophistical rhetorician, inebriated with the exuberance of his
own verbosity, and gifted with an egotistical imagination that can
at all times command an interminable and inconsistent series of
arguments to malign an opponent and to glorify himself.
He had a charisma that must have come out of an immaculate conception
between Fidel Castro and Groucho Marx. They went into his soul and
he came out looking like an ethnic milkshake--Jewish revolutionary,
Puerto Rican lord, Italian street kid, Black Panther with the old
Afro haircut, even a glint of Irish gunman in the mad, green eyes.
Any political party that can't cough up anything better than a
treacherous brain-damaged old vulture like Hubert Humphrey deserves
every beating it gets. They don't hardly make 'em like Hubert any
more - but just to be on the safe side, he should be castrated anyway.
He sits there in senile dementia with a gangrene heart and rotting
brain, grimacing at every reform, chattering impotently at all things
that are decent, frothing, fuming, violently gibbering, going down
to his grave in snarling infamy ... disgraceful, depraved ... and
The ineffable dunce has nothing to say and says it with a liberal
embellishment of bad delivery, embroidering it with reasonless vulgarities
of attitude, gesture and attire. There never was an impostor so
hateful, a blockhead so stupid, a crank so variously and offensively
daft. He makes me tired.
Oh my God, look at you. Anyone else hurt in the accident?
Am reserving two tickets for you for my premiere. Come and bring
a friend - if you have one.
Don't be so humble, you're not that great.
Do you mind if I sit back a little? Because your breath is very
I'm not having points taken off me by an incompetent old fool.
You're the pits of the world.
You can't see as well as these fucking flowers - and they're fucking
What other problems do you have besides being unemployed, a moron
and a dork?
You're like a pay toilet, aren't you? You don't give a shit for
Who picks your clothes - Stevie Wonder?
He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader
to the dictionary.
He's phony, using his blackness to get his way.
His writing is limited to songs for dead blondes.
If I were married to you, I'd put poison in your coffee.
You will either die on the gallows or of a loathsome disease.
Do you mind if I smoke?
My dear Whistler, you leave your pictures in such a sketchy, unfinished
state. Why don't you ever finish them?
He's the type of man who will end up dying in his own arms.
You're so vain. You probably think this song is about you.
The only reason he had a child is so that he can meet babysitters.
What makes him think a middle-aged actor, who's played with a chimp,
could have a future in politics?
Most of the time he sounds like he has a mouth full of wet toilet
He couldn't ad-lib a fart after a baked-bean dinner.
He acts like he's got a Mixmaster up his ass and doesn't want anyone
to know it.
He got a reputation as a great actor by just thinking hard about
the next line.
I've got three words for him: Am. A. Teur.
His ears made him look like a taxicab with both doors open.
Steve Martin has basically one joke and he's it.
Nothing happens. At all. Ever. Remember when Steve Martin was funny?
Apparently, neither does he.
Now there sits a man with an open mind. You can feel the draft
There were three things that Chico was always on - a phone, a horse,
or a broad.
He looked like a half-melted rubber bulldog.
His features resembled a fossilized wash rag.
He has turned almost alarmingly blond - he's gone past platinum,
he must be plutonium; his hair is coordinated with his teeth.
Poor little man, they made him out of lemon Jell-O and there he
is. He's honest and hardworking but he's not great.
Well at least he has finally found his true love … what a pity
he can't marry himself.
Stars The Rock, but The Wood might be a better description of his
His favorite exercise is climbing tall people.
Arnold Schwarzenegger looks like a condom full of walnuts.
He has the vocal modulation of a railway-station announcer, the
expressive power of a fence-post and the charisma of a week-old
head of lettuce.
McEnroe was as charming as always, which means that he was as charming
as a dead mouse in a loaf of bread.
Beyond the hair, tattoos and earrings, he's just like you and me.
Dennis has become like a prostitute, but now it's gotten ridiculous,
to the point where he will do anything humanly possible to make
He has so many fish hooks in his nose, he looks like a piece of
I love his work but I couldn't warm to him even if I was cremated
next to him.
I think Mick Jagger would be astounded and amazed if he realized
to how many people he is not a sex symbol but a mother image.
He sings like he's throwing up.
The instant asphalt Elvis from Philadelphia.
Boy George is all England needs - another queen who can't dress.
Michael Jackson was a poor black boy who grew up to be a rich white
Michael Jackson's album was only called "Bad" because
there wasn't enough room on the sleeve for "Pathetic."
