14.8.16 Football Bollocks

The football season is underway, and so it's open season for the twats who have no command or understanding of the English language, or even the slightest awareness of grammar.  On Match of the Day, Alan Shearer is, as ever, harping on like a nob with his "asking questions of" theme, as though every man in a shirt is a quiz master.  To kick off the season, we've just had these:

We wanted to galvanize each other together.  [Mike Phelan]

You get the ball in and around him.  [Ian Wright]

It's gonna be a long, hard season.  [Yawn . . . Shearer]

In case you're in need of further evidence, perhaps it is time to review the last 12 months.  It must be time to reflect on the complete bollocks that's talked by the presenters, pundits and commentators. There is no end in sight regarding the relentless crap that leaves mouths, while pay levels for the culprits seem inversely proportional to linguistic prowess.  A basic level of English is not even a requisite, let alone an ability to think about what's being said, content-wise. The inanity of the exchanges confirms we would all be better off having no 'expert' opinion included in any TV programme.  For those who seem to talk about quality, and typically the lack of a little bit most commonly in the 'final third', the idiots are somehow oblivious to their own complete lack of quality. As for grammar, words fail me.  Here is a sample of what I'm talking about.

Jermaine Jenas is clearly on a mission to beat Alan Shearer to the top spot, with his utter drivel, all delivered under the guise of trying to seem intelligent.


Q: What are they missing?  [Gary Lineker]
A: A little bit of quality in the final third.  [Danny Murphy]

There was some heroic performances.  [Danny Murphy]

I expect a good new few additions next season.  [Danny Murphy]

He should not be getting beat.  [Jermaine Jenas]

They was overran at times.  [Jermaine Jenas]

He was kept getting into these positions.  [Jermaine Jenas]

We're gonna try and clamp this out completely.  [A Shearer classic]

The most unlikeliest of goal scorers.  [MOTD commentator]

They couldn't be any closer separated.  [Elidh Barbour]

Question marks about the Chelsea defence.  [Jonathan Pearce]

Once again, question marks in that Bournemouth defence.  [Jonathan Pearce]

I'm gonna minimalise the risk.  [Jermaine Jenas]

Gary's not somebody who goes down unless he's got a problem.  [Danny Murphy]

Look at the amount of numbers they've got.  [Jermaine Jenas]

He has to real concentrate on that one.  [Jermaine Jenas]

Swansea played a real good part.  [Jermaine Jenas]

They haven't really exerted themself.  [Andy Townsend bollocks]

There's a little bit too much reliant on Sergio Aguero.  [Trevor Sinclair]

Like any good striker, he's in the office.  [Trevor Sinclair]

They put in 4, 5, 6 passes, and kept the ball patient.  [Glenn Hoddle]

He's got goals in him; he can score goals.  [Andy Townsend]

He likes to drag people in and around the ball.  [The wanker maestro, Andy Townsend again]

When you're playing all the others in and around him.  [Change the record, Andy Townsend!]

It didn't have the support in and around him, did it?  [Shut up, Townsend!]

They've got to get someone in and around him.  [Another Alan Shearer classic]

,,,

28.5.16 Britain's Got Talent Final

Britain's Got Talent has quite typically ensured that singers dominate the line up.  Still, there are a few finalists who don't warble.  Sadly someone thought it appropriate to invite Katherine Jenkins to warble like a twat during the start of the programme, to introduce the judges.  A fucking horrendous racket was served up by her, oh so cunting needlessly!

The public's 'wildcard' act was rather predictably a fucking dog.  The ballet dancers were put through by the judges.

Balance Unity  1 / 5

His semi-final performance did not warrant qualification for the final, so I was not holding out any hope of a decent final performance.  He fidgeted and wobbled along with various theme tunes and music snippets, while pulling faces.  I was bored before the first minute was up.  Overall, fucking lame. "What a way to start the show," was of course leaving the lips of the comperes before Walliams even got a chance to speak - and then say the say fucking this, as always.  Yawn.

Time for the first "quick break," as announced by Ant.  The first advert up was for the Suzuki Vitara, featuring Ant and Cuntin Dec! 

