Well its that time of year again and the annual zelebrity desperado’s have been duly catapulted into the Australian jungle to poorly re-enact their own version of Lord of the Flies. This years collection of hideous self promoters include former London Mayoral candidate and gay ex copper Brian Paddick, Mr Sulu from Star Trek, a page 3 girl and WAG that no one had heard of, and some boring twonk that used to be in the ever dreary boy band Blue. They are joined by ex Eastender Joe Swash, 9 times Wimbledon winner Martina Navratilova and ex half of Dollar, David Van Day, who has had so much plastic surgery he now resembles Michael Myers from the Halloween films.
Doomed to a fortnight of munching kangaroo testicles and crocodile anuses whilst being covered in more ticks than you would find in a the collective worlds tramps pants, the zelebs sit and bitch around an open fire letting spiders crawl through their hair whilst they sleep. Nice. Do the zelebs really expect us to believe that they are on this show because they are trying to conquer their fears? Im thinking cognitive behavioural therapy would be lot less costly in terms of embarrassment. But of course theyre not doing it for that reason.
Robert ‘Failed MP’ Kilroy Silk was sick of getting buckets of slurry chucked over him and both Timmy ‘Itsy bitsy teeny weeny annoying little scrotey penis’ Mallett and Esther ‘Gnashers’ Rantzen havent presented anything for years. It is enthralling however, to watch them and discover what utter toss bags these people really are.
Take Brian Paddick. Please. To call this guy insipid would be an insult to Dannii Minogue. Just a word of advice here mate, waving your tackle about in the jungle will not make you more appear more interesting or remotely edgy. Ive seen Handy Andy talk to more exciting pieces of MDF on Changing Rooms. Ex copper, ex Mayoral candidate, and by the end of this hopefully ex celebrity. He does look good for 50 though.
Especially when you compare him to Michael Myers lookalike David Van Day who is the same age. Ex singer, ex burger flipper and even worse (could it be any worse) ex Tory candidate, may I just give my wholehearted congratulations to the very discerning and intelligent people of Brighton for not electing that self serving shitclown. You would think that he would get sick of being voted off reality shows for being a total fucknut but obviously the guy is a glutton for punishment. Being scared of water, the dark and certain failure does not give him the right to behave like a coked up Josef Goebbels on a Centre Parks mini break.
Friday, 5 December 2008
Sunday, 12 October 2008
England v Kazakhstan ITV1
After the superb 4-1 win over Croatia, I settled down to watch the match v Kazakhstan yesterday, full of optimism and hoping for a repeat performance of that almost stylish, free flowing football and seeing our lads working as a proper team. What I was hoping to see actually bore no resemblance to the piss poor game that actually appeared on my tv screen. In the first half, England looked slightly less cohesive than the twin towers stuck back together with a Pritt stick.
What was Fabio Cappello thinking when selecting his side of utter donkeys? Matthew Upson for gods sake? I am absolutely positive that Julian Clary would have turned in a more solid performance. Upson must have thought he was playing for the rugby team (or maybe the Harlem Globe trotters) as he appeared to attempt to head or kick the ball over the goal and out of the stadium through the roof at every possible opportunity. The fecking idiot. And while Im at it maybe someone would like to have a word in Emile Heskeys shell-like and inform him its a better idea to kick the ball past the defenders rather than into them. Its not as if hes the bionic man and the sheer force of his kick would send the opposing player + ball right into the back of the net now is it?
Does anyone else think Fabio Cappello looks like Tommy Cooper? Look lads, I want you to play just like that......... Ok, either him or Postman Pat then, I cant decide. Or Velma from Scooby Doo. Or one of the muppets. No sorry that would be the England team. Heres a tip for you mate, next time play Rio and Theo and 9 buckets of shit on wheels. The buckets of shit will be better value in terms of money and performance I can assure you.
The second half was a different story and England did manage to score 5 goals, however, lets remember we werent playing Brazil, but 11 part time goatherding Borats. The teams obviously liked eachother though as they scored a goal for us and then Ashley Cole kindly returned the favour by floating a wonderful cross right past David James and letting one of the Borats tap it in. Beautiful. What next, swapping summer houses? I was quite impressed with Kazakhstans goalkeeper though, particularly in the way that he sported his Pat Sharpe Appreciation Mullet, very nice indeed.
ITV's coverage of the whole event was absolutely cringe inducing, mainly because of the incessant ad breaks and skin crawling commentary from David Pleat and Clive Tyldsley. To be honest David Platt and Ivy Tilsey from Coronation Street would have provided a more comprehensive and coherent interpretation of the match. At one point Emile Heskey missed the goal, SHOCKER, and divvy Dave said, dont worry he missed that! Err, hello? You do know that he was supposed to score right? Dopey shitclowns.
What was Fabio Cappello thinking when selecting his side of utter donkeys? Matthew Upson for gods sake? I am absolutely positive that Julian Clary would have turned in a more solid performance. Upson must have thought he was playing for the rugby team (or maybe the Harlem Globe trotters) as he appeared to attempt to head or kick the ball over the goal and out of the stadium through the roof at every possible opportunity. The fecking idiot. And while Im at it maybe someone would like to have a word in Emile Heskeys shell-like and inform him its a better idea to kick the ball past the defenders rather than into them. Its not as if hes the bionic man and the sheer force of his kick would send the opposing player + ball right into the back of the net now is it?
Does anyone else think Fabio Cappello looks like Tommy Cooper? Look lads, I want you to play just like that......... Ok, either him or Postman Pat then, I cant decide. Or Velma from Scooby Doo. Or one of the muppets. No sorry that would be the England team. Heres a tip for you mate, next time play Rio and Theo and 9 buckets of shit on wheels. The buckets of shit will be better value in terms of money and performance I can assure you.
The second half was a different story and England did manage to score 5 goals, however, lets remember we werent playing Brazil, but 11 part time goatherding Borats. The teams obviously liked eachother though as they scored a goal for us and then Ashley Cole kindly returned the favour by floating a wonderful cross right past David James and letting one of the Borats tap it in. Beautiful. What next, swapping summer houses? I was quite impressed with Kazakhstans goalkeeper though, particularly in the way that he sported his Pat Sharpe Appreciation Mullet, very nice indeed.
ITV's coverage of the whole event was absolutely cringe inducing, mainly because of the incessant ad breaks and skin crawling commentary from David Pleat and Clive Tyldsley. To be honest David Platt and Ivy Tilsey from Coronation Street would have provided a more comprehensive and coherent interpretation of the match. At one point Emile Heskey missed the goal, SHOCKER, and divvy Dave said, dont worry he missed that! Err, hello? You do know that he was supposed to score right? Dopey shitclowns.
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Silent Witness - Safe - Parts 1 & 2 BBC1
The silent witness series has been fairly hit and miss over the years, but after having watched the two part story Safe, I was compelled to write about it. This was perhaps one of the most moving and also depressing dramas I have seen for some time. It centred around the black youth gang culture of South East London and documented the violent and senseless way in which teenagers and even children risk their lives for drugs, cash and kudos.
The entire production was faultless and the acting exceptional, particularly from the young boys who played Levi and Keenan. Having lived and worked in East London I was more than familiar with many of the themes covered and have indeed witnessed street fights and stabbing of black teenagers outside my place of work. It is a hideous and terrifying sight that I would not wish another human being to have to suffer or view. Ever.
I am sure that the BBC carefully researched all the facts, however some elements of todays gang culture that were highlighted in the show, I had no idea about and found extremely disturbing. Apparently one of the initiation rituals to join these ’crews’ was the gang rape of underage girls who wished to be accepted by the group. Can this really be true? Why would the girls go through that in order to join and how could the rapists think it was acceptable as an initiation test? The whole thing made me sick to my stomach.
