Your tax dollars at work

Apparently at the same time as John Sargeant is utterly taking the piss out of a dance competition the only people who take seriously are the four pompous arseholes on the judging panel* there is some sort of glorified karaoke and talent show over on ITV.

Turns out that there was a "shock eviction" last week and somebody who might have won it got kicked out of the show. OK so just another night of lowest commen denominator celebretoid dogshit for brain-dead proles to watch on their 46" plasma cunt-tubes before the bailiffs reposess them (and I get to pick one up piss-cheap at an auction)

So why the fuck do I read this...

Even the Culture Secretary, Andy Burnham, had something to say about the show in Parliament. He said White, who lives in his constituency of Leigh in Greater Manchester, was "wonderful and talented" and the decision to axe her was "very harsh".

Excuse me, excuse fucking me!! The fucking culture secretary, his second home, expensed travel and kickbacks to his family for "secretarial duties), paid for out of my fucking taxes, thinks it is important enough to vomit up his opinion on some cuntsnotting "talent" show aimed at epsilon minus sub morons? So what now - is a ZaNuLabour comittee going to have to scritinise every eviction from one of these shows now? You know what even the most brain dead of chavs is going to sodding notice when the next season of "Strictly Come Maria X-Brother Can Do" starts and Bruce/Davina/That Camp One comes on and says "You know what, all twelve of you have won, after all that's only fair".

I dispair, I truly do.




* I only watch it waiting for "Merlin" to come on - I have the serious hots for John Hurt's Great Dragon - would not be chucking him out of bed**.

** The dragon, not Mr Hurt, obviously.

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?

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Bawling Fest

So we are watching the BBC's talent contest / extended 12 week advertisement for Andrew Lloyd Webber's theatre production in my house. The reason we're watching this is that Mrs Dracunculus fancies that Barrowman chap - it certainly isn't for the "talent" on show. And what is it with the crying; I mean Jesus lads, I know you're after a job in musical theatre which isn't, let's face it, the most macho profession in the world but is it really necessary to turn on the waterworks every three seconds? Oh and look I can press the red button to get the song lyrics up - hang on these guys are singing such standard tunes if you don't know the words already you do not deserve your ears and isn't the point to listen to them singing and vote for your favourite rather than turning the experience into Saturday night karaoke?

Low point was hearing Graham "Can I possibly get any gayer?" Norton announcing that the next contestant was going to do "Walking In Memphis" - ooh I like that song, can play it and everything (see - dragon of many talents here - full octave span on each paw, and I have a pretty decent baritone voice too) so I looked forward to it only to be bitterly dissapointed because they first took out all the difficult bits and he still made it sound as dirge-like as "Rock of Ages"¹; I had to go outside and breathe on some small children just to feel better.

There are two highlights though. The first of these is that I get to recalibrate my uglyometer every time Lloyd-Webber appears on screen; blimey now I'm no oil painting but there is someone who fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. The second is the schadenfreude when you see some bright young things' dreams of stardom suffering a head-on collision with an 18 wheel truck full of reality. Last Saturday's was particularly pleasant as the god-botherer who all but said "I went to church and it was prophesied that I would get the part of Joseph" tripped over his bible and ended up face down in the merde. So much for the christian vote then son.

One last thing: "I close my eyes, draw back the curtain...". Is it just me or would it have been better to arse about with the drapery whist you could still, you know, see what you were doing?




¹ Speaking of which 10/10 to Russell Davies for last Saturday's episode of Dr Who, "Gridlock", which was freaking awesome - all those people (and cats) stuck in an eternal traffic jam singing hymns; absolute fucking genius!