Richard Jones  4.2 / 5

Something non-singing and non-dancing; well what a turn up!  What an original and well-pitched performance and story.  Very interesting and fitting, and a brave type of performance.

Time for "a break." and as it was not announced as a "quick" one, I decided I could served myself seconds of the roast chicken dinner. the stupid competition meant I had even longer to load my plate.

100 Voices of Gospel  - 0.0025 / 5

The screaming shite that was served to us in the auditions was outrageously awarded the golden buzzer.  And so it came to pass that tonight we were served another helping of shite.  The lead singer was/is/always will be a verbal bully, and a shouting fucker.  How can anyone be so unlikable?  Then she made it worse by singing/shouting/wailing about Jesus!  FUCKING CUNTING HORRENDOUS!  "I don't know where to start," said Alesha.  I fuckin' do! "That was what we call perfection," said Simon, and I lost any smattering of respect that still remained for him.

Alex Magala  4 / 5

This chap has shown us he is dedicated as hell.  His approach to entertaining us is severely radical.  I resisted the urge to try anything like this at home, and Mrs MWSC was able to breathe easy (and not get the Flash ready to mop up blood).  Amazing input from a chap who pushes boundaries.

Mel & Jamie  2 / 5

Without a break, we were into our third act in a row!  The first time these two were on stage, it was good, and the mother stood back.  In the semi-final, she dominated, and I was surprised they got through.  Tonight I was unsure what the plan would be.  As it turned out, it was a rather boring dirge, and I was bored as hell.  The shit song was a cliche and a half, and so the best from these two came from that first audition.  Simon commented in line with this until his comment on tonight, saying it was as good as the audition . . . well, it wasn't!

"Time for a another quick break," said Dec - well it was overdue, wasn't it!

Shannon & Peter  2.2 / 5

This performance was pretty much what I expected.  I did not agree with Simon, though, as this time it was not any improvement on the last effort.  Still, they will have enjoyed getting to the final.

Jasmine Elcock  5 / 5

Superb!  A truly lovely performance and person.

"Time for a quick break," said Dec.

Trip Hazard  1.5 / 5

I thought we'd got rid of the dog, but I'd not reckoned on the cuntin public vote reintroducing the mutt.  I was bored to death.

"We'll take a short break now," said Ant.

Beau Dermott  3.8 / 5

Sadly she's not especially likable, and whilst she is an accomplished singer, the stuff she sings is hardly of much interest.

Craig Ball  3 / 5

This seemed like a bit of a challenge for him, and it started to show as he lost his bearings.  There was nothing new here.

Boogie Storm  0.5 / 5

Never has an act been so unworthy of being in a final.  Utter SHITE.

"Time for a break now," said Ant.

Wayne Woodward  4.5 / 5

Solid as ever; he's a natural at this.  What a personality.


Who knows how the public will vote in the 16 minutes allocated for the task.

...

14.5.2016 Eurovision Song Contest Final

Petra Mede & Mans Zelmerlow

The annual madness that is Eurovision means a marathon television session as usual. The schedules allowed three and a half hours for this year's event from Stockholm.  Graham advised us that while the semi-finals usually filter out the dross, this year a couple of howlers have crept through.  I think it is fair to say that every single year there is dross on stage, whether in the semis or in the final.

Belgium 

What's the Pressure?  More like 'What Was the Point?  Maybe you had to be there to get into it; unfortunately it was a flop.

Czech Republic

I Stand.  What dreary load of tosh.  I wish she'd decided to sit, backstage. Alas, we had to endure her whining and wailing.  "Stand down, luv," I implored. Dire.

The Netherlands

Slow Down.  Middle-of-the-road stuff.  Bland and with some dubious singing here and there.  The sort of song you'd never want to hear the first time, let alone again.  Give me back my 3 minutes!  After two minutes he stopped for ten seconds.  Sadly that was not the end and another minute came.