To those who work with them, it is well known how cheaply some teenagers value life, and that ‘shanking’ is common in many areas of London now, particularly the South East and East End. In fact I have spoken to many young black kids before, who pretty much confirmed the accuracy of what was shown in silent witness tonight.
The police are viewed with deep distrust and suspicion and to be quite honest I cant blame the black community for feeling this way towards them. I have only ever witnessed the police using their powers of stop and search on black male youths, never a white person and I have been here for over 3 years now. There have been several documentaries in recent times that have also exposed a deep rooted racism that still festers within the police force.
These episodes of silent witness encaptured the utter futility over the deaths of our youngsters and the sheer devastation it can wreak on families. Also the fear of some of the children who get caught up in gang warfare unwillingly and are unable to seek help or find a way out for themselves.
I do hope that Mr or Mrs Outraged from the Home Counties doesn’t decide to write in and complain about this outstanding two part drama though. Despite its violence and the bleak outlook it portrayed, it was a superb execution of a brilliantly written piece of social commentary that I am not ashamed to admit moved me to tears in places.
The entire production was faultless and the acting exceptional, particularly from the young boys who played Levi and Keenan. Having lived and worked in East London I was more than familiar with many of the themes covered and have indeed witnessed street fights and stabbing of black teenagers outside my place of work. It is a hideous and terrifying sight that I would not wish another human being to have to suffer or view. Ever.
I am sure that the BBC carefully researched all the facts, however some elements of todays gang culture that were highlighted in the show, I had no idea about and found extremely disturbing. Apparently one of the initiation rituals to join these ’crews’ was the gang rape of underage girls who wished to be accepted by the group. Can this really be true? Why would the girls go through that in order to join and how could the rapists think it was acceptable as an initiation test? The whole thing made me sick to my stomach.
To those who work with them, it is well known how cheaply some teenagers value life, and that ‘shanking’ is common in many areas of London now, particularly the South East and East End. In fact I have spoken to many young black kids before, who pretty much confirmed the accuracy of what was shown in silent witness tonight.
The police are viewed with deep distrust and suspicion and to be quite honest I cant blame the black community for feeling this way towards them. I have only ever witnessed the police using their powers of stop and search on black male youths, never a white person and I have been here for over 3 years now. There have been several documentaries in recent times that have also exposed a deep rooted racism that still festers within the police force.
These episodes of silent witness encaptured the utter futility over the deaths of our youngsters and the sheer devastation it can wreak on families. Also the fear of some of the children who get caught up in gang warfare unwillingly and are unable to seek help or find a way out for themselves.
I do hope that Mr or Mrs Outraged from the Home Counties doesn’t decide to write in and complain about this outstanding two part drama though. Despite its violence and the bleak outlook it portrayed, it was a superb execution of a brilliantly written piece of social commentary that I am not ashamed to admit moved me to tears in places.
Wednesday, 17 September 2008
Step up to the plate (BBC1 weekdays)
Interesting concept here, I am wondering what was going on at the BBC when they decided to commission this one. The format is pretty simple, on one side is a shed load of bored people (usually members of the WI or students), and on the other side are two of the country's most arrogant chefs. They lock heads to do battle over who can make the tastiest dish on the menu which has been created by the desperate hopefuls, and then that stupid American twonk, Loyd Grossman proceeds to dissect the offending bill of fare with a sneer that almost expresses Hitler's attitude towards the Jews. When its time to sample the culinary disasters, he prods each dish as if he is expecting to find a severed head or rat droppings in the middle, sniffs, moans, whinges and eventually takes a bite out of something pretentious with a red wine reduction. Then he says the chefs one is the best. Shocker.
Whats really confusing about this show is the choice of Anton du Beke as presenter. Charismatic is hardly the word I would use to describe him. He pirouttes onto the set, guffaws and simpers his way through the 'what are you cooking' scenario without a shred of interest, and shouts 'Loyd will you step up to the plate' every 5 minutes. Seriously, this guy needs to foxtrot oscar pronto or stick to his dancing because watching him smarm round the studio leaving a slime trail behind him does my bloody head in. And thats not a good thing.
The chefs are a bunch of sullen bastards as well, particularly John Burton Race, who looks like someone re-arranged his face with a claw hammer. They goad the members of the WI on the opposing team into a bit of a verbal sparring match, basically telling them that they are a group of clueless old see you next Tuesdays and that they have about as much chance of winning as Anton du Beke has of developing a personality. Unfortunately theyre right. On both counts.
Whats really confusing about this show is the choice of Anton du Beke as presenter. Charismatic is hardly the word I would use to describe him. He pirouttes onto the set, guffaws and simpers his way through the 'what are you cooking' scenario without a shred of interest, and shouts 'Loyd will you step up to the plate' every 5 minutes. Seriously, this guy needs to foxtrot oscar pronto or stick to his dancing because watching him smarm round the studio leaving a slime trail behind him does my bloody head in. And thats not a good thing.
The chefs are a bunch of sullen bastards as well, particularly John Burton Race, who looks like someone re-arranged his face with a claw hammer. They goad the members of the WI on the opposing team into a bit of a verbal sparring match, basically telling them that they are a group of clueless old see you next Tuesdays and that they have about as much chance of winning as Anton du Beke has of developing a personality. Unfortunately theyre right. On both counts.
Wednesday, 20 August 2008
The Secret Millionaire (Channel 4)
Take one pompous smug wannabe paternalistic do gooder who feels guilty about having too much dosh, and add in a selection of sad, downtrodden, poor, disabled folk living on Shit Street. Mix with a few cash poor charitable souls, whos hearts are a trillion times more wealthy than Fat Cats bank account and hey presto, a patronising sloppy concoction guaranteed to make any decent human hurl all over their TV screens.
The premise of this 30 minute bag of flatulence is that a millionaire goes undercover in a poor community somewhere in the UK, lies and says theyre making a documentary about volunteering, and then proceeds to judge all the individuals they meet to decide if theyre worthy enough to receive some crumbs from his money table.
Two weeks ago, a loan shark guy who made squillions from ripping off poor people went to Manchester. On receiving his job seekers allowance, he tutted '80 quid? Id spend that on lunch', making him instantly detestable. I had to restrain myself from stabbing the set repeatedly with a breadknife in the vain hope that somehow Id get him in the eye. This week, some fat chump with 3 billion quids worth of property went to Glasgow where he cleaned out some toilets, a horses knob (grotesque viewing, Im still chucking up even now) and took some cat shit out of a bearded womans flat.
At the end of the programme, after living amongst the less fortunate, these tosspot millionaires reveal their true identity, telling those that they have deceived for the last week, that they are indeed uber priviledged, money to burn blockheads whose stone heart has been warmed by the plight and destitution they have just witnessed. Now I dont know if Channel 4 have told the participants to leave a pause longer than the bloody M1 before answering 'are you having a laugh', but the silence is excrutiatingly embarrassing.
The millionaire then proceeds to hand over a cheque, usually for between 10 and 50 grand, and the poverty stricken folk collapse in a heap of tears, hug the liar and thank him profusely. Sorry but 10 grand? Thats like me giving less than 1p to a homeless guy. The tight bastards.
The premise of this 30 minute bag of flatulence is that a millionaire goes undercover in a poor community somewhere in the UK, lies and says theyre making a documentary about volunteering, and then proceeds to judge all the individuals they meet to decide if theyre worthy enough to receive some crumbs from his money table.
