‘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.
Monday, 26 May 2008
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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