I apologise in advance because I might fly off the handle language-wise as I prepare my latest literary masterpiece.
Sarah Fucking Ferguson. John Cocking Terry. Ronan Wanking Keating. Great people all, gracing society with their class, high moral code and rad skills.
All of them this year have been the 'victim' of either an undercover sting or having their personal lives dragged through the media. Being recognisable figures, it seems some 'people' out there actually give 2 fucks about in their dreary private lives when they're not hoofing a football vertically, lisping their way through a rancid piece of cock-pop or, er, whatever the hell it is that Fergie gets up to these days.
Now, my opinions on the methods by which this information is gleaned aren't what I'm trying to get across here. Just because these people are famous doesn't mean they deserve to be entrapped or stung or what have you. Sadly though, certain sections of this great nation's public think otherwise.
My ire has instead been raised by the way they react when they're finally brought to book after happily blagging, fucking and cheating their way through life for a few months, blissfully unaware that their uppence will come. At no point during these misdemeanours do they question themselves or their motives, instead enjoying the sights, sounds and, yes, smells of their adulterous behaviour.
Eventually, the great British press catch up with them and emblazon their antics across a myriad red-topped 'papers', complete with lurid alliteration and grainy photography. White Van Man nearly shits himself with excitement at the lid-lifting on show, while overtanned females in ill-fitting underwear decry the antics relying heavily upon words like 'slag' and 'he's still fit though'.
What gets me though is the next stage in this pantomime. Instead of saying "Bollocks - I've had a right laugh shagging this pneumatic dancer. Fair's fair though, I've been in the wrong since day one" they actually say "Oh woe is me. I'm devastated and regretful of my actions. It's totally out of character for me to do this, and I thoroughly regret any hurt or anguish caused to my family and friends"
Rough translation - "Shite, I've been caught"
Nobody can seriously believe that these cretins are actually sad about their actions. If they were so morally charged they wouldn't have been at it in the first place. It's about time they either stopped mid-affair and came clean to their other half and suffer the consequences, or when they are caught, admit they've been in the wrong but opine that they "would have got away with it, if it wasn't for those pesky journalists". Being caught isn't the same as having a moral epiphany, it just means the game's up. Nobody believes you, nobody likes you, so fuck off back to whence you came and admit that you just like sex and money. Bullshitters.
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Fascinating Pop Story Alert!
Finally, after weeks, months and years of drudgery, non-stories and "RudeBox", I can finally bring you a genuinely interesting story from the world of British pop. This recently-broken story concerns scores of high-ranking members of British pop royalty, and will shake the UK music scene to it's very core with it's shocking revelations.
I can barely bring myself to type the words.
"The Sugababes are in a legal battle over their name."
There it is - I said it. I feel exhausted just re-reading it.
For fuck's sake, really? I mean, how does such epic non-storyness get anywhere near the popular press? In these times of coalition governments and protesters and cops having a scrap in the centre of Bangkok, do we really need to hear about the adolescent wranglings of a bunch of failed harpies?
Having forced my way through the 'article', it appears that since none of the original 'babes are in the group now, plate-faced former member Mutya Buena has decided she wants to register the name as a trademark. The current line-up (Alan, Derek and Colin) have complained about this, and new levels of pointless debate have been dredged up as a result.
First question - why does she want to register the name? Is she about to release a range of face wipes depicting their logo? I can't believe there is much money to be made from exploiting the brand, not least because it's synonymous with a rotating door policy to band members and employing the most vacuous, maladjusted talent vacuums as singers that it's possible to get. "You what, she used to be in Atomic Kitten? She failed to win Eurovision? Get her signed"
Secondly - why don't the latest incarnation of this once-great pop institution just start again with a new name. "Angels with dirty faeces" is available.
Thirdly - who gives a donkey's cock what happens either way? They're hardly giving Ivor Novello sleepless nights with their pop offerings; a collection of music so turgid and bland Sarah Harding considers them a waste of good eyeliner. And it's not as if they've got a message. When asked who she'd like to win the Monaco Grand Prix (while stood in the pit lane, it has to be said), the Scouse one with the fat arse giggled and said "I don't know". Then the piano-faced one tried to force a gag out of Jenson Button and their 'song' "Push the button" which was beyond cringeworthy. It nearly made Martin Brundle cry.