Azerbaijan

Miracle.  A woman called Samra warbled her stuff.  Inane drivel lyrically, and rather awful musically.  It was always going to take a miracle for this to get anywhere.  I think she got the gig for her looks, as she simply can no singing ability.  This was horrendous.

Hungary

Pioneer.  Freddie strained away, and avoided (to our cost) a fucking good cough.  As a result, we had to listen to his throat rasping.  Three jiggling backing singers were bizarre, but not as strange as the monk banging a drum and having a fit.  This was just a racket and needless.

Italy

No Degree of Separation.  No idea what she was saying at all.  She seemed to get into it.  It was very wordy - in Italian of course.  The, half way through, she switched to English for 30 seconds!  I think it may have been quite good, but her singing was weak.  Peculiar performance.

Israel

Made of Stars.  Not quite Savage Garden but he made a decent attempt.  Yes, it was fairly repetitive but that's to be expected at Eurovision.  It started to lose its way as the volume increased in the second half but it was the best after the seven.

Bulgaria

If Love Was a Crime.  Graham built this up, but it was not worthy of his intro. The singing was atrocious, and for me, that's a rather important element in a fucking song contest.  It was catchy in a horrible way, as it offended ears in a catchy way!

Sweden

If I Were Sorry.  This was interesting, and a nice change from the amateurish pop that's served up most of the time.  Slightly self indulgent but nevertheless it was a long way from offensive.  It will do very well.

Germany

Ghost.  "There isn't a single thing about this woman that doesn't annoy me," said Graham!  He was on the money.  Her pitch was at a level that hurt my ears, and I willed it all to end early.  Sadly is droned on.  Awful.

France

J'ai Cherche.  The chorus was catchy - You-ou-ou-ou-ou, he said, in between various rubbish in both English and French.  It was weak, and so dreadfully repetitive that I willed it to end.  I could do with not hearing that again.

Poland

Colour of Your Life.  I was annoyed instantly because the word 'colour' was written 'color'.  This is the Eurovision and not an American event.  His desperation as he sang was annoying as hell.  Why do performers insist on assaulting ears with a vengeance?

Australia

Sound of Silence.  The sound of silence would be better than most of the acts so far.  This effort was not too bad.  A bit too much wailing and repetition but at least she was marginally better than most at singing.  Why Australia has been adopted permanently is simply ludicrous.

Cyprus

Alter Ego.  The lead singer couldn't sing, and so this desperate attempt at performing was doomed to failure.  Flashing lights, cages and smoke could not help in any way.  This was embarrassing, and should get nil points.

Serbia

Goodbye (Shelter).  The woman in black had a weird style and struggled to pronounce a single word correctly.  This had a detrimental effect, because all the way through I was fucking fuming with her misplaced passion, and perverse use of sound.

Lithuania

I've Been Waiting For This Night.  This followed the Eurovision formula very well.  Some quiet bits, a loud and catchy chorus, a building volume as we were all supposed to buy into it.  Unfortunately it was rubbish.

Croatia

Lighthouse.  "The backing singers may be in some sort of witness protection programme," said Graham.  A strange sound, though not actually that bad.  The trouble was that I could stomach a bit of her, but not the full 3 minutes, and as they passed (so very slowly) she got worse, and more grating.

Russia

You Are the Only One.  "Thunder and lightning, it's getting exciting," he sang, and I disagreed.  The special effects on stage were good, but that's got fuck all to do with it!  This was a serious attempt to win.

Spain

Say Yay!  This was a club dance track, and although it was all a bit messy, it will no doubt appeal to many.  I must say that I quite liked it.  Obviously I have had to lower my standards significantly to find anything bearable this year.

Latvia

Heartbeat.  This was hard work to listen to.  It was all over the place vocally, and featured intermittent shouting at full volume.  There was nothing to recommend it to anyone who is not hard of hearing.

Ukraine

1944.  What can I say.  This was a one-off and so hard to evaluate.  I commend the originality and suspect that she is Ukraine's answer to Kate Bush.  I found it very interesting and off the wall.  Hopefully it will do well.

Malta

Walk On Water.  I wished she would indeed walk on water, at a steady pace west, across the Atlantic.  Pretty awful, cliche trash, and annoying as fuck!

