Who Calls A Kid Hercule, Anyway?

Poirot is really beginning to get on my tits!!
I haven't been able to wind up the Devil's Lantern this bloody Christmas without seeing his bloated, waxed, greasy little fizzog popping up sooner or later. Give me strength!
He's such a pompous, self-satisfied, fat, baldy, little cunt!!
I can hear him even now - "Pardonez moi monsieur, but A am un pompous, self-satisfaard, fat, baldy, leetle BELGIAN cawnt." I don't care which fucking garlic-riddled grief hole spawned you! You're still un cunt!! Le fuck off!!!

If I have to witness him daintily dabbing his little comedy plastic moustache with a napkin at a dinner table once more I think I'm going to spontaneously combust! Then there's that little duck-waddle walk of his. I realise his sphincter is probably clammed up tighter than a camel's arse in a sandstorm but why can't he just at least attempt to walk like someone who's not in imminent danger of soiling their pantalons?
Don't even get me started on his fucking Franglais! How come he can fart out sentences for hours on end and include some pretty advanced vocabulary but then he insists on saying "merci", "monsieur" or "bonjour" whenever he gets the sodding chance? Either integrate fully or fuck off, oilbag!!

I think the thing that really makes me want to upchuck in my shorts is when he gets his big moment to show off at the end by revealing the identity of the murderer. He gathers all the suspects together (yawn!) and then what does he do? Does he instantly point one of his spindly little olive oil-soaked digits in the direction of who dunnit? Does he perhaps immediately say "A will wasta no time, messieurs, and tell you 'ere an' now zat Madame de Looseflaps was mierdered ba ze butler, Monsieur Le Grandflange"? Does he rollocks!! He takes about three fucking hours telling you who DIDN'T fucking do it!!!! Only when you've gnawed your fucking fingernails down to the elbows does he finally reveal that "za mierderer" was the character played by the most famous actor in the episode!!

I think I could just about manage to stomach all that bollocks were it not for the fact that he NEVER, EVER, comes up with the slightest thread of fucking hard evidence!! There are no fingerprints, there's never a smoking gun, there's no damning letter penned by the guilty party, no printouts of DNA analysis - fuck all! No, what old wobblyparts relies on EVERY FUCKING TIME is for the supposed "mierderer", once he is fingered, to throw up his fucking hands and confess everything in graphic detail before muttering some bollocks like "you'll never take me alive, copper!" and then turning to run but tripping over the drawing room carpet and handcuffing himself as he falls!! Sod off!!

What I want to see is an episode where old Weeble features gathers everyone together as normal, spends three hours pointing out who didn't do it and then announces that the villain was Monsieur Throb, or whoever.......just as le butler hands him a package. On opening it, Poirot discovers a signed confession from me, a video of me actually stabbing the victim to death, a letter from the deceased confirming that I was the "mierderer", a handful of photos of me in Rio de Janeiro where I fled after the crime and a letter addressed to Poirot saying things like "You got it wrong, cuntybollocks. What a wanker you are!"
Then, just as the final credits began to roll, everyone in the drawing room would point at Poirot and say things like "what a tosser!" and "you couldn't detect a bosom in a tit factory" and "take your leetle grey cells and fuck off!"

Poirot can go to Grantham.