In conclusion, I've nothing against these odorous buffoons. If someone wants to employ them to squawk their way through another piece of musical dog dirt, that's up to them. But if Mutya was so bothered about the original line-up's good name being dragged through the mud when she left, she should have said summat at the time. It's no good coming back when you're skint to ask for your name back. And besides, why would you want it now? I'd rather trademark "Adolf Sutcliffe's Bumtouchers" these days.
I can barely bring myself to type the words.
"The Sugababes are in a legal battle over their name."
There it is - I said it. I feel exhausted just re-reading it.
For fuck's sake, really? I mean, how does such epic non-storyness get anywhere near the popular press? In these times of coalition governments and protesters and cops having a scrap in the centre of Bangkok, do we really need to hear about the adolescent wranglings of a bunch of failed harpies?
Having forced my way through the 'article', it appears that since none of the original 'babes are in the group now, plate-faced former member Mutya Buena has decided she wants to register the name as a trademark. The current line-up (Alan, Derek and Colin) have complained about this, and new levels of pointless debate have been dredged up as a result.
First question - why does she want to register the name? Is she about to release a range of face wipes depicting their logo? I can't believe there is much money to be made from exploiting the brand, not least because it's synonymous with a rotating door policy to band members and employing the most vacuous, maladjusted talent vacuums as singers that it's possible to get. "You what, she used to be in Atomic Kitten? She failed to win Eurovision? Get her signed"
Secondly - why don't the latest incarnation of this once-great pop institution just start again with a new name. "Angels with dirty faeces" is available.
Thirdly - who gives a donkey's cock what happens either way? They're hardly giving Ivor Novello sleepless nights with their pop offerings; a collection of music so turgid and bland Sarah Harding considers them a waste of good eyeliner. And it's not as if they've got a message. When asked who she'd like to win the Monaco Grand Prix (while stood in the pit lane, it has to be said), the Scouse one with the fat arse giggled and said "I don't know". Then the piano-faced one tried to force a gag out of Jenson Button and their 'song' "Push the button" which was beyond cringeworthy. It nearly made Martin Brundle cry.
In conclusion, I've nothing against these odorous buffoons. If someone wants to employ them to squawk their way through another piece of musical dog dirt, that's up to them. But if Mutya was so bothered about the original line-up's good name being dragged through the mud when she left, she should have said summat at the time. It's no good coming back when you're skint to ask for your name back. And besides, why would you want it now? I'd rather trademark "Adolf Sutcliffe's Bumtouchers" these days.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
It's a round-up
It's been ages since I've said anything noteworthy on the blog (some gag-merchants may wager I'm yet to do so). So have a round-up:
Why I could never be a teacher
You've got to feel sorry for that teacher who got so wound up by his class that he ended up trying to stove one of their heads in while bellowing "Die, die, die". It's yet to be proven whether he was using an unusually aggressive method of teaching him German for 'The', but you've got to wonder what they did to get him to react like this.
Apparently he'd recently been off with depression and had even warned his superiors that he'd gone a bit mad and might not be the best person to be teaching these reprobates, but they didn't listen and here we are. He was good enough to admit he meant to do it, and has subsequently been cleared of attempted murder, but he'll be doing bird anyway, because the powers that be (or 'nazis' as I would label them) frown upon kicking kids' heads in. It's who you know.
I have no urge to ever be a teacher, and have respect for those who opt to do it. I don't have what you'd call an explosive temper, but I could feasibly see a situation where a bit of 'meet K and O' would be better than making them sit in the corner or sending them to the head. The way I see it, work out who the ringleader is, take them down (possibly to Chinatown) and the rest will toe the line and behave. Yes, you might have to explain why one of your flock has suddenly lost certain letters from their alphabet, or has an irrational fear of bunsen burners, but that's a risk I'd be prepared to take to get a bit of discipline.