Georgia

Midnight Gold.  I have no words.  This was terrible when the chap was singing.  

Austria

Loin D'ici.  Sung in French, and better than France managed!  It was okay, but so, so repetitive.

United Kingdom

You're Not Alone.  I hadn't heard this beforehand, and I don't feel I'd missed out in any great way.  It was passable, and certainly much better than many of the acts.  Sadly, the UK is not liked generally, and always struggles for votes.

Armenia

LoveWave.  "You-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou," she wailed, and replicated the entry from France.  She thinks she's Anastacia, but she wailed just a bit too much, questioning any link to music.


This year's entries and performances fell a long way short of last year's.

Result

1sr Ukraine
2nd Australia
3rd Russia

[Arguably none is in Europe]

...

9.4.16 The Voice Final

"You will choose your ultimate winner,"  said Wailing Willis, in the introduction, as if it made the slightest fucking sense.  Then Paloma Faith took to the stage, talking even more drivel and bollocks than should be humanly possible.

Jolan

Yes, The Voice was underway; the Final was set to present two hours of testing television.  After just six minutes, we had some music, courtesy of Jolan.  It seemed he'd heard it through the grapevine.  Sadly I could fucking hear him hearing it and singing about it.  'Jolan' sounds like a brand name for artists' putty or something; where do such names come from?  Anyway, he milked the fucking song to within a teat's throb of a sore.

Ricky suddenly though he was Abraham Lincoln, with an impromptu speech. Willis referred to him as James Bond, and Boy George suggested David Cameron; WTF?  Will.i.am reminded us that this was the last time The Voice would be on BBC television, and my mood lifted very temporarily.

Lydia

Marv was sitting on a red sofa, confirming his ineptness as an interviewer, host, presenter and general TV presence.  "It's a dream come true said Linda, Lydia's mother," in the VT.  Original eh?  Grandma Dotty had back-combed her hair especially, and I feared for her going up in three seconds, should a stray spark catch hold.  "It's Lydia!" said Marv, by way of introduction.

"Everything's Gonna Be All Right, she warbled.  It was sure to be, in about 1 our and 45 minutes. The rapping part of the song, in a voice that made me want to put my foot through the television, was the prelude to her Leona Lewis impression.  It was better than Jolan, even if she was a gushing pain.

"Lydia has been an architect, to construct her own songs," said Iams, and I'd know idea she'd studied for so long to be qualified as an architect.  Paloma said something (not sure what, but is was valueless) before George confirmed she'd "done Essex proud".

Kevin

Kevin was up next, singing 'Stay'.  I was bored after 13 seconds.  'You leave me speechless, absolutely speechless, " lied Wailing Willis, because she didn't stop talking.  "On point," said Boy George; YAWN.  Paloma 'The Teeth' Faith gargled through some compliments, and then "super dope" was Will.i.am's contribution to the comments.

Cody

"She is a very unique individual," said Boy George, taking a leaf out of Willis's book of non-English.  Mad World was a shit song choice.  What a shame that no one had a thought to be slightly more original and adventurous with a song that we hadn't heard 34 million times.  Still, she's an interesting person, and still managed to make something of it.  Paloma talked shit about weeds growing through cracks in the pavement, confirming her need for a straight-jacket.

Marv

His testing questions on the sofa were cunting crap.  Jolan confirmed he has no personality.  The Essex girl said something formulaic, and the camera flicked to Grandma in the audience, away from any naked flames.  Kevin was supported by 'Liberty X' in the audience.  The value of this was not discussed.

So after the first round of singing, Cody was clearly the most likely to win. "Whoa, they're on fire here tonight," said Willis about the audience, and I wondered fleetingly if Grandma has found a Bic lighter.  Then we were told that round two was about to start - the duets.

Jolan & Ricky

The shouty song was suitable for masking the lack of talent (mostly regarding Ricky) and I could have done without hearing even a second of the noise. Pathetic trash.

