I have refrained from getting involved this year. Ordinarily I'd have been blogging numerous times over the three months, but the format is tired, the judges are twats, and the contestants have had appeal that has been more limited than the parking in Westminster. It has in the main been a pleasure not to fuss over ensuring attention every weekend. I have of course seen some of it, and have not actually given a fuck about any outcome.
Saturday
Today I have watched the repeat of the Saturday Show, ahead of tonight's effort that will decide whether Matt or Saaaaara wins. Yesterday's show was a mixture of good singing, poor singing, and engendered apathy at a level I didn't know I could summon.
The three chaps who chose a Beyonce song to kick off with were clearly the weakest of the three finalists. This was exposed as fact when their second effort with Clean Bandit and Louisa Johnson was shocking. Louisa was just as weak as the chaps!
Matt was predictably predictable. Okay, high pitched and rather un-entertaining. He was of course handicapped more so than Five-Past-Three were with Louisa . . . . he had to suffer the input of Nicole Scherzinger. Us viewers have of course had to put up with the insufferable yoghurt-touting twat for many weeks. She joined in his song with her customary overbearing vocals. Considering there are thousands of potential singers that could be seconded for the finalists' duets, surely to fuck there is a basis for banning Arsehole Shitsinger from being involved? Does anyone else suspect Nicole and Matt are 'up to something' ?
Saaaraaaa Aaaalto is allegedly considering changing the last letter of her name from 'o' to 'a'. Actually, I have just made that up. Her singing was of course better than the other two acts, and she was able to demonstrate the 'X' that's supposedly being looked for in this competition.
Elsewhere, whilst there is sympathy for Louis Tomlinson, after his mother has just died, but sadly his performance was horrendous, and the weakest of the whole evening. I think he has most certainly lost direction.
Sadly Honey G didn't lose her direction and arrived on stage to relay her usual tripe. Why she was invited to stomp around I have no idea. From the S to the H to the I to the T - . . . Honey . . . Shit!
Five-Past-Twelve were ejected (of course).
Sunday
Tonight's final part of the final has apparently needed to command two hours and five minutes in the ITV schedule. Yes, there will be about 35 minutes of adverts/trailers within that time span. Kylie kicked it all off with her overrated whining, and it turned into a singalong with the two finalists joining in, as well as the audience. After some more padding, Dermot O'Dreary bored us with his formulaic, generic tosh. It was a genuine pleasure to go to the break.
A really long trailer for the film Passengers was followed by an ad for knee pads from Amazon. I then needed, it seemed, to receive instructions from Facebook on how to share things, before Jean Paul Gautier was touted by a strongly accented bloke. ITV then advertised itself! A truly useless break was over. The double mention of TalkTalk was annoying, as my TalkTalk internet connection has been down for an hour - so ShushShush then. Completely coincidentally, Then Aaaalto was off singing It's Oh So Quiet (Shh). She was good.
After more intro crap from Shitlingers, it was Mattterry's turn to wail and whine, in the style of Sam Smith. The writing was on the wall, stapled alongside Mattterry's bollocks, as he sung at a pitch to frighten dogs at a thousand yards. Osbourne had clearly had a few vodkas, and praised him inappropriately. Nicole - "What am I gonna do with you?" I think she is desperate for a shag. She talked some more rubbish, avoiding use of the English language, and probably shared Osbourne's hip flask.
The ad break featured yet another cuntin trailer for The Only Way Is Essexmas.
Madness took over the proceedings. No, not Saaaara, but the band from the Eighties, with Suggs wearing his trademark dark glasses. We all pretended not to notice that he has lost what little vocal oomph and ability that he ever possessed. Luckily the whole audience (and the country) knew the words and helped him out a bit.
After the ad break, we were attacked by The Misfits. The Four Knobs of the Apocalypse (the judges) gave them a standing ovation! The rejected contestants 'sang' a song that we all could have done without seeing and hearing. More padding followed as O'Dreary asked the judges for their highlights of the series. Shitslinger = sucking Matt's knob; Osbourne = Vodka; Simon = made money; Elf = Potatoes, to be sure.
More adverts preceded a VT with Mattterry waffling on about fuck all. He then G-clamped his nuts, ready to sing again. One Day I'll Fly Away, he squeezed out. The camera cut to ShirtZinger, who was gazing adoringly. Osbourne talked to him like he was two. Cootchy koo. Simon told Matt that he liked him because he wanted to win. Tosser; say something useful. After the family "proud of him" and "I just want to make them proud" stuff, Up next, Saara.
"The Fin could win," said the Elf.
Shitshunter mentioned for the 17th time her 'Wild Card' selection.
Judge Cowell gave us his summing up from the bench, and he clearly wanted her to win.
Osbourne said something or other.
Her parents and friends on the VT wished her well, and her grandparents looked like Mr & Mrs Claus! The recap confirmed to us all that there is no substance to Mattterry, and that Saaraaalto is superior by a mile.
After yet another break, O'Dreary introduced Little Mix. For some reason Charlie Puth had to feature. There was NO POINT in him featuring! The song (Oops Baby) is shit and no more than a nursery rhyme. Puth pissed off for the next song, which was Touch - another howler.
Dermotitis got some last pointless words from the two contestants, and it was time again for an ad break.
The Result
Cuntin farce.
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