Fame has sent a number of celebrities off the deep end, and in
the case of Michael Jackson, to the kiddy pool.
He hasn't just lost the plot, he's lost the whole library!
He now looks like a Barbie doll that has been whittled at by a
With his womanly voice, stark white skin and Medusa hair, his
gash of red lipstick, heavy eyeliner, almost nonexistent nose and
lopsided face, Jackson was making his TV appearance in order to
scotch all rumors that he is not quite normal.
He moves like a parody between a majorette girl and Fred Astaire.
He sounds like he's got a brick dangling from his willy, and a
food-mixer making purée of his tonsils.
Pamela Lee said her name is tattooed on her husband's penis. Which
explains why she changed her name from Anderson to Lee.
He could be a maneuvering swine, which no one ever realized.
A deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated,
luminous, quivering, giggling, mincing heap of mother love.
He has become the oldest living cute boy in the world.
Sleeping with George Michael would be like having sex with a groundhog.
When you talk to him, he looks at you and grins and grins and nods
and nods and appears to be the world's best listener, until you
realize he is not listening at all.
He sang like a hinge.
Elvis transcends his talent to the point of dispensing with it
Presley sounded like Jayne Mansfield looked - blowsy and loud and
Bambi with testosterone.
He looks like a dwarf who's been dipped in a bucket of pubic hair.
Even the deaf would be traumatized by prolonged exposure to the
most hideous croak in Western culture. Richards's voice is simply
He plays four-and-a-half-hour sets. That's torture. Does he hate
He was so mean it hurt him to go to the bathroom.
'Slavic March' -- "One feels that the composer must have made
a bet, for all his professional reputation was worth, that he would
write the most hideous thing that had ever been put on paper, and
he won it, too.
I love Wagner, but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung by
its tail outside a window and trying to stick to the panes of glass
with its claws.
Wagner was a monster. He was anti-Semitic on Mondays and vegetarian
on Tuesdays. On Wednesday he was in favor of annexing Newfoundland,
Thursday he wanted to sink Venice, and Friday he wanted to blow
up the pope.
Wagner's music is better than it sounds.
Listening to the Fifth Symphony of Ralph Vaughan Williams is like
staring at a cow for forty-five minutes.
History buffs probably noted the reunion at a Washington party
a few weeks ago of three ex-presidents: Carter, Ford, and Nixon
-- See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Evil.
A pin-stripin' polo-playin' umbrella-totin' Ivy-leaguer, born with
a silver spoon so far in his mouth that you couldn't get it out
with a crowbar.
He can't help it - he was born with a silver foot in his mouth.
He' a Boy Scout with a hormone imbalance.
If ignorance ever goes to $40 a barrel, I want drilling rights
on George Bush's head.
George W. Bush is like a bad comic working the crowd. A moron,
if you'll pardon the expression.
He is your typical smiling, brilliant, back-stabbing, bullshitting
He has devoted the best years of his life to preparing his impromptu
He is a man suffering from petrified adolescence.
He would kill his own mother just so that he could use her skin
to make a drum to beat his own praises.
I thought he was a young man of promise; but it appears he was
a young man of promises.
Winston has devoted the best years of his life to preparing his
Bill Clinton's foreign policy experience is pretty much confined
to having had breakfast once at the International House of Pancakes.
I'm just sick and tired of presidents who jog. Remember, if Bill
Clinton wins, we're going to have another four years of his white
thighs flapping in the wind.
When I was president, I said I was a Ford, not a Lincoln. Well
what we have now is a convertible Dodge.
President Clinton apparently gets so much action that every couple
of weeks they have to spray WD-40 on his zipper.
Clinton is a man who thinks international affairs means dating
a girl from out of town.
When he does smile, he looks as if he's just evicted a widow.
Hark, when Gerald Ford was king--
He is so dumb he can't fart and chew gum at the same time.
He's a nice guy, but he played too much football with his helmet
Lyndon Baines Johnson
He turned out to be so many different characters he could have
populated all of War and Peace and still had a few people left over.
Avoid all needle drugs - the only dope worth shooting is Richard
He bleeds people. He draws every drop of blood and then drops them
from a cliff. He'll blame any person he can put his foot on.
He inherited some good instincts from his Quaker forebears, but
by diligent hard work, he overcame them.
He is a shifty-eyed goddamn liar....He's one of the few in the
history of this country to run for high office talking out of both
sides of his mouth at the same time and lying out of both sides.
He was like a kamikaze pilot who keeps apologizing for the attack.