Cody & Boy George

Another terrible song choice - 'Imagine'.  There's no way that will ever really make a brilliant impression in a singing contest.  George warbled, and made Tony Bennett sound good!  A really wasted opportunity.  YAWN.

Kevin & Ricky

Ricky proved beyond any doubt whatsoever that he cannot sing.  The first 30 seconds of Ricky making a noise was horrendous, just before it carried on being horrendous for the rest of the duet.

Lydia & Will.i.am

"Will arks if I can hang out in the shtoodio," said the TOWIE representative in the VT.  Her dad was (to listen to) Micky Flanagan, and I could have done with 5 minutes of him instead.  The song choice was clearly going to be one that required no singing from Will.i.am.  I was correct in my assumption.  The melody was provided by Lydia, along with some groaning when Will did his talky bits.  This was complete fucking rubbish all round.  'Dope' in the true sense of the word, Will.

Whittling Down

"The competition has never been closer," lied Marvin, after an inane exchange with the contestants regarding the covers for the winner's single.

"It's time to get serious," said Marv, as the two presenters got ready to confirm the two contestants making it through to a sing-off.  Marv . . . 'serious' . . . seriously?

Jolan got through (?) along with Kevin.  It should have been Cody and Kevin. So Ricky won on the judging side without the final two having to sing another note - despite the fact that Ricky himself managed only bum notes on both his duets with them.

Still half hour to go at this point.  YAWN.  Next came two airings of the same corny song.  Kevin was surely going to win.

Yes, after many many weeks of The Voice, the BBC has finally declared that 'The Voice' is in fact a bloke who was in Liberty X, a successful band.  Wow.

...

30.3.16 The USA Is Fucked

It looks like the American People will have a choice between Donald Trump and Hilary Clinton.  This can only be described as a truly horrendous choice.

The radical and utterly bonkers Trump is unelectable, and yet the idiot is increasingly looking like a serious contender.  I fear for the USA and in turn, to a noticeable degree, the world.

Who stands in his way?  The odious and completely diabolical Hilary Clinton, a woman who should have no chance at all in securing the Presidency.  Sadly, the fact that her opponent is a lunatic means Clinton has, quite preposterously, a decent chance of winning, better than she deserves by a lifetime of atonement.  This vile untrustworthy creature is no doubt pleased as fuck that Trump is her opponent.

I claim no smugness, as Britain suffered the terrible two-faced fucker known as Tony Blair for far too long.  Allegedly, and with seemingly rather good cause, this war criminal is smugly touring the world making many millions of pounds, touting his dubious talents as a squirming twat who can get away with all sorts. His associations with people and regimes of disrepute is simply astonishing.

So, back to America, and the fate of the USA.  Trump would be an in-your-face disaster who is a loose canon.  Clinton is a devious self-serving waste of space, more untrustworthy than Trump, and ready to do whatever it takes to get power.  Hobson's choice, indeed.

Sorry to say, then, that the USA is cuntpletely fucked.

...

27.3.16 Woman Lays "Cunt" on Kyle

Hilarious story in the Daily Mail Online !

...

27.3.16 Queues & Other Things

Deciding which queue to join is a challenge.  Last Thursday, I had a dozen lanes before me, to pay the toll and get to the other side of the river.  Obviously I managed without any supernatural powers to select the lane where the car driver in front was about to be a cunt.  Yes, the task of putting £1.60 into the machine was over and above the competence level of the driver.  I waited while all around me, numerous cars headed into the tunnel.

On the Wednesday, I'd already experienced far worse, courtesy of the duty free shopping at Malaga Airport.  I had some vodka and some Jagermeister, and six tills to choose between.  I made my choice and lived to regret it.

Two Toblerones and a litre of Baileys!  Some party he was planning.  WTCF was he buying this shit for anyway.  It beggars belief that someone really needs to buy overpriced Toblerone at a fucking airport.  However, my gripe is less with the pissing chocolate than with the digital cunting world.

The bloke presented his mobile phone to the till operator; the screen displayed what should have been a bar-code that could be scanned.  As we all know, as part of international security control, the purchase of Toblerones HAS to be subject to the presentation of a boarding pass.  Mayhem would ensue if anyone was allowed to simply buy shit without red tape.