Two weeks ago, a loan shark guy who made squillions from ripping off poor people went to Manchester. On receiving his job seekers allowance, he tutted '80 quid? Id spend that on lunch', making him instantly detestable. I had to restrain myself from stabbing the set repeatedly with a breadknife in the vain hope that somehow Id get him in the eye. This week, some fat chump with 3 billion quids worth of property went to Glasgow where he cleaned out some toilets, a horses knob (grotesque viewing, Im still chucking up even now) and took some cat shit out of a bearded womans flat.
At the end of the programme, after living amongst the less fortunate, these tosspot millionaires reveal their true identity, telling those that they have deceived for the last week, that they are indeed uber priviledged, money to burn blockheads whose stone heart has been warmed by the plight and destitution they have just witnessed. Now I dont know if Channel 4 have told the participants to leave a pause longer than the bloody M1 before answering 'are you having a laugh', but the silence is excrutiatingly embarrassing.
The millionaire then proceeds to hand over a cheque, usually for between 10 and 50 grand, and the poverty stricken folk collapse in a heap of tears, hug the liar and thank him profusely. Sorry but 10 grand? Thats like me giving less than 1p to a homeless guy. The tight bastards.
Saturday, 16 August 2008
X Factor, ITV1 Saturdays
Yay!! The X Factor is starting a new series tonight, fabulous!! The early stages are always the most interesting where a collection of boneheads, inbreds and delusional folk from the planet arsehole congregate in front of Simon Cowell et al to receive a fine selection of pastings. Either that or a collection of giggles and guffaws from the panel.
Lets hope that this year the public dont fall for any contestants sob stories. Im poor/someone died/the roof is caving in on my house/I only have one foot and a speech impediment but I sing like an angel. Sorry Ive heard it all before, everyone has tough times, this is a talent show not a telethon.
Also could the good people of Wales and Scotland not back performers who have less talent and personality than Rachel from Big Brother just because they hail from your country? I thank you.
This year unfortunately, the lovely Sharon Osbourne wont be a judge, which is particularly disappointing for me as she was my favourite. Eternally unpredictable she outshone the childish twitterings of Louis Walsh and the formulaic Simon 'thats the worst version I ever heard' Cowell. Quite frankly he must have heard so many bad renditions of the same songs it must be incredibly difficult to remember all the cacophonous chunderings proferred by the hopefuls over the years.
With all his squillions earnt from inflicting classics like the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers and Sinitta on the British public, you would think that Cowell would be able to do something about his bloody hair. It really does look like a brillo pad thats undergone topiary, and for crying out loud flat tops went out in the 80s. Sort it out mate and buy some conditioner. Either that or get round to my flat as I need to scrub some burnt stuff of the bottom of one of my pans.
There are 4 judges this year, Simon, Louis, Dannii Minogue, and newcomer Cheryl Cole. Lets hope she is able to keep her mind on the job rather than wondering how many tarts her husband may be shagging whilst she is touring the country judging people who are uglier, and probably smellier than a monkeys sweaty armpit.
Lets hope that this year the public dont fall for any contestants sob stories. Im poor/someone died/the roof is caving in on my house/I only have one foot and a speech impediment but I sing like an angel. Sorry Ive heard it all before, everyone has tough times, this is a talent show not a telethon.
Also could the good people of Wales and Scotland not back performers who have less talent and personality than Rachel from Big Brother just because they hail from your country? I thank you.
This year unfortunately, the lovely Sharon Osbourne wont be a judge, which is particularly disappointing for me as she was my favourite. Eternally unpredictable she outshone the childish twitterings of Louis Walsh and the formulaic Simon 'thats the worst version I ever heard' Cowell. Quite frankly he must have heard so many bad renditions of the same songs it must be incredibly difficult to remember all the cacophonous chunderings proferred by the hopefuls over the years.
With all his squillions earnt from inflicting classics like the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers and Sinitta on the British public, you would think that Cowell would be able to do something about his bloody hair. It really does look like a brillo pad thats undergone topiary, and for crying out loud flat tops went out in the 80s. Sort it out mate and buy some conditioner. Either that or get round to my flat as I need to scrub some burnt stuff of the bottom of one of my pans.
There are 4 judges this year, Simon, Louis, Dannii Minogue, and newcomer Cheryl Cole. Lets hope she is able to keep her mind on the job rather than wondering how many tarts her husband may be shagging whilst she is touring the country judging people who are uglier, and probably smellier than a monkeys sweaty armpit.
Friday, 15 August 2008
Big Brother, Channel 4 nightly
Is this the most boring Big Brother since BB4? I have to admit Ive let this blog slip a bit recently as Ive been busy with other projects but seriously, this series is a cure for anyones insomnia. Last years Big Brother wasnt much better with the vacuous twins and bed wetting Brian, I still cant believe he won.
Anyway, whos left? Rachel, oh god do me a bloody favour she has to be the dullest person ever to grace the small screen, even outstripping some of the bland numpties from previous series. Miss Nicey Ricey was recently attacked by Rex Nomark for being tedious as he shouted 'Id swap you for scrabble'. Sorry Rex but I take offence at that, scrabble can be good fun and quite interesting, words I wouldnt be using to describle Ms Nice. She is up for eviction this week, please please vote her out for the sake of my sanity.
Next, the human vacuum cleaner, otherwise known as Mohammed. All he does is sleep and suck up the weeks shopping in a couple of sittings. Yawn. I wonder if he changed the setting from suck to blow, everything would come out neatly packaged and ready to be stacked again in the kitchen cupboards. Maybe if you cut him open you would find Jonah in his stomach. A reasonable enough guy but sadly a bore.
Why does Sarah the Aussie sound as if she has a sore throat but is yodelling every time she speaks? OI NOI! Perhaps shes perfecting her Jimmy Savile impressions by secretly working it into her every day speech. Theres also a rumour on the net that she gave eyeliner wearing ennuifest Stu a blow job. Still wouldnt have livened up the show if it were true. I cant talk about Stu, it will send me into a coma.
Poor albino Darnell is drowning in his own self induced misery shitpool. Constantly whining about his lack of self esteem and inability to get a girlfriend, each time he surfaces for air he manages to crap on his own head and submerge himself further. Perhaps he should take some of the drugs he was dealing and lighten up. Oh sorry he cant. Hes an albino.
Rex Nomark the executive chef split most of his Big Brother time trying to annoy the other houesmates or was whining about his girlfriend. In a very unimaginitive 'twist' Channel 4 then put his girlfriend into the house, and now he spends 50% of time moaning that Nicole is in there with him, and the other 50% pissing her off. Oh the irony.
Kathreya is still eating cookies and has a voice that could shatter glass when she is singing, if thats the word to describe her efforts. It sounds more like she stubbed her toe and sat on a pin whilst being smacked across the head with an iron bar, all at the same time.
The final two are Lisa and Mikey, who seem to be the best of a bad boring bland bucket of bollocks housemates. Mikeys theatrical shouty diary performances are reasonably entertaining if not a tad overdone. Its a bit like watching Madonna trying to act. Amusing in a twisted way.
Lisa, the human fembot is clearly insane, but out of all she is my favourite to win. Built like an Amazon warrior with the brain of a Broadmoor inmate, she is subtly bonkers talking about little green men from Mars, and how one of her body building friends discovered DNA. Guaranteed to give Steven Hawking a run for his money, she understands the subtle workings of the universe, explaining that it was calling Mario The Facilitator to better things when he got evicted. Um, no Lisa the public just didnt like him.
