New Lows in Television

So regular readers of this blog will know that I'm laid up at the moment and not able to do a great deal but I have been trying to fill the time with worthwhile persuits and not vegitating in front of the idiot tube. However on Saturday a combination of pain and painkillers meant that all I was really capable of was plonking myself in front of the box and trying not to whimper.

So I watched some game where men throw a ball about and England predictably get beaten and after that well look who should mince onto my screen but Graham "Does this dick up may arse make me look gay?" Norton. Hmm, this must mean that there's some sort of dancing or singing talent show in the offing and, indeed, there is.

Jesus fucking Christ on a bike! Not only is this a talent show for tone deaf idiots who want to be famous but not content with that these walking abortions want to be famous for being somebody famous. So bereft of any originality are these cretins that they all are what are laughably dubbed "tribute acts", in other words the talentless pretend to be someone with talent (or at the very least, success). You know that this is going to really melt your eyeballs and want to gouge your ears out with a rusty spoon when the first "turn" was an Elton John impersonator who (a) did not sound like Mr Dwight, (b) was about a foot taller than the genuine article and (c) was probably, due to his girth, more suited to being a Shamu the Killer Whale tribute act. At least he could play the piano, a bit. We were then treated to a succession of "Tonight Matthew I'm going to be..." losers who between them could barely hold a tune in a bucket, the lowlight of which had to be some prune of a plumber from Lancashire who wanted to be Robbie Williams. Oh he had the irritating smugness and all the dickish gestured the cheeky chirpy cockney cunt does but, I grudgingly admit, the real Robbie can sing and is able to craft a decent pop tune; this chap could do neither and of course today he's going to have a crack at "Angels", that's the one with the big lift into the chorus that goes "And through it AAAAAAALLLLL...."

Our Robbie wannabe impersonator boings around the stage for a while through the first verse whilst his accent leaves these shores and takes up residence somewhere off the Azores in a mid-atlantic drawl that's neither fish nor fowl, the audience try and be helpful and sway from side to side holding glow-sticks up in the air and then comes Mr Pipe the Plumber's big moment... "And through it AAAARRRRGGGGGG!"

Strewth. His voice didn't so much as miss the note but sail right past it and had to turn round and come back at the next roundabout.

After that the bloke who didn't look or sound like Frank Sinatra was a blessing.

Can someone remind me how much these fucknuts get from my TV Tax again?