Archive for May, 2007

Monday, May 21st, 2007

Holy cunts! MR AGREEABLE!

Waking up to a breakfast of boiled egg and lightly toasted soldiers, waffles and syrup, peppermint tea and a petrol can full of overproof rum with a slice of lemon, I pick up one of the monthly rock music periodicals and observe with a start that Tom Chaplin of Keane has spoken of how he was “suicidal” at the depths of his addiction to alcohol and cocaine.

Didn’t actually f***ing do it, though, did you, you f***ing wuss! Am I the only one who’s had it right up to their f***ing tits with confessional rock stars and their tedious f***ing Drugs Hell reminiscences? “But I’m out the other side now and back with a shit album”, you know the f***ing score! Why didn’t you come out and tell us all about this when it was happening, f***face! “‘I’m Feeling Very Suicidal Just This Minute’, Says Keane’s Chaplin.” We’d have supported you! I’d have led the f***ing charge! I’d have been the one shouting, “Go on, jump, you c***, jump! You know it’s for the f***ing best!” F***ing Keane! 100%  shit on a f***ing memory stick! I’d rather stand in a f***ing field on a rainy day staring at a cow for four solid f***ing hours than listen to five seconds of one of their f***ing albums!

On a generally disappointing night of “no shows” at the BAFTAS, Victoria Wood did pick up two awards, including one for Best Actress.

You know, life is full of f***ing mysteries – where is little Maddie, how does Cliff Richard maintain his eternally youthful looks and why does toast always fall butter side down, but topping the lot is this one – who the f*** are all these cretinised c***s who find Victoria Wood remotely f***ing funny and what precisely are they f***ing laughing at? Just because she talks like some f***ing over-enthusiastic Northern grammar school hockey mistress who never shuts the f*** up? Is that supposed to be the f***ing joke? Is it her neighingly f***ing whimsical outlook on life and f***ing jokes about striped curtains? Her f***ing songs? Please don’t tell me it’s her f***ing songs! Because if it’s her f***ing songs, I swear I will have to take a stroll through the suburbs with a f***ing pump action shotgun firing at random, the thinking being that if I take out at least one f***ing Victoria Wood fan, it’ll have been f***ing worth it! C***s!

The Twang, the boisterous West Midlands group described as a cross between The Stone Roses and The Streets are currently carrying all before them on the road, notching up some impressive milestones such as a sellout concert in Norwich. Here, their lead singer comments on their success.”It’s a good sign that we are stepping up so quickly, and the ticket sales are doing quite well at the moment, so when we get stuck into that tour there should be a few more sold out shows. It’s just ace, you know, that people are getting to us and spending their dough to come and see us, especially if we’ve been there before and they come back – then we’re doing a good job.”

Christ on a f***ing wankstick, you boring little c***! Is this how you talk, all the f***ing time? Is this what your f***ing stream of consciousness, your f***ing internal monologue is like, f***ing day in, day out? In a f***ing Birmingham accent, as well? God’s rancid spunk, I’m amazed you haven’t joined that c*** from Keane on the f***ing ledge! How can you stand being that f***ing tedious? The f***ing Twang! I’d rather f***ing drink water straight from the f***ing canal! Arseholes!

Here’s our old friend Jasper Gerard in The Observer, discussing a recent trip to Riga, in Latvia, during which he took part in a tournament. “We were playing footer. We lost 17-1. Or so we think; the referee lost count. This was despite being lent the opposition’s goalkeeper for the second half. Still, our captain displayed his true talent with the post-match spin: “Well done, chaps. Fantastic we scored that crucial away goal to bring back to our ground.”

You really are a woeful streak of f***ing cockache aren’t you, Gerard? “Footer”? What the f*** is a c*** like you doing writing for The f***ing Observer? What the f*** is a c*** like you doing writing?

Finally, it seems that Prince will be doing a 21 date tour of London, with tickets naturally sought after by the capital’s pop fan.

Oh, f***ing yeah, I’m really f***ing excited by this – after all, this is Prince’s seventeenth straight year of producing nothing but f***ing bloodstreaked bullshit, surely he’s got to get good any second now! And Bryan f***ing Robson’s gonna do a f***ing shit-hot job at f***ing Sheffield United! Listen once and listen good, you silly f***ing pricks on the f***ing hotline for tickets in the desperate f***ing hope of being squashed like sardines alongside fellow f***wits watching the coiffured little runt jam his way through two hours of solid jazz-funk tedium, these concerts will be a waste of f***ing time! Life’s too f***ing short! And even if life was too f***ing long, they’d still be a waste of f***ing time!

Sunday, May 6th, 2007

Bringing a cheery titter to those cheeky chops, it’s… Mr Agreeable!