Anyway, whos left? Rachel, oh god do me a bloody favour she has to be the dullest person ever to grace the small screen, even outstripping some of the bland numpties from previous series. Miss Nicey Ricey was recently attacked by Rex Nomark for being tedious as he shouted 'Id swap you for scrabble'. Sorry Rex but I take offence at that, scrabble can be good fun and quite interesting, words I wouldnt be using to describle Ms Nice. She is up for eviction this week, please please vote her out for the sake of my sanity.
Next, the human vacuum cleaner, otherwise known as Mohammed. All he does is sleep and suck up the weeks shopping in a couple of sittings. Yawn. I wonder if he changed the setting from suck to blow, everything would come out neatly packaged and ready to be stacked again in the kitchen cupboards. Maybe if you cut him open you would find Jonah in his stomach. A reasonable enough guy but sadly a bore.
Why does Sarah the Aussie sound as if she has a sore throat but is yodelling every time she speaks? OI NOI! Perhaps shes perfecting her Jimmy Savile impressions by secretly working it into her every day speech. Theres also a rumour on the net that she gave eyeliner wearing ennuifest Stu a blow job. Still wouldnt have livened up the show if it were true. I cant talk about Stu, it will send me into a coma.
Poor albino Darnell is drowning in his own self induced misery shitpool. Constantly whining about his lack of self esteem and inability to get a girlfriend, each time he surfaces for air he manages to crap on his own head and submerge himself further. Perhaps he should take some of the drugs he was dealing and lighten up. Oh sorry he cant. Hes an albino.
Rex Nomark the executive chef split most of his Big Brother time trying to annoy the other houesmates or was whining about his girlfriend. In a very unimaginitive 'twist' Channel 4 then put his girlfriend into the house, and now he spends 50% of time moaning that Nicole is in there with him, and the other 50% pissing her off. Oh the irony.
Kathreya is still eating cookies and has a voice that could shatter glass when she is singing, if thats the word to describe her efforts. It sounds more like she stubbed her toe and sat on a pin whilst being smacked across the head with an iron bar, all at the same time.
The final two are Lisa and Mikey, who seem to be the best of a bad boring bland bucket of bollocks housemates. Mikeys theatrical shouty diary performances are reasonably entertaining if not a tad overdone. Its a bit like watching Madonna trying to act. Amusing in a twisted way.
Lisa, the human fembot is clearly insane, but out of all she is my favourite to win. Built like an Amazon warrior with the brain of a Broadmoor inmate, she is subtly bonkers talking about little green men from Mars, and how one of her body building friends discovered DNA. Guaranteed to give Steven Hawking a run for his money, she understands the subtle workings of the universe, explaining that it was calling Mario The Facilitator to better things when he got evicted. Um, no Lisa the public just didnt like him.
Sunday, 8 June 2008
Big Brother (Channel 4, every night for ever and ever)
Another series of Big Brother has begun and yet again the contestants have been chosen by the producers ABC of stereotyping book.
Vacuous bimbo? Check. This year its Stephanie a pretty blonde Abby Clancy wannabe from Liverpool. Previous fillers of this vacancy include Imogen and Helen. Obviously the director didn’t want to be seen as the xenophobic equivalent of Anne Robinson, so this time its an English airhead.
Smug superficial twat? Check. Two years ago it was Sezer, this year its 21 year old arrogant Dale who would rather cut his own cock off than speak to an ugly person. Happy to stab anyone in the back for half a cucumber, this guy must spend most of his time staring in the mirror and licking his own eyebrows.
Potential female black hate figure? Check. In the past we have suffered the revolting Adele, and last year the imbecilic, narcissistic Charley. This years candidates are Alexandra, a 23 year old single mum who measures her success by the fact that she has two cars, whoopee doo, and then there’s Sylvia, a practicing Christian who believes in revenge and has a sharp tongue. Not into turning the other cheek then.
Young boy with no life experience? Check. A couple of years ago it was Glyn, who appeared to have spent his pre big Brother life locked in a cupboard. This year its non drinking non smoking non swearing Luke. Luke seems to be just as sheltered, as never having owned a mirror he thinks he looks like Justin Timberlake.
Cocky testosterone fuelled knobcheese? Check. Maxwell, Spencer, PJ, et al before him, but this year we have Rex, an executive chef who has taken pictures of himself into the house.
Annoying screaming cow you want to kill on sight? Check. Shabnam has now morphed into Vicky Pollard speakalike Rebecca who apart from saying hello, screeched for the entire duration of the launch programme. Hopefully the first one out.
Token gay man? Check. Following in the footsteps of Dan, Richard, Seany, Gerry, Derek and Marco, lets hope that Dennis, a 23 year old dancer from Scotland proves to be half as entertaining as his predecessors.
Housemate with disability? Check. Spurred on by the success of Tourettes sufferer Pete Bennett, this year we have 33 year old Scots radio producer Mikey, who happens to be blind and likes wearing women’s stockings. What’s the betting that he’s never nominated?
Immigrant contestant? Check. The secret love child of Randy Jackson and Lauren Hill, Mohamed fills the role previously vacated by Ahmed and Makosi.
Bubbly loon? Check. This year its human cookie monster Kathreya from Thailand. Contestants in the past have been bubbly, such as Alison Hammond, or lunatics like Shabaz. In a clever twist, or the producers moved on to Book 2 of the stereotyping manuals, they have combined the two.
Pretty model type? Check. Cheryl Cole lookalike Jennifer replaces Aisleyne, Sam, Vanessa, Chanelle etc, and claims to be outspoken, particularly hating immigrants. Well, I guess if she doesn’t gain a media career post BB, she could always join the BNP.
This years wild cards have to be Rachel, Darnell (pronounced Daniel or Donald by the attention deficit retards who are too busy screeching and arse licking to pay proper attention), and Mario and Lisa, the first couple to enter the BB house.
Vacuous bimbo? Check. This year its Stephanie a pretty blonde Abby Clancy wannabe from Liverpool. Previous fillers of this vacancy include Imogen and Helen. Obviously the director didn’t want to be seen as the xenophobic equivalent of Anne Robinson, so this time its an English airhead.
Smug superficial twat? Check. Two years ago it was Sezer, this year its 21 year old arrogant Dale who would rather cut his own cock off than speak to an ugly person. Happy to stab anyone in the back for half a cucumber, this guy must spend most of his time staring in the mirror and licking his own eyebrows.
Potential female black hate figure? Check. In the past we have suffered the revolting Adele, and last year the imbecilic, narcissistic Charley. This years candidates are Alexandra, a 23 year old single mum who measures her success by the fact that she has two cars, whoopee doo, and then there’s Sylvia, a practicing Christian who believes in revenge and has a sharp tongue. Not into turning the other cheek then.
Young boy with no life experience? Check. A couple of years ago it was Glyn, who appeared to have spent his pre big Brother life locked in a cupboard. This year its non drinking non smoking non swearing Luke. Luke seems to be just as sheltered, as never having owned a mirror he thinks he looks like Justin Timberlake.
Cocky testosterone fuelled knobcheese? Check. Maxwell, Spencer, PJ, et al before him, but this year we have Rex, an executive chef who has taken pictures of himself into the house.
Annoying screaming cow you want to kill on sight? Check. Shabnam has now morphed into Vicky Pollard speakalike Rebecca who apart from saying hello, screeched for the entire duration of the launch programme. Hopefully the first one out.
Token gay man? Check. Following in the footsteps of Dan, Richard, Seany, Gerry, Derek and Marco, lets hope that Dennis, a 23 year old dancer from Scotland proves to be half as entertaining as his predecessors.
