Saturday, April 16, 2011

No One's Got Talent!

Oh good, they're back! Apparently, it's time for another round of that same show where those different celebrity panelists critique (judge) the hopeful (deluded) denizens of Celeb-Culture-Land on their attempts at singing or dancing or singing again, with all the perspective of a blind nazi and all the originality of a pear. I'm talking, of course, of pseudo-reality 'talent' shows, made popular some years back by Simon Cowell and some other cunts.

The formula is simple: pretty people with good voices get glamourised further, ugly people get mocked relentlessly, and if you happen to be ugly but slightly talented, you get your own little segment and possibly a slot on Oprah. Bitchin'. These days, the show is the career which, while bafflingly contrary to the supposed point of the show, seems to go over the heads of most of the audience, affording it the luxury of perpetuating that insane formula season after season, spin-off after self-harm-encouraging spin-off.

A more appropriate name for "X Factor" would simply be "Ex Factor," the search for someone with the potential to fade swiftly into obscurity after the cash has been made on the show. Recent victim of destroyed childhood dreams, Joe McElderry, has reportedly just been dropped from his, evidently reality-inclined, record label for poor album sales, following on from his victory on 'X Factor' in 2009. Which is fair enough. I'd feel awkward buying an album from such a boring individual if he worked in HMV, which is an increasingly likely eventuality at this stage, let alone buy an album by him. Bland McElderry is a victim of the industry as much as his own lack of talent, likeability, personality and probably pubic hair. It's not his fault he got suddenly famous; it's the cunting public's fault for voting for him! The only thing that's his fault is his fall from grace due to his utter detestability and the self-preserving nature of Cowell's franchise; an industry based around the idea of the one hit wonder. Promote someone to prominence with such a level of oversaturation that they'll make one giant pot of cash and then discard them before they have a chance to cost you anything more by plummetting in popularity by virtue of the fact that they're completely talentless and shit.

But again, these things aren't the fault of the moronic individuals that are silly enough to think that they might 'make it' and they're not even the fault of Cowell and his likeminded cronies. It's your fault, you prick! Stop watching this shit year in, year out and they'll stop airing it. YOU'RE RUINING LIVES BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO BORED TO GET OFF YOUR COUCH AND DO SOMETHING INTERESTING (or even just to watch something good like The Wire)!!! Or else keep watching it. I don't give a shit if Joe McElderry has a shit life; he's as interesting as a grey lampshade.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Rant's, Rave's and Murderou's Intention's

You know what people seem to love these days? Being total retards. These days more than ever; It's become the new fad, bigger than Pogs or anit-semitism ever were. I know it sounds a pedantic point to judge people on but the superfluous apostrophes that appear these days accompanying every occurance of the letter S have really started to grate on me. Besides, I never claimed that I wasn't pedantic or judgemental, you absolute cunt.

I mean, really. These are simple grammar points that we've learned since the age of about six. How are you getting dressed in the morning, or getting to work? "Actually, I'm on the dole cos theres no job's out there." Fuck off, you bum, you know what I mean. And, while we're at it, if you're going to be on the dole, at least think of a good excuse. Like you're taking a year out from your shit Arts degree or you have anxiety disorder from being molested as a child. That said, if you are using an apostrophe to pluralise the word "Box," I can see why no one would give you a job. I wouldn't buy chips from you and the bitch that sells me my chips wipes the sweat off her forehead just before manhandling the inside of my chipper bag. This is how little confidence I have in you.

But it's okay, one day you'll die. And your retarded family will have lovely things to say about you (none of which are true; I really doubt you were "the life of every party." I've met you and you're fucking boring). And you'll have a lovely headstone that reads something like "Here Lie's Utter Bastard. Father of two Children's, Brother of three Sister's, Beloved Cunt." And I'll laugh. Laugh from under my headstone that just says "Prick."