Here is a guy who's had a stake driven through his heart. I mean,
really nailed to the bottom of the coffin with a wooden stake, and
a silver bullet through the forehead for good measure -- and yet
he keeps coming back.
I may not know much, but I know chicken shit from chicken salad.
I worship the quicksand he walks in.
Nixon's motto was: If two wrongs don't make a right, try three.
Dan Quayle is more stupid than Ronald Reagan put together.
If life were fair, Dan Quayle would be making a living asking,
"Do you want fries with that?"
A triumph of the embalmer's art.
Compared to the Clintons, Reagan is living proof that a Republican
with half a brain is better than a Democrat with two.
He doesn't die his hair - he's just prematurely orange.
He doesn't die his hair, he bleaches his face.
He has a chance to make somebody move over on Mount Rushmore. He's
working for his place on the coins and the postage stamps.
I believe that Ronald Reagan will someday make this country what
it once was... an arctic wilderness.
I think Nancy does most of his talking; you'll notice that she
never drinks water when Ronnie speaks.
In the heat of a political lifetime, he innocently squirrels away
tidbits of misinformation and then, sometimes years later, casually
drops them into his public discourse, like gum balls in a quiche.
People say satire is dead. It's not dead; it's alive and living
in the White House. He makes a Macy's Thanksgiving Day float look
ridiculous. I think he's slowly but surely regressing into movies
again. In his mind he's looking at dailies, playing dailies over
The youthful sparkle in his eyes is caused by his contact lenses,
which he keeps highly polished.
Washington could not tell a lie; Nixon could not tell the truth;
Reagan cannot tell the difference.
It has been the political career of this man to begin with hypocrisy,
proceed with arrogance, and finish with contempt.
A nonentity with side whiskers.
One could not even dignify him with the name of stuffed shirt.
He was simply a hole on the air.
He has the lucidity which is the byproduct of a fundamentally sterile
Dangerous as an enemy, untrustworthy as a friend, but fatal as
He looks as though he's been weaned on a pickle.
How can they tell?
He's the only man able to walk under a bed without hitting his
You really have to get to know him to dislike him.
He is just about the nastiest little man I've ever known. He struts
Like the little man on top of the wedding cake.
The Wizard of Ooze.
Why, this fellow don't know any more about politics than a pig
knows about Sunday.
Oh, if I could piss the way he speaks!
It was hard to listen to Goldwater and realize that a man could
be half Jewish and yet sometimes appear twice as dense as the normal
His speeches left the impression of an army of pompous phrases
moving over the landscape in search of an idea.
His writing is rumble and bumble, flap and doodle, balder and dash.
He wouldn't commit himself to the time of day from a hatful of
Such a little man could not have made so big a depression.
The hustler from Chicago.
We know that he has, more than any other man, the gift of compressing
the largest amount of words into the smallest amount of thought.
He has no more backbone than a chocolate eclair.
The right honorable and learned gentleman has twice crossed the
floor of this House, each time leaving behind a trail of slime.
Canada has at last produced a political leader worthy of assassination.
To err is Truman.
He is all ice and wooden faced acrobatics.
His verse . . . is the beads without the string.
He is mad, bad and dangerous to know.
The world is rid of him, but the deadly slime of his touch remains.
A great zircon in the diadem of American literature.
He's a full-fledged housewife from Kansas with all the prejudices.
Truman Capote's death was a good career move.
A huge pendulum attached to a small clock.
His imagination resembles the wings of an ostrich.
T. S. Eliot and I like to play, but I like to play euchre, while
he likes to play Eucharist.
Even those who call Mr. Faulkner our greatest literary sadist do
not fully appreciate him, for it is not merely his characters who
have to run the gauntlet but also his readers.
He uses a lot of big words, and his sentences are from here to
He was a great friend of mine. Well, as much as you could be a
friend of his, unless you were a fourteen-year-old nymphet.
Fitzgerald never got rid of anything; the ghosts of his adolescence,
the failures of his youth, the doubts of his maturity plagued him
to the end. He was supremely a part of the world he described, so
much a part that he made himself its king and then, when he saw
it begin to crumble, he crumbled with it and led it to death.
An animated adenoid.
A nice, acrid, savage, pathetic old chap.
Gibbon is an ugly, affected, disgusting fellow and poisons our
literary club for me. I class him among infidel wasps and venomous
He walked as if he had fouled his small clothes and looks as if
he smelt it.
Always willing to lend a helping hand to the one above him.
The stupid person's idea of the clever person.