Little (interest) People
There's a documentary on at the moment called Little People, which basically follows the lives of a newly-married couple, both of whom suffer from some kind of dwarfism. They're perfectly nice people and seem to have a happy life, but the documentary makers seemed to have confused their unusual physical traits with an interesting life. Indeed, aside from them visiting a fertility expert to determine the medical ramifications of childbirth, they're just like any other normal couple, and as such are monumentually tedious to the layman. I can't confess to watching this programme avidly, having accidentally caught an episode the Mrs was watching, but there comes a point when you say "But they're not doing anything; they're just small". They don't deal with the hardships of being short, or face any discrimination or are seemingly held back in any way, so I fail to see what the interest is in them. After you get over the initial novelty of them both being shorter than average, the whole thing becomes an exercise in watching someone's home videos. And you would only ever do that if someone gets their tits out.
Give that lad a clap (test)
Having employed an incredibly complex scientific equation based heavily on me having a guess, the average age of staff at my place of work must be late 20's at least. In fact, when I think of the various simpletons who've carved a perfectly serviceable career here, it's highly possible that that age is nearer mid-thirties.
Coupled with that is the fact most people are either married or in long-term relationships, which makes the appearance of posters offering free chlamydia tests all the more puzzling. If this was a store specialising in young, single Saturday staff I could understand it, but it seems rather unnecessary here. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure a number of the clientele like to indulge in a bit of extra-marital slap and/or tickle of an evening, but they're likely to be careful enough not to get their fingers (or other extremities) burnt, and are even less likely to trudge down to our laughable first aid room put their names forward for a free scrape.
Why I could never be a teacher
You've got to feel sorry for that teacher who got so wound up by his class that he ended up trying to stove one of their heads in while bellowing "Die, die, die". It's yet to be proven whether he was using an unusually aggressive method of teaching him German for 'The', but you've got to wonder what they did to get him to react like this.
Apparently he'd recently been off with depression and had even warned his superiors that he'd gone a bit mad and might not be the best person to be teaching these reprobates, but they didn't listen and here we are. He was good enough to admit he meant to do it, and has subsequently been cleared of attempted murder, but he'll be doing bird anyway, because the powers that be (or 'nazis' as I would label them) frown upon kicking kids' heads in. It's who you know.
I have no urge to ever be a teacher, and have respect for those who opt to do it. I don't have what you'd call an explosive temper, but I could feasibly see a situation where a bit of 'meet K and O' would be better than making them sit in the corner or sending them to the head. The way I see it, work out who the ringleader is, take them down (possibly to Chinatown) and the rest will toe the line and behave. Yes, you might have to explain why one of your flock has suddenly lost certain letters from their alphabet, or has an irrational fear of bunsen burners, but that's a risk I'd be prepared to take to get a bit of discipline.
Little (interest) People
There's a documentary on at the moment called Little People, which basically follows the lives of a newly-married couple, both of whom suffer from some kind of dwarfism. They're perfectly nice people and seem to have a happy life, but the documentary makers seemed to have confused their unusual physical traits with an interesting life. Indeed, aside from them visiting a fertility expert to determine the medical ramifications of childbirth, they're just like any other normal couple, and as such are monumentually tedious to the layman. I can't confess to watching this programme avidly, having accidentally caught an episode the Mrs was watching, but there comes a point when you say "But they're not doing anything; they're just small". They don't deal with the hardships of being short, or face any discrimination or are seemingly held back in any way, so I fail to see what the interest is in them. After you get over the initial novelty of them both being shorter than average, the whole thing becomes an exercise in watching someone's home videos. And you would only ever do that if someone gets their tits out.
Give that lad a clap (test)
Having employed an incredibly complex scientific equation based heavily on me having a guess, the average age of staff at my place of work must be late 20's at least. In fact, when I think of the various simpletons who've carved a perfectly serviceable career here, it's highly possible that that age is nearer mid-thirties.
Coupled with that is the fact most people are either married or in long-term relationships, which makes the appearance of posters offering free chlamydia tests all the more puzzling. If this was a store specialising in young, single Saturday staff I could understand it, but it seems rather unnecessary here. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure a number of the clientele like to indulge in a bit of extra-marital slap and/or tickle of an evening, but they're likely to be careful enough not to get their fingers (or other extremities) burnt, and are even less likely to trudge down to our laughable first aid room put their names forward for a free scrape.
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