Aaaaaand we're back!
Apologies for the wait. Actually, I really couldn't give less of a fuck but it's nice to be nice. I've labelled this a 'Special Comeback Post'. In all honesty, I may have heightened your expectations with that, so let's take it down a notch by revealing that it's more or less the same old shit as previous. Although, I'll start this one off by telling a true story that I was involved in.
I had just been dropped off at the opposite end of my street after college and was sauntering along with the iPod in at almost deafening volume (the right volume) when I notice a man walking towards me. He looked a sorry state. The sort of bloke you'd catch shouting at the cashiers in a Post Office and headbutting the glass. He was fat, balding and had a clear physical invalidity given away by a single crutch. To make matters worse, he was wearing a tracksuit that Babe the pig would consider filthy and had had a face like Alex Ferguson after a bar fight. I could see he was yelling to - or at, either way I didn't care much at this point - another man behind him walking in the opposite direction. It looked as if they'd said their goodbyes and the man continued to drag himself my way. I closed my eyes and thought to myself 'please don't talk to me'. Sure enough, in the split-second silence between the songs on my iPod I hear the phrase 'excuse me, son'. Here we fucking go. I took my earphones out as if to officially announce that I am listening. Despite the man's description, I did not expect the words that followed. 'Can you tell me where I can get a gram of weed?'. Obviously, I was surprised and cought off guard (although, in hindsight I can see why he thought I would know) so I let out a simple response of 'no, sorry'. He then attempted to bribe me by saying 'I'll buy you some as well likes'. Yeh, thanks, then what? You'll go halfers with me on a hooker if I show you to the nearest brothel? I must look like some fucking back alley tour guide. He soon realised that I was of no assistance and proceeded to fuck off. I wonder if he got his fix or if he killed himself moments after meeting me. I'm tempted to say both, but you can't have everything.
I recently discovered the 'horrific scandal' in which Tory Chief Whip, Andrew Mitchell, branded a policeman guarding the gate to Downing Street a 'fucking pleb' after he refused to let him in with his bike. First off, allow me to state that I had no fucking clue there was ever such a career with the slightly humorous title 'Chief Whip', nor do I know what it entails. What I do know is that this is a classic mountain-out-of-molehill case. A Tory called a policeman a pleb, boo hoo fucking hoo. He swore? *gasps* Really!? Imagine any human being using the 'F' word in fucking public. Seriously? This is a major story!? I'm going to cut my thoughts down to one simple question - who gives a shit? Next!
Autobiographies. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't they supposed to be written by public figures who have 'done it all'? I always thought that you are to write a book about your life AFTER you've lived it, not before it has begun. If this is the case, why does Jessie J have one? Don't get me wrong, I'm aware she's not the first 'celebrity' to do this and she won't be the last, I'm just using her as a scapegoat because I fucking hate her. I can answer the very question - money. Yes, I'll give her she's not as stupid and gullable as her fans because she sees an opportunity to set herself up and takes it. Even if the decision makes her a bit of a hypocrite. She knows that talentless popstars like her don't last very long in the spotlight. They're in one minute and out the next to make way for the next wave of teens with cheesy lyrics, repetative beats and not a single instrument in sight. She will squeeze every hapeny out of her naive supporters' parents before her excuse for a career heads south. That's where the hypocrisy kicks into 5th. Wasn't it Jessie J who had that number one hit song 'Price Tag' about not being interested in money or fame and doing it just for the love of it? I think it was. 'It's not about the money, money, money. We don't care about your money, money, money. We just wanna make the world dance. Forget about the price tag.' I believe she sings about a thousand times in the three fucking minutes or so. Indeed, 'forget about the price tag... unless it's stuck on a leaflet written by me in Waterstones'. Seriously, she's barely lived a quarter of her life and been relevant for about a year, what could she possibly have to say that's so gripping?
Finally, a brief mention of a hoax photograph of Justin Bieber nude. The inclusion of the word 'hoax' in that sentence has single handedly disappointed several paedophile rings. Really though? A nude picture of him!? Any females (or males, I'm not prejudice) masturbating to that is like me wanking over a baby scan. Enough said.
Enlightening spiels from the land of Whiskey and Shortbread.