Housemate with disability? Check. Spurred on by the success of Tourettes sufferer Pete Bennett, this year we have 33 year old Scots radio producer Mikey, who happens to be blind and likes wearing women’s stockings. What’s the betting that he’s never nominated?
Immigrant contestant? Check. The secret love child of Randy Jackson and Lauren Hill, Mohamed fills the role previously vacated by Ahmed and Makosi.
Bubbly loon? Check. This year its human cookie monster Kathreya from Thailand. Contestants in the past have been bubbly, such as Alison Hammond, or lunatics like Shabaz. In a clever twist, or the producers moved on to Book 2 of the stereotyping manuals, they have combined the two.
Pretty model type? Check. Cheryl Cole lookalike Jennifer replaces Aisleyne, Sam, Vanessa, Chanelle etc, and claims to be outspoken, particularly hating immigrants. Well, I guess if she doesn’t gain a media career post BB, she could always join the BNP.
This years wild cards have to be Rachel, Darnell (pronounced Daniel or Donald by the attention deficit retards who are too busy screeching and arse licking to pay proper attention), and Mario and Lisa, the first couple to enter the BB house.
Thursday, 5 June 2008
The Apprentice (BBC1 Wednesdays)
This weeks episode was the interview stage. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had been reduced to three as Famine had dropped out, thinking that judging Genocide Idol downstairs with Satan and Fat Boy Morgan would be a light hearted alternative to revisiting the treachery displayed by some of the remaining Apprentice candidates. So, War, Pestilence and Death arrived as usual, but this time were joined by the lovely Karren Brady to harangue the contenders until they were verging on suicide.
After the showing of the BBC special, The Apprentice has Sob Stories, we now know that Lee ‘thaswarramtawkinabaaaht’ McQueen has the vocabulary of chipmunk that’s been hit on the head by a very heavy mallet, didn’t do particularly well at school, and is on the brink of blubbering like John Terry after missing a penalty in the Champions League final every time he has to admit his dad was a milkman. Come on its not as if his dad was employed by World of Thieves, or as its more commonly known, The Post Office, now is it? Hell, that would be shameful.
His reverse pterodactyl impression is now infamous, and Lee was happy to open the dialogue with horseman number one, Pestilence, and provide a rendition upon request in his first interview. What the knobbing bollocks is a reverse pterodactyl anyway? An impression is an imitation of something, and how you can impersonate something that never existed is more a question for Stephen Hawking than a special needs caveman from Middlesex.
More misery was heaped on him as he was chastised by Horseman number two for spelling less competently than a blindfolded Jade Goody and lying, when it was discovered he had doctored his CV. This is ironic as in real life Lee ‘thaswarramtawkinabaaaht’ McQueen is actually a recruitment consultant.
Next up was Claire Young, who if after the show is unable to find employment, could always sport her white dressing gown and become the human stand in for the Michelin man. Quite what has happened to Claire’s walk has yet to be fathomed, but she seems to have developed a waddle that wasn’t there at the beginning of the series and she can’t have put on weight due to the activity and stress of the show. I can only presume that she reached her boredom threshold after her incessant bitching and griping was swiftly curtailed by Sir Alan, and has resorted to shoving a couple of love eggs up there to try and make up for the lack of endorphins normally released by her brain as she backstabbed someone. She appeared to have the easiest ride in the interviews and emerged relatively unscathed by the three horsemen.
Being the nicest of the contenders, Lucinda, played by Lady Penelope from Thunderbirds, was doomed to the most abrasive of the interview sessions. Deemed an unemployable new age hippy with a posh accent and a penchant for candles, she fought back bravely but it became obvious that even International Rescue would not be able to save her from the chop.
Helene Speight, who describes herself as a ballsy northern businesswoman, left her job poisoning Snow White, and trotted out a trite sob story about alcoholic parents and a poor childhood. Jesus, if I was related to her Id have overdosed on heroin years ago. Spewing out more profanities than a Liverpool docker, Helene completed her interview by stating she had found the tasks difficult as she was not used to being surrounded by fifteen gobshites.
I saved writing about weasel featured Alex ‘I’m 24’ Wotherspoon until last, as even the mention of this unctuous and duplicitous little turd makes me want to hurl chunks. He has to be the most hideous of the remaining hopefuls, a petulant pseudo working class northerner with the ability to spit venom out of his eyes and coat enemies in a healthy covering of hate phlegm each time he opens his dull, pinched, unscrupulous mouth. Rat Kids sob story was that he had to move house once and spent 14 years at public school. Maybe that’s why he is such a bitter and twisted little scrote. Spending 14 years fagging and toasting the older boys’ fine buttered muffins over an open fire must have taken its toll.
Despite being born and bred in Bolton, Rat Kid listed one of his ‘Advanced’ skills (of which there were many), as being fluent in English. Genius. After being told that his CV was about as interesting as sitting through a Catholic wedding, Alex looked like a fish constantly calling for Bob and dried a crocodile tear from the corner of his squinty reptilian eyes. He became increasingly more aggressive as the interviews continued, and answered every question by saying that he was 24, which is particularly strange seeing that his website, www.alexwotherspoon.com states he was born in 1982.
After the three horsemen and the wonderful Ms Brady delivered their ridiculous and highly dubious verdicts on the candidates, Sir Alan called them back into the boardroom to hear their fate. Sensing that he was about to get the finger from Sir Alan, Rat Kid leapt into a spectacular display of twattishness by announcing that Lucinda had told them all that she didn’t want Sir Alan’s poxy job anyway as it would drive her up the wall. One of the Bitches of Eastwick, Helene jumped at the chance to twist the knife declaring that they all heard her say that. Which in fact she didn’t. Still, when did truth, honesty and integrity matter in the Apprentice. However, that was enough for Sir Alan who duly fired Lady Penelope, declaring her too zany for his organisation, and let the four remaining wankers stay for the final.
Sir Alan Sugar has lost all credibility in this season of the Apprentice having transformed himself into a rough East Landan version of Harry Enfield’s Tim Nice But Dim, waxing lyrical about the candidates being bladdy nice folk and extremely credible, highly skilled prospective employees. No, they’re not Sir Alan they’re devious pricks, you monkey faced Neolithic knobdrop.
After the showing of the BBC special, The Apprentice has Sob Stories, we now know that Lee ‘thaswarramtawkinabaaaht’ McQueen has the vocabulary of chipmunk that’s been hit on the head by a very heavy mallet, didn’t do particularly well at school, and is on the brink of blubbering like John Terry after missing a penalty in the Champions League final every time he has to admit his dad was a milkman. Come on its not as if his dad was employed by World of Thieves, or as its more commonly known, The Post Office, now is it? Hell, that would be shameful.
His reverse pterodactyl impression is now infamous, and Lee was happy to open the dialogue with horseman number one, Pestilence, and provide a rendition upon request in his first interview. What the knobbing bollocks is a reverse pterodactyl anyway? An impression is an imitation of something, and how you can impersonate something that never existed is more a question for Stephen Hawking than a special needs caveman from Middlesex.
More misery was heaped on him as he was chastised by Horseman number two for spelling less competently than a blindfolded Jade Goody and lying, when it was discovered he had doctored his CV. This is ironic as in real life Lee ‘thaswarramtawkinabaaaht’ McQueen is actually a recruitment consultant.