Rather than a paper boarding pass, the traveller used his smart phone, that turned out to be a fucking thick phone.  Despite his efforts to fiddle, scroll, pinch, punch [oops, no, that was what I wanted to do] and tap, there was no progress. The till operator wiggled the scanner but it picked up cuntin fuck. I continued to wait.

Having taken over, and unsuccessfully tried to get the bar-code to register on her scanner, she decided the best policy was to manually enter the reference. For this, she needed her glasses, and so with further amazement and disbelief, I carried on standing there like a twat while she pissed about looking for them. She opened the case and adorned her windows to the world, and started tapping slowly on her till, peering at the reference on the tiny thick-phone.  In doing so, he had to fend off the traveller who seemed intent on having another fiddle, pinch and scroll (on his phone, not her fanny).

The pair of them seemed to be enjoying the debacle as though it was some sort of technical tango.  I, on the other hand, was sensing a rise in blood pressure that put me half way up the scale - zero being placid and amenable, 10 being ready to knock some cunt's head off.

At last she was happy, and the authentication needed for the purchase of two triangular lumps and a cream liqueur was successfully entered into Malaga Airport's computers.  No doubt Interpol would be overjoyed, and would assume the Triangular tubes were legitimate chocolate rather than Semtex.  It was then time for him to pay.  Out came the cuntin credit card; yawn.

***

While waiting to learn the gate number for boarding, I went to a machine to get a bottle of water.  I noted that the price was 1.70 euros, exactly 40 cents more than a year ago, when the dispensing machine was a more basic model.  Now though, the machines are multi-functional massive fuckers, capable of accepting Visa, Mastercard, American Express, PayPal, Green Shield Stamps, IOUs, Bearer Bonds, Krugerrands, Smarties and of course good old coins.  Luckily for me, the Toblerone Tosser was not around, and more importantly not in front of me - otherwise he'd be wobbling a thick-phone contactless, brainless mobile at it, or else from his wallet picking a card to use.  I opted for ordinary money, and effortlessly obtained some water without wireless/digital/dreadful/diabolical needless complication.

***

As I went through the boarding gate, I spotted behind me in the queue a man wearing a three-berth tent.  I was shortly to be in a middle seat, and prayed that he was not going to sit next to me . . . . . and overflow.

Standing on the ramp down towards the tunnel connecting the plane to the terminal, my fellow passengers and I all sweated while the lights intermittently but consistently went on and off.  I was passenger 41.  With so little to do (other than sweat) when waiting to board, counting the passengers in front of me seemed a reasonable thing to do.

I spotted the Man From Del Monte lower down on the ramp, on the other side of the 'snake'.  Passenger 12 was dressed in a pale linen suit, checked shirt and loafers.  He sported a Panama hat, and had under his right arm a folded Daily Telegraph.  Whilst the real Man From Del Monte was known for saying "Yes", this one said fuck all as he stood alongside his wife, a drab woman with a non-plussed look that for some reason reminded me of a character from Trumpton, or maybe Chigley. Then it came to me . . . . she reminded me of Windy Miller! [So, Camberwick Green, then]

At last we moved forward.  Pigeon step by pigeon step we inched towards the plane, ready to be cramped as fuck for three hours.  As I stepped on to the plane, I sat the non-verbal Windy Miller and Man From Del Monte in seats one and two.  Twenty minutes later, Jordan (the air stewardess with the annoying voice) was, in preparation for the safety demo, asking for our "full and complete attention".  I wondered what the difference was between 'full' and 'complete'. Then she invited us to (as ever) sit back, relax and enjoy the flight - which if course was impossible.

Among other things that caused distraction was the short woman in the seat next to me who was giving head to a baguette.  This necessitated, it seemed, the need for an extended little finger (?)

Meanwhile, two seats away, a woman with more phlegm than a Flemish Phlegmatic with Flu was relentlessly proving her credentials, coughing up mouthfuls of vileness.  Horrendous.

...