Waking up to a silver salver of assorted high fibre cereals, grapefruit, melon, figs, green tea, lightly buttered bagels and a hosepipe connecting me to a septic tank full of Kestrel lager, I breakfast heartily then turn my attention to a certain periodical. Therein, I notice that the combo Gym Class Heroes have recently scored a hit, “Cupid’s Chokehold”, based around the Supertramp song. “Breakfast In America”. Said one of Gym Class Heroes’s number, “I remember the first time I realized I wanted to write songs. I was watching a Fruity Pebbles commercial and Barney Rubble started rapping and I figured if he could do it, I could do it too.”

Yeah? Well, it’s a f***ing pity you weren’t f***ing inspired by Wile E. Coyote, isn’t it? “I thought, like, wow, hey, man, if he can jump off the edge of a mile high precipice and come back two seconds later unscathed, like, I figured, like, maybe I could too.” A giant sized f***ing pity! When you say it’s ‘based’ on the Supertramp song, you’re basically f***ing saying it is the f***ing Supertramp song, aren’t you? Because face it, take away the f***ing Supertramp song from the f***ing equation, and it’s a bit like taking the horses away from the f***ing equation in the f***ing Grand National  – all you’re left with is a bunch of twats dressed like silly, jabbering little c***s running around like blue-arsed arses at the f***ing starting line with no business being at the f***ing races! Which is what you f***ers are!

Singer-songwriter and veteran anti-war campaigner Joan Baez has been barred, it seems, from performing to soldiers recovering in hospital from their tours in Iraq. Army officials intervened to prevent her participation.

Well, for f***’s sake, the American f***ing military might well be the most cementheaded, incompetent bunch of f***ing lunkheads currently running f***ing riot in uniform on the planet and about as f***ing subtle and sensitive in their operations as a f***ing 100 metre high concrete penis dropped from a f***ing B-52 onto a f***ing Red Crescent orphanage, but credit them with a modicum of f***ing compassion! If I’d had half my f***ing arse torn off by some insurgent’s f***ing incendiary device and was condemned to shit sideways for the rest of my f***ing life, the last thing I’d f***ing want is my that warbly, reedy f***ing bint Baez strumming at my f***ing bedside, sandpapering my f***ing eardrums! It was as much as f***ing Bob Dylan could do not to shove a wet dischcloth down her throat in the 60s! He only went f***ing electric to f***ing drown her out! “Turrrnn! Turrrrnnnn!! TURRRNNN!!” TURN IT OFF, YOU F***ING CRUEL AND UNUSUAL C***!!

The Sony Award Winners for 200, the biggest awards in radio, have been announced. They include the following; The Broadcaster’s Broadcaster Award to John Peel; The Lifetime Achievement Award for Tony Butler, BBC West Midlands; while Music Radio Personality Award goes to Chris Evans of BBC Radio 2.

John The Baptist’s f***ing jockstrap, what the f*** are these all about? I mean, bless his soul and great respect to f***ing Patron Saint of Elderly Obsessive Hamsters John Peel but unless I missed a f***ing seance, he hasn’t exactly been doing a lot of f***ing broadcasting these last twelve months, has he? And Tony Butler? You spend your f***ing lifetime trying, and f***ing failing to gravitate from the f***ing broadcasting backwater of BBC West Midlands and you get an Achievement Award? You achieved f***ing nothing, you c***! That’s why you’re still in the f***ing West Midlands! And finally, Chris Evans, personality of the year? What does that f***ing say about the rest of the f***ing DJs at BBC2, that they have inferior f***ing personalities to Chris Evans? What are they? Paeodophiles? Spaniel torturers? Granny f***ers? What?

The Arctic Monkeys latest album, Favourite Worst Album has been hailed as the most anticipated new release since The Stones Roses’s Second Coming, according to the NME.

Yes! F*** me, yes! And Could They Possibly Be The Greatest Indie Group In The World Since The Arcade Fire, The Greatest Band In The World Right Now? Meanwhile, Are Muse The Greatest, Most Godlike Band In Britain? Are Kaiser Chiefs The Greatest Band In England Right Now? Are The View The New Beatles? Or Even Better, The New Oasis? Is Every Generic Brown Square Lump Of F***ing Refried, Reprocessed Indie That Appears On The Cover of The F***ing NME The Greatest Thing Since Last Week Ever? C***s! Get this drilled through your f***ing fevered skulls! 2007 is the f***ing worst, the palpable worst year in f***ing music history since “How Much Is That Doggie In The Window” topped the f***ing Hit Parade! Truly, this is the era of c***s to end all c***s!

Finally, it seems that Tony Blair has just passed a milestone –  ten years as Prime Minister.

You deranged, gleaming-eyed, rictus grinning, pusillanimous, reptilian, toothsome, scumsucking, trust-abusing, Cliff Richard rimming, childkilling, poverty gap widening, cesspit dwelling, NHS up-f***ing, useless f***ing trail of terminal f***ing right wing slime! Bush’s f***ing cockboy! You should be made to pass a f***ing milestone, having first been f***ing forcefed it, one with the names of every poor f***er you sent to their deaths in f***ing Iraq inscribed on it, you loathsome c***!