Next up was Claire Young, who if after the show is unable to find employment, could always sport her white dressing gown and become the human stand in for the Michelin man. Quite what has happened to Claire’s walk has yet to be fathomed, but she seems to have developed a waddle that wasn’t there at the beginning of the series and she can’t have put on weight due to the activity and stress of the show. I can only presume that she reached her boredom threshold after her incessant bitching and griping was swiftly curtailed by Sir Alan, and has resorted to shoving a couple of love eggs up there to try and make up for the lack of endorphins normally released by her brain as she backstabbed someone. She appeared to have the easiest ride in the interviews and emerged relatively unscathed by the three horsemen.
Being the nicest of the contenders, Lucinda, played by Lady Penelope from Thunderbirds, was doomed to the most abrasive of the interview sessions. Deemed an unemployable new age hippy with a posh accent and a penchant for candles, she fought back bravely but it became obvious that even International Rescue would not be able to save her from the chop.
Helene Speight, who describes herself as a ballsy northern businesswoman, left her job poisoning Snow White, and trotted out a trite sob story about alcoholic parents and a poor childhood. Jesus, if I was related to her Id have overdosed on heroin years ago. Spewing out more profanities than a Liverpool docker, Helene completed her interview by stating she had found the tasks difficult as she was not used to being surrounded by fifteen gobshites.
I saved writing about weasel featured Alex ‘I’m 24’ Wotherspoon until last, as even the mention of this unctuous and duplicitous little turd makes me want to hurl chunks. He has to be the most hideous of the remaining hopefuls, a petulant pseudo working class northerner with the ability to spit venom out of his eyes and coat enemies in a healthy covering of hate phlegm each time he opens his dull, pinched, unscrupulous mouth. Rat Kids sob story was that he had to move house once and spent 14 years at public school. Maybe that’s why he is such a bitter and twisted little scrote. Spending 14 years fagging and toasting the older boys’ fine buttered muffins over an open fire must have taken its toll.
Despite being born and bred in Bolton, Rat Kid listed one of his ‘Advanced’ skills (of which there were many), as being fluent in English. Genius. After being told that his CV was about as interesting as sitting through a Catholic wedding, Alex looked like a fish constantly calling for Bob and dried a crocodile tear from the corner of his squinty reptilian eyes. He became increasingly more aggressive as the interviews continued, and answered every question by saying that he was 24, which is particularly strange seeing that his website, www.alexwotherspoon.com states he was born in 1982.
After the three horsemen and the wonderful Ms Brady delivered their ridiculous and highly dubious verdicts on the candidates, Sir Alan called them back into the boardroom to hear their fate. Sensing that he was about to get the finger from Sir Alan, Rat Kid leapt into a spectacular display of twattishness by announcing that Lucinda had told them all that she didn’t want Sir Alan’s poxy job anyway as it would drive her up the wall. One of the Bitches of Eastwick, Helene jumped at the chance to twist the knife declaring that they all heard her say that. Which in fact she didn’t. Still, when did truth, honesty and integrity matter in the Apprentice. However, that was enough for Sir Alan who duly fired Lady Penelope, declaring her too zany for his organisation, and let the four remaining wankers stay for the final.
Sir Alan Sugar has lost all credibility in this season of the Apprentice having transformed himself into a rough East Landan version of Harry Enfield’s Tim Nice But Dim, waxing lyrical about the candidates being bladdy nice folk and extremely credible, highly skilled prospective employees. No, they’re not Sir Alan they’re devious pricks, you monkey faced Neolithic knobdrop.
Monday, 26 May 2008
The Eurovision Song Contest (BBC1, hopefully never again)
‘Tonight, Belgrade is the capital of joy and happiness, welcome to the Belgrade’ grinned a vacuous blonde who was about as in touch with reality as Boris Johnson is with telling the truth. Having been able to predict the results with an 80% success rate, it must now surely be time to rename this competition that taste forgot, the Eastern Eurovision Song Contest. This year, the powers that be saw fit to allow Azerbaijan to take part, although it is clearly in Asia and borders Iran, so next year presumably, we will be treated to entries from Iraq, Pakistan and Mongolia as well. Azerbaijan offered the visual Angel/Devil dichotomy and opened with a cherub in white screeching so painfully it sounded like he had trapped his cock in a filing cabinet. The long haired red eyed monster in black joined in a bit later, and provided a fecking awful assault on the ears that was bound to do well. But probably not because it was geographically close to Russia. Honest.
Perhaps the most ridiculous performance came from Bosnia Herzegovina, with Magenta from the Rocky Horror Picture Show wearing a comedy white bell covered in red Bubonic Plague boils, fart-arsing around a washing line. Lovely. She was joined by the Bosnian equivalent of Little Jimmy Krankie and the backing singers were the spitting images of Dame Edna’s bridesmaid, Madge. Obviously the song was shit.
Other notable wank entries came from Latvia, Turkey, Sweden and Portugal. The Latvian song was not dissimilar to the Not the Nine O’clock News team’s pisstake rendition, Nice video, shame about the song, and comprised a group of fat comedy Prince Charming/Pirates of the Caribbean hybrids, belting out the imaginatively entitled ‘Wolves of the Sea’. Turkey had a stab at gothic rock, the lead singer looking like a shiny faced adult Damien from the Omen, who was flanked by a couple of over enthusiastic guitarists. The one on the right was spinning and twirling like a demented Jon Bon Jovi wannabe, whilst the other looked as he’d been dragged away from the water cooler at the Turkish equivalent of Norwich Union, as a last minute stand in.
Sweden’s singer looked like a slightly younger Jocelyn Wildenstein, whereas Portugal provided us with a plus sized version of Boney M. All I have to say to Portugal is, thank you very much for Cristiano Ronaldo, but it appears that that’s your country drained of talent.
Andy Abrahams ‘Even If’ was doomed to last place, after Terry Wogan announced ‘That’s our best entry for years’. Sounding like an Edwin Starr/Stevie Wonder concoction after eating a large helping of valium and zopiclone hotpot, Andy enthusiastically leapt around the stage like a salmon swimming upstream to mate. After a brief ejaculation of energy, both Andy and the fish were destined to endure exactly the same fate.
It is rather ironic now that most countries are singing their entries in English, rather than their own languages. This appears to be a double edged sword. Is it some sort of cursory consolation, as it’s more likely that George W Bush will be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize than the UK ever winning the contest ever again, but at least we can hear how bloody horrendous every other country’s lyrics actually are?
Russia emerged triumphant, with an instantly forgettable performance from a third rate Slavic Westlife, after promising not to invade all the countries it borders. Probably. Perhaps it’s now time for the UK to withdraw permanently from Eurovision, as we have as much chance of getting 12 points from France, as Heather Mills has of developing some dignity.
Perhaps the most ridiculous performance came from Bosnia Herzegovina, with Magenta from the Rocky Horror Picture Show wearing a comedy white bell covered in red Bubonic Plague boils, fart-arsing around a washing line. Lovely. She was joined by the Bosnian equivalent of Little Jimmy Krankie and the backing singers were the spitting images of Dame Edna’s bridesmaid, Madge. Obviously the song was shit.
Other notable wank entries came from Latvia, Turkey, Sweden and Portugal. The Latvian song was not dissimilar to the Not the Nine O’clock News team’s pisstake rendition, Nice video, shame about the song, and comprised a group of fat comedy Prince Charming/Pirates of the Caribbean hybrids, belting out the imaginatively entitled ‘Wolves of the Sea’. Turkey had a stab at gothic rock, the lead singer looking like a shiny faced adult Damien from the Omen, who was flanked by a couple of over enthusiastic guitarists. The one on the right was spinning and twirling like a demented Jon Bon Jovi wannabe, whilst the other looked as he’d been dragged away from the water cooler at the Turkish equivalent of Norwich Union, as a last minute stand in.
