Posts Tagged ‘tv’
Ding dong! The fight begins for the Xmas No. 1 single
December 8th, 2009 | 
Author: 
Rage against the X-Factor
The latest batch of manufactured X-Factor pop-a-nonnies are trundling inevitably closer to the turgid, overcooked and overhyped grande finale. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid a lot of television recently, so have escaped the show’s grasping and vampiric embrace of my brain. Yes. I have not been sucked in.
I thought I might expound on my disbelief at the 2009 crop of finalists – seriously, I just don’t get Jedward, but I’ve realised it’s useless. Anybody who has not joined the cult cannot understand its inner workings. It’s probably like how, to Scientologists, it’s completely awesome that they have little aliens living inside them but to anybody else, it’s insane.
Message for the kids: don’t do Grog
El futuro del journalismo: copio y pasto!
I have, as we all know, great respect for journalists. In the UK, journalism is a singularly snobby and inbred profession, filled with cantankerous buffoons who earn too much money for too much opinion, which ensures we receive nothing but the highest quality of reporting and commentary.
The internet has proved a massive boon for these bastions of bollocks, as now all they have to do is cut and paste any old twaddle and suddenly they have a news story, such as this famous little gem that appeared in several of the London freebies and the Private Eye last month. Fact checking? Pah! Fact checking is for pussies.
Who wants to be a millionaire? Not this dumbass, evidently
It feels like a Friday, don’t you think? These sort of little gems usually occur on a Friday, anyway! Courtsey of Epic Fail … If you didn’t know the answer, wouldn’t you take the $500k and run?
Celebrity gossip – a value proposition
More relevant and relatable than you: Banff National Park squirrel shot to fame accidentally - his upcoming album is now tipped to be Christmas #1
Imagine Iran launched a nuke right in the middle of the Baftas, or Grammys, and it was aimed at the hypothetical venue in question, killing everyone important in the world (everything crossed! – alas, I jest.)
Our tabloids would be devoid of content after a week.
They have Sunday supplements and obits prepared eons ago, waiting to be sent to press at the touch of a button. But what then? There will probably be attempts to make icons out of grieving relatives, but I have little enough faith in humanity to expect this to be met with widespread derision and the eventual collapse of the gossip tabloid market. Yay! Here’s hoping!
Tags: celebrities, dumbasses, exploitation, fashion, gossip, marketing, media, money waste, publishing, tv | 
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MTV: happily eroding the attention span of an entire generation
Nelly: revered even though he deserves nothing but contempt
Don’t you just love the system? It has taken Rupert Murdoch and his equally odious contemporaries just a hundred years to mould the economy so that everyone’s money goes to him.
Gone is the traditional type of capitalism where everyone worked hard for a salary they genuinely deserved. Spend what you need and accrue some savings along the way? Out the window with it. Instead, we have a system where saving is pointless unless you earn megabucks, and wanton spending is encouraged, if not passively enforced.
TV review: Dragons’ Den
Mindlessly surfing channels the other day, I came across an episode of Dragons’ Den. Madcap entrepreneurs, scared witless, quavered through their pitches for weird and often quite stupid inventions. They were then ruthlessly mocked by the ‘dragons’, who declined to invest in the proposed schemes, and the pitchers were sent packing.
Where do those crazy sods come from? And I’m not talking about the inventors. I’m talking about the dragons. Supposedly they are a panel of self-made millionaires – British business brains with dosh to spare. They sit there in every episode, imposing and self assured, alongside stacks of pounds, obviously enjoying themselves as they grill the sweating, jelly-legged pitchers.
Wimbledon vs. Glastonbury: an amateur’s guide to summer
Presumably I would look like this if I got dressed after having a bucket of Pimm's for breakfast
The roof couldn't close quick enough to save from ruining this bloke's life entirely.
Every year in the middle of June, Merton College offers a one week crash course in the vagaries of tennis. The lessons comprise learning by rote key phrases of benign claptrap to regurgitate to anyone, whether they care or not, during the insufferable two weeks that is the British tennis season.
The courses are extremely popular, attracting pasty inbreds from all corners of the country. Armchair sportspersons prepare in earnest to provide us all with the discourse which serves as background noise everywhere you go for half a month.
The big talking point this year is the retractable roof, a concertina of steel and plastic that takes thirty minutes to shut. Born out of necessity, given the typical climate in London during the tournament, officials must use their extra senses or mutant powers to exactly match the complete shutting of the roof to just before the heavens open.
Tags: crime, exploitation, fashion, morons, sport, tv, what the fuck is wrong with you |
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Scent of a whore’s fake LV handbag: the art of celebrity perfume making
An extract from “Inexplicable Celebrity: The Diary of Kayleigh-Anne Boyd”
Post eviction: Tu
esday 7th September
My manager Angus picks me up at 9am. Way, way too early. I didn’t have time to glue back on the 2 nails I lost last night prying open that bottle of pink vino, so I could get boozed enough to call & hang up on Sven 17 times. I hate not having all my nails glued on. I look like a total freak. Even though am wearing my best ever outfit — favourite Jodie-esque white lycra minidress with hot pink knickers.
“Can we go by the salon?” I beg Angus.
He blows a cloud of cigarette smoke into my face. “No time, princess. Your personalised scent awaits. Eau de Boyd. Time to join the celebrity perfume gravy train.”
My own perfume! So, so excited. This is the moment I have been waiting for since I left the Big Brother House last week. It’s a real sign I’ve made it, you know? More than the Nuts photoshoot, or the interview with that fat radio DJ… My own face is gonna be stuck on a product. People are going to buy my face. Now that is fame.
TV review: The Apprentice UK
Has anyone ever actually seen Sir Alan Sugar doing any work? I mean, ever?
I ask this because I’m currently hooked on the latest series of The Apprentice UK, which has just been beautifully and ruthlessly mocked by Cassetteboy. Every week, Sir Alan’s business acumen is brought forward for our appraisal, but I’ve got an inkling that the guy might not be as rich as we’re led to believe.
Look at him. Just… look at him. He looks like Harry the Hobo’s worse-off brother. You get the impression that the only reason he was knighted was that the Queen slipped at his execution. He limps to the board room desk in his tattered tramp trousers and proceeds to dribble over the table until he’s reminded by Tweedledee and Tweedledum about what he’s meant to be doing. And even then he usually just asks everyone what they’ve been up to. How can he not know? We’ve just had half an hour of TV that shows us in clear detail what the band of idiots have screwed up this week.
