...no, not Stephen Fry leaving Instagram. It's Stephen Fry himself.
He's a Big Tragedy. The pompous poofter and his pet weasel Elliot G. Spencer have been playing a tiresome roadshow version of Oscar Wilde and Boze to ever-decreasing interest.
The novelty of a gay British actor is nil. That even includes the novelty of a rich ugly one getting taken (up the arse) by an opportunistic little shit. And yes, compared to what usually comes out of Stephen Fry, Elliott IS a little shit.
Fry, a boring, limited comic actor, barely got his share of laughs opposite more original and talented people (such as Hugh Laurie and Rowan Atkinson). That he parlayed this into such tedious occupations as hosting dull quiz shows, only made people ask, "Why do we have to see him so often?" And the answer is, he's so fucking fat, you can see him without even owning a telly. Just step outside.
His travelogues, in which he explored undiscovered regions of America, England, and his inner thighs, only made people roll their eyes...anything to keep them from having to see HIM.
He furnished Instagram with an ongoing farce more ridiculous than Elton John and David Furnish. It's incredible that comments led him to leave the Internet. He's so blubbery, it's hard to imagine what could get under his skin. That includes the derrick his proctologist uses to check on the status of his sphincter, which has been compared in wideness to the rings of Saturn.
There's been a collective a sigh of relief that at least, he's OFF instagram. That sigh of relief, by the way, was so great it moved windmills in Holland and briefly raised the skirt of the Prime Minister of Germany.
Good luck to the sad, lonely wretch, and his money-grubbing shit-sniffing shower buddy Elliott. Nobody needs more of Fry's gooey musings on his own slimy celebrity.
Really, we didn't need more of THIS stuff...
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