Posts Tagged ‘fake-tan’

Available now from all bad bookstores

The internet is a marvel. Since its incarnation as a tool to enable research to be shared between universities, it has grown so much. It is now an interactive platform capable of enabling myriad arseholes an outlet for their barely coherent and almost always misinformed outbursts under the guise of “Having your say”.

Anyone who has used the internet to share their opinion, ever, will be familiar with the kind of ignorant nonsense that some folk consider to be worthy of voicing. Go to a news site, or forum, anywhere, and scroll down to below the story. Read the first comment from “NRA_4EVA” – see?

When YouTube was first launched I fully expected it to turn into a catalog of near death experiences captured by dim-witted American college kids, yearning to imitate their Jackass heroes. For a while I was right. Then the corporations found out they could “leverage” sales out of “viral” marketing yada yada yada.

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An extract from Inexplicable Celebrity: The Diary of Kayleigh-Anne Boyd

Post eviction: Monday 30th September

I have giant round shiny new boobs. Look so totally gawguss. I need to go shopping now for some classy outfits to show off my vast and deep cleavage. This morning I lost half a piece of toast down there and spent, like, 30 minutes trying to get it out.

I heart Angus right now, he is doing everything right for me, he only wants the best. Yesterday he says to me, Kayleigh-Anne Boyd — now is the time for your single.

I thought he said, now is the time you are single and burst out sobbing. I am so single! So dumped! Sven is telling all the papers I am a lousy lay — soo embarrassed! And it’s not like anybody could be a good lay in the Big Brother house anyway, having sex under those blankets and trying not to make any noise.

Yesterday all the paps cornered me outside the club I was stumbling out of, asking me what I thought about that, and I had to give a very dignified response, so I said, I’m so above all that and won’t be commenting on whatever crap that peeny weeny stupidass fuckhead says.

So… yeah, but no, what Angus actually meant was it’s time for me to record a singing record thingee. A song. Squee! I am going to be a pop star too!

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Clearly she is not as original as she makes out - the Yeti is minutes ahead of her

I am still surprised and throw up in my mouth a little bit every time I think of Lady GaGa, and how she even penetrated mainstream music.

When “Just Dance” was getting air play and the odd mention in tabloid columns, Lady GaGa was namedropped, quickly followed by “the electro queen of 2009” or “the electro pop diva”, I’m pretty sure no-one linked the peroxide eccentric with the lasery tripe of “Just Dance”. I was excited and greatly anticipated the arrival of electro in the mainstream UK music circuit. I would be chuffed if electro started blaring out when my tone-deaf partner had Capital FM on in the car.

My enthusiasm was deluded. This goddamn bitch is not only not producing electro, but really trite R&B. Any wonder I didn’t connect the name to the tune.
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Hedonism is more difficult than it looks.

I am in hell. I had all the best intentions. Relax and spend quality time with my other half on a quality beach and in bars. I know I wasn’t forced to come to Ibiza, but it was a lastfeckingnanosecond.com steal for the flight. As is the case most times one winds up in hell, I have myself to blame.

Airing my woes while I was there was fraught with danger, given the stereotypical mindset of my fellow countrymen abroad. My thoughts were bound to be misconstrued as drawn-out contempt. I’d rather just spill my guts here.

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