Sweden’s singer looked like a slightly younger Jocelyn Wildenstein, whereas Portugal provided us with a plus sized version of Boney M. All I have to say to Portugal is, thank you very much for Cristiano Ronaldo, but it appears that that’s your country drained of talent.
Andy Abrahams ‘Even If’ was doomed to last place, after Terry Wogan announced ‘That’s our best entry for years’. Sounding like an Edwin Starr/Stevie Wonder concoction after eating a large helping of valium and zopiclone hotpot, Andy enthusiastically leapt around the stage like a salmon swimming upstream to mate. After a brief ejaculation of energy, both Andy and the fish were destined to endure exactly the same fate.
It is rather ironic now that most countries are singing their entries in English, rather than their own languages. This appears to be a double edged sword. Is it some sort of cursory consolation, as it’s more likely that George W Bush will be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize than the UK ever winning the contest ever again, but at least we can hear how bloody horrendous every other country’s lyrics actually are?
Russia emerged triumphant, with an instantly forgettable performance from a third rate Slavic Westlife, after promising not to invade all the countries it borders. Probably. Perhaps it’s now time for the UK to withdraw permanently from Eurovision, as we have as much chance of getting 12 points from France, as Heather Mills has of developing some dignity.
Saturday, 24 May 2008
Eastenders (BBC1 most weekdays)
After the brief romantic respite of Heather and Minty’s wedding, Eastenders, or Carry On Moaning as it should be called, has resolutely plummeted back into its usual quagmire of misery and despair. Having been married just long enough for Heather to purchase some XXL tarts underwear, Minty, the result of a brief but torrid affair between the Churchill dog and a potato, has already managed to cheat on his faithful yet clueless wife. He was happy to get spliced to Heather on the basis that they could ‘av a laff and watch The Goonies on a Sunday', whereas all he needed to do was stand in front of a mirror with fuckwit co-worker Garry to achieve this ultimate bliss.
Garry, recently graduated from Bastard Academy, has been driven by the sole intent of splitting up Mr Potato Head from his new wife. His latest wheeze, inviting two air hostesses round to Minty’s flat for some warm Lambrini at two in the afternoon worked a treat, and resulted in poor Heather coming home to find her husband covered in more badly smudged lipstick than Robert Smith from the Cure. Heather, pronounced Ev, by butch squint eyed devil-tongued Shirl (who is the sister of Cruella De Vil in 101 Dalmatians), immediately sought refuge at her best friends flat, and thankfully stopped Cruella and Vinnie from making the beast with two backs. And thank Christ for that.
And while Im on the subject of Vinnie, he must win the award for Most Boring and Useless Character since the departure of the Ferreira family. Who? Exactly my point. Vinnie’s job is to hang around the car lot, reading the Sun and offering pointless advice to resident Spiv, Darren. Apart from that, he contributes little except some stomach-churning tonsil hockey with Shirl, and wandering in and out of the Minute Mart, without ever seeming to purchase anything. Bobby Davro was a shit comedian doing shit impressions in the 1980s and was mostly famous for looking like Freddie Starr but without the mad psychotic eyes or hamster eating activities. Now he’s shit in Eastenders. And dull, so at least he increased his repertoire by 50%.
Todays blog has been inspired by my good friend Sarah, and guru on all things current.
Garry, recently graduated from Bastard Academy, has been driven by the sole intent of splitting up Mr Potato Head from his new wife. His latest wheeze, inviting two air hostesses round to Minty’s flat for some warm Lambrini at two in the afternoon worked a treat, and resulted in poor Heather coming home to find her husband covered in more badly smudged lipstick than Robert Smith from the Cure. Heather, pronounced Ev, by butch squint eyed devil-tongued Shirl (who is the sister of Cruella De Vil in 101 Dalmatians), immediately sought refuge at her best friends flat, and thankfully stopped Cruella and Vinnie from making the beast with two backs. And thank Christ for that.
And while Im on the subject of Vinnie, he must win the award for Most Boring and Useless Character since the departure of the Ferreira family. Who? Exactly my point. Vinnie’s job is to hang around the car lot, reading the Sun and offering pointless advice to resident Spiv, Darren. Apart from that, he contributes little except some stomach-churning tonsil hockey with Shirl, and wandering in and out of the Minute Mart, without ever seeming to purchase anything. Bobby Davro was a shit comedian doing shit impressions in the 1980s and was mostly famous for looking like Freddie Starr but without the mad psychotic eyes or hamster eating activities. Now he’s shit in Eastenders. And dull, so at least he increased his repertoire by 50%.
Todays blog has been inspired by my good friend Sarah, and guru on all things current.
Sunday, 18 May 2008
The Jeremy Kyle Show (ITV1 weekdays)
The Jeremy Kyle show is Britain’s budget answer to Jerry Springer. Each show comprises a variety of toothless, alcoholic, drug taking, unemployed, violent, swearing, shell suit wearing chavs, and yes, shell suits went out in the 80s. There appears to be an endless stream of these individuals in the UK as he never runs out of guests and they all look the same, but that’s inbreeding for you. I cant believe that so many of these folk exist naturally. There must be some sort of FUBAR factory manufacturing them from the bits left over from other peoples plastic surgery. Obviously no brain is required so they must just implant some sort of remote controlled turnip to stop the head wobbling about like a possessed metronome.
Graham is the shows Director of Aftercare, responsible for attempting to transform the dysfunctional screwed up guests into relatively normal people. At some point during every programme he is wheeled out to attempt to persuade the nefarious shit-for-brains’ with anger management issues to calm down and take a course, and is introduced by the screaming Kyle, ‘Here’s Graham ladies and gentlemen, he’s a genius’. I’m wondering whether Genius is in fact on his official job description. No wonder he’s been there since the year dot, I don’t recall too many adverts for a Genius whenever I’ve wandered into the local job centre. Must also be a bit of a conversation killer at parties, ‘What do you do?’, ‘I’m a Genius’. Right.
There are only 4 main subjects for this show:
1. Paranoid drug taking chav accuses partner of sleeping around, they get a lie detector test done and make 2 shows out of it.
2. Parent abandoned child as a baby/toddler, child grows up and wants answers from absent parent, they get a lie detector test done and make 2 shows out of it.
3. Retarded slapper doesn’t know who the father of her chavvy baby is so all prospective dole ravaged fathers are invited onto the show, they get a lie detector and a paternity test done and make 2 shows out of it.
4. Chav families don’t get on with each other and accuse various special needs relatives of stealing/violence/abuse/lying, they get a lie detector test done and make 2 shows out of it.
The most irritating person in the whole show though is Mr Moral Majority Kyle, who appears to have styled himself as cross between Ian Paisley, Henry VIII and Jesus. He trots out exactly the same lines on a daily basis berating guests for not having a job/too many children/drinking/smoking weed, whilst turning redder than Phil Mitchell trapped in an upstairs bedroom at Windsor Castle.
The climax of each segment has to be the results of the lie detector/paternity tests which usually reveals the main subject of the audiences finger pointing to be a liar or a tart, who subsequently denies everything. ‘Are you saying that the lie detector is wrong YES OR NO?’ shrieks Kyle, whipping the spectators into an ethical frenzy, as they perfect their impression of a group of seals clapping and barking for fish. He then proceeds to wave the offending test results under the dishonest scumbuckets nose as if it was the Treaty of Versailles yelling ‘You’re a LIAR sir/madam!!!’.