He had a mind so fine that no idea could violate it.
A little emasculated mass of inanity.
I am reading Henry James...and feel myself as one entombed in a
block of smooth amber.
He spares no resource in telling of his dead inventions... Bare
verbs he rarely tolerates. He splits infinitives and fills them
up with adverbial stuffing. He presses the passing colloquialism
into his service. His vast paragraphs sweat and struggle; they could
not sweat and elbow and struggle more if God Himself was the processional
meaning to which they sought to come.
Reading him is like wading through glue.
There is no arguing with Johnson; for when his pistol misses fire,
he knocks you down with the butt end of it.
Nothing but old fags and cabbage-stumps of quotations from the
Bible and the rest, stewed in the juice of deliberate, journalistic
That's not writing, that's typing.
Mr. Lawrence looked like a plaster gnome on a stone toadstool in
some suburban garden . . . he looked as if he had just returned
from spending an uncomfortable night in a very dark cave.
There are two ways of disliking poetry; one way is to dislike it,
the other is to read Pope.
Some call Pope little nightingale - all sound and no sense.
He was humane but not human.
To me Pound remains the exquisite showman without the show.
He is able to turn an unplotted, unworkable manuscript into an
unplotted and unworkable manuscript with a lot of sex.
The cruelest thing that has happened to Lincoln since he was shot
by Booth was to fall into the hands of Carl Sandburg.
A freakish homunculus germinated outside lawful procreation.
He writes his plays for the ages--the ages between five and twelve.
Sitting in a sewer and adding to it.
A dirty man with opium-glazed eyes and rat-taily hair.
A tall, thin, spectacled man with the face of a harassed rat.
That insolent little ruffian, that crapulous lout. When he quitted
a sofa, he left behind him a smear.
A large shaggy dog unchained scouring the beaches of the world
and baying at the moon.
Oscar Wilde's talent seems to me to be essentially rootless, something
growing in glass on a little water.
Dank, limber verses, stuft with lakeside sedges
He couldn't Master Mind an electric bulb into a socket.
A fat little flabby person, with the face of a baker, the clothes
of a cobbler, the size of a barrel maker, the manners of a stocking
salesman, and the dress of an innkeeper.
A monstrous orchid.
An enchanting toad of a man.
When he has a party, you not only bring your own scotch, you bring
your own rocks.
He's done everybody's act. He's a parrot with skin on.
His mind was like a soup dish, wide and shallow; it could hold
a small amount of nearly anything, but the slightest jarring spilled
the soup into somebody's lap.
He's an anesthetist - Prince Valium.
He is, like almost all the eminent men of this country, only half
educated. His morals, public and private, are loose.
The biggest bug in the manure pile.
The only time he opens his mouth is to change feet.
Gone With the Wind is going to be the biggest flop in Hollywood
history. I'm just glad it'll be Clark Gable who's falling flat on
his face and not Gary Cooper.
He was dull in a new way, and that made many people think him great.
He has all the characteristics of a dog except loyalty.
He's thin boys. He's thin as piss on a hot rock.
. . . a pig, an ass, a dunghill, the spawn of an adder, a basilisk,
a lying buffoon, a mad fool with a frothy mouth.
The plain truth is, that he was a most intolerable ruffian, a disgrace
to human nature, and a blot of blood and grease upon the history
A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.
If brains was lard, Jethro couldn't grease a pan.
The General is suffering from mental saddle sores.
His pictures seem to resemble not pictures but a sample book of
patterns of linoleum.
A character who, if he had not existed, could not be imagined.
He is suffering from halitosis of the intellect. That's presuming
he has intellect.
I am sitting in the smallest room of my house. I have your review
before me. In a moment it shall be behind me.
Never trust a man who combs his hair straight from his left armpit.
He has a face like a warthog that has been stung by a wasp.
In defeat he was unbeatable; in victory, unbearable.
An agile but unintelligent and abnormal German, possessed of the
mania of grandeur.
He has committed every crime that does not require courage.
If he were any dumber, he'd be a tree.
- - - Ninon de Lenclos (about the Marquis de Sevigne)
A man who so much resembled a Baked Alaska - sweet, warm and gungy
on the outside, hard and cold within.
His style has the desperate jauntiness of an orchestra fiddling
away for dear life on a sinking ship.
The only genius with an IQ of 60.
Every drop of blood in that man's veins has eyes that look downward.
He looked like something that had gotten loose from Macy's Thanksgiving
From Poland to Polo in one generation.
The triumph of sugar over diabetes.
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