The show is rounded up after Kyle has belted out a stockpile of meaningless phrases such as ‘Keep it in your pants then‘ or ‘Be a man and hold your hands up’. What?? Still, as long as these ne’er-do-wells are on Kyles stage in a supervised surrounding, at least they’re not robbing my flat.
Graham is the shows Director of Aftercare, responsible for attempting to transform the dysfunctional screwed up guests into relatively normal people. At some point during every programme he is wheeled out to attempt to persuade the nefarious shit-for-brains’ with anger management issues to calm down and take a course, and is introduced by the screaming Kyle, ‘Here’s Graham ladies and gentlemen, he’s a genius’. I’m wondering whether Genius is in fact on his official job description. No wonder he’s been there since the year dot, I don’t recall too many adverts for a Genius whenever I’ve wandered into the local job centre. Must also be a bit of a conversation killer at parties, ‘What do you do?’, ‘I’m a Genius’. Right.
There are only 4 main subjects for this show:
1. Paranoid drug taking chav accuses partner of sleeping around, they get a lie detector test done and make 2 shows out of it.
2. Parent abandoned child as a baby/toddler, child grows up and wants answers from absent parent, they get a lie detector test done and make 2 shows out of it.
3. Retarded slapper doesn’t know who the father of her chavvy baby is so all prospective dole ravaged fathers are invited onto the show, they get a lie detector and a paternity test done and make 2 shows out of it.
4. Chav families don’t get on with each other and accuse various special needs relatives of stealing/violence/abuse/lying, they get a lie detector test done and make 2 shows out of it.
The most irritating person in the whole show though is Mr Moral Majority Kyle, who appears to have styled himself as cross between Ian Paisley, Henry VIII and Jesus. He trots out exactly the same lines on a daily basis berating guests for not having a job/too many children/drinking/smoking weed, whilst turning redder than Phil Mitchell trapped in an upstairs bedroom at Windsor Castle.
The climax of each segment has to be the results of the lie detector/paternity tests which usually reveals the main subject of the audiences finger pointing to be a liar or a tart, who subsequently denies everything. ‘Are you saying that the lie detector is wrong YES OR NO?’ shrieks Kyle, whipping the spectators into an ethical frenzy, as they perfect their impression of a group of seals clapping and barking for fish. He then proceeds to wave the offending test results under the dishonest scumbuckets nose as if it was the Treaty of Versailles yelling ‘You’re a LIAR sir/madam!!!’.
The show is rounded up after Kyle has belted out a stockpile of meaningless phrases such as ‘Keep it in your pants then‘ or ‘Be a man and hold your hands up’. What?? Still, as long as these ne’er-do-wells are on Kyles stage in a supervised surrounding, at least they’re not robbing my flat.
Friday, 16 May 2008
Britains Got (No) Talent (ITV1 Saturdays)
It has been said that a society can accurately be judged by the way it treats its most vulnerable members, such as the poor, the elderly and the mentally ill. In the good ole US of A for example, schizophrenics on trial are allowed to conduct their own defence, one guy even claiming the inability to die but foretelling his invevitable transformation into a giant tortoise which would then reign supreme over the universe. He was then prompty shunted off to death row to be executed.
In Britain we adopt a far more liberal approach to the mentally disturbed by allowing them on to 'talent' shows so that they can fully embarrass themselves and become national laughing stocks. In fact theres a positive glut of these type of programme infesting our TV stations such as, How do you solve a problem like Maria, Which bastard will be Joseph, Id do anything to be a Nancy, Twat Factor, Futile Academy, Britains Next Top Pillock, etc how many more for crying out loud?? After Pap Idol, we had Yank Idol and World Idol, and I believe Cowell is looking at introducing a show called Ultimate Plank, although it would be a close run thing whether Piers Morgan or himself actually emerged triumphant over that one. Still whatever keeps the cash rolling in eh? And while Im at it Simon, thanks a bunch for the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers and Sinitta. A man more bereft of taste I have yet to meet.
And so I turn my attention to Britains Got Talent, possibly one of the biggest oxymorons to emerge in recent years. Presided over by the judges, Simon 'guys 3 yesses' Cowell, Amanda Holden and Piers Morgan (what the hell?) each idiot, sorry contestant, stumbles on to the stage and performs something utterly cringe inducing until the panel have had enough and belt the buzzer so hard you think that the 4 minute warning has just been announced. Quite why Holden and Morgan were enlisted to consider the merits of the nations talent is beyond me. The former appears to have had so much botox she is practically unable to register any facial expressions (a bit like her acting) whereas Fat Boy Morgan is best known for getting sacked from the Daily Mirror, and of course, for being a total arsewipe and part time sycophant.
Over the last few weeks on Britains Got Talent there have been a barrage of untalented numpties ranging from a 70 year old pensioner lying on a bed of nails and then smacking her assistant on the back with a breeze block, to a guy who's impressions were undistinguishable from his own voice. In fact since the series started they have only found 3 real contenders for the title, the Michael Jackson act,(which is my favourite), the bullied schoolboy who sang Pie Jesu and the adorable talented dog, Gin.
Perhaps there should be one dedicated channel for shows like Britains Got Talent so that the rest of us dont have to suffer the anguish of seeing another twee child singing something cutesy. Actually the smarmy, precocious, warbling vomitfests of oh-arent-I-delightful-just-because-Im-under-8 acts should be banned outright. Just piss off until you've morphed into a proper human being for christs sake.
In Britain we adopt a far more liberal approach to the mentally disturbed by allowing them on to 'talent' shows so that they can fully embarrass themselves and become national laughing stocks. In fact theres a positive glut of these type of programme infesting our TV stations such as, How do you solve a problem like Maria, Which bastard will be Joseph, Id do anything to be a Nancy, Twat Factor, Futile Academy, Britains Next Top Pillock, etc how many more for crying out loud?? After Pap Idol, we had Yank Idol and World Idol, and I believe Cowell is looking at introducing a show called Ultimate Plank, although it would be a close run thing whether Piers Morgan or himself actually emerged triumphant over that one. Still whatever keeps the cash rolling in eh? And while Im at it Simon, thanks a bunch for the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers and Sinitta. A man more bereft of taste I have yet to meet.
And so I turn my attention to Britains Got Talent, possibly one of the biggest oxymorons to emerge in recent years. Presided over by the judges, Simon 'guys 3 yesses' Cowell, Amanda Holden and Piers Morgan (what the hell?) each idiot, sorry contestant, stumbles on to the stage and performs something utterly cringe inducing until the panel have had enough and belt the buzzer so hard you think that the 4 minute warning has just been announced. Quite why Holden and Morgan were enlisted to consider the merits of the nations talent is beyond me. The former appears to have had so much botox she is practically unable to register any facial expressions (a bit like her acting) whereas Fat Boy Morgan is best known for getting sacked from the Daily Mirror, and of course, for being a total arsewipe and part time sycophant.
Over the last few weeks on Britains Got Talent there have been a barrage of untalented numpties ranging from a 70 year old pensioner lying on a bed of nails and then smacking her assistant on the back with a breeze block, to a guy who's impressions were undistinguishable from his own voice. In fact since the series started they have only found 3 real contenders for the title, the Michael Jackson act,(which is my favourite), the bullied schoolboy who sang Pie Jesu and the adorable talented dog, Gin.
Perhaps there should be one dedicated channel for shows like Britains Got Talent so that the rest of us dont have to suffer the anguish of seeing another twee child singing something cutesy. Actually the smarmy, precocious, warbling vomitfests of oh-arent-I-delightful-just-because-Im-under-8 acts should be banned outright. Just piss off until you've morphed into a proper human being for christs sake.
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