Never mind the Warhols

Purple people

By our ephemeral correspondent Delbo

15 minutes of fame is too much for ’em. These people in the public eye who are famous for nothing at all. They have no talent, no skill, no charm but they are celebrities.

If you had a Delete key, who would you say had outstayed their welcome in the Celebrity Hall of Fame? Who would you dump in the Wells of Oblivion?

Super-injunction

To remove all doubt, this post may or may not be written by Emperor Ming, but you are not entitled to pass an opinion nor are you permitted to consider other options.

Being insofar as the plaintiff XXXXXXXX does hereby exercise all liens and rights to XXXXXXXX  Giggs and XXXXXXXX Pippa Middleton‘s arse. XXXXXXXXX and XXXXXXX Cheryl Cole‘ accent may not be counterindicated and XXXXXXXXXX Donald Trump‘s hair. It may ipso facto  XXXXXX prerogative of the rich and XXXXXX totally Clegged.

XXXXXXXXXXXX nullifying Barcelona midfield threat and XXXXXXXX Adele XXXX Obama ping pong.  Furthermore XXXXXXXX volcanic eruptions XXXXXXX under Simon Cowell. Andrew Marr XXXXXX and XXXXXX and XXXXXX Beatrice’s hat. Any infringement of such XXXXXX may well result in XXXXX and full-blown Blatter.

This post does not exist and may not be read under any circumstances.

Bang a gong

Yes, it’s that time again folks. The most hotly contested awards in the blogosphere await as the judge’s panel considers the 2010 WGYG contenders for this years highly coveted annual prizes. As usual, bribes have availed nought (unless substantial) and the panel has met in hidden seclusion (the Jiggly Jiggly Bar) to impartially drink the proceeds. To avoid whinges of bias the judges have set on one side the magnificent and totally prizeworthy posts of our gracious host. So, without further ado,  let’s get this ball rolling.

The Marcel Proust Award for Over-Punctuation

Only one serious contender this time?????  The winner is Maggie Farmer!!!!!!!

Post with the Most Unpleasant Associated Mental Images (sponsored by Rumble Toilet Appliances)

Quite a few contenders here, mostly concentrated in the Hangovers post by TurboTrout. But a clear winner, by virtue of his erudite language and graphic descriptions, is HotLunch. It’s so horrible I can actually see it and smell it.

The Peter Mandelson Award for Crypto-Twattism 

The early runner was hegenious, but he fell by the wayside. Discourage The Moth fluttered but lost heart. But the judges were deeply impressed with a candidate of such dire tedium coupled with pompous arrogance and semantic torture so that the clear winner can only be Trackfinder.

Oddbins Award for Curious and Offbeat Posts

Quite a few contenders in the oddbox here – Takeoshi’s inverted underpants, Shed5 and the eccentricities of sheddism,  Maggie on the elaborate complexity of chicken-care, HornDevil’s unconventional obituary for Michael Jackson, Boxo on vuvuzela useage.  Who can forget Susan and her barstools, or Lotte with her missing hairdryer? But the oddest post of all was undoubtedly FreakingPig  & his (?) dystopian cyber-future. What’s he on?

The MasterMind Specialist Subject of the Bleedin’ Obvious Award (sponsored by Basil Fawlty).

Own goal

A strong field. Mark on shopping, Repoman on neo-hippies, Axel on drunks, No2ID on mad drivers, Benno on women’s mobile phone retention rates, Wilma on male hygiene, Del on junk and Fangio Banjo on smells. But squeezing through the pack to grasp the gong is Mark with Feet of Clay, a true open-goal invitation to gripe.

The Chicharito Award for Best Newcomer.

Private Fraser amused but seems stuck in a rut, hence a premature doom. justaphase flitters hither and yon and really must try harder. Oestrogen Cloud offers proof that every silver lining has a cloud. But the winner has to be No2ID for starting out as a one trick pony and developing into a more rounded poster.

Comments From Planet Zonko

Axel’s bald comment ‘kartoffel’ baffled all terrestrial life forms. But the runaway winner can only be HornDevil with his ‘mullah-flavoured condom’ and multiple comments that almost but not quite cause profound offence. You’ve got to admire the guy – he just don’t care.

Hugh Heffner Award for Crusty Sexism

Only one contender – step forward Repoman for his diatribe on female tattoos.

Anne Robinson Weakest Link Award

Who can forget Fluffy? Why I am reminding us all of it? Del – you gave the weakest link. Goodbye.

The Sir Clive Sinclair Award for Creativity That Fails.

Mark’s Group Gripe promised much but got sidetracked  into personal issues and the swamp of lethargy. Boxo on Vuvuzela useage fizzled and farted. So we decided not to award the prize this year as we can’t be arsed. So, go ahead and sue us.

Sepp Blatter Best Post of the Year (sponsored by Gizza Backhanda and Ivan Tabungski Financial Consultants)

The most fiercely contested and coveted award. Making the shortlist were Takeoshi on crap service, Axel on womens abrupt changes of plan, TurboTrout on Hangovers from Hell, Del on pirate radio & old music is better than modern $hite, Boxo on his playlist of worst possible records to take to your desert island, 42DD on male sporting prowess, & Boxo again on the Xmas Dinner to avoid. The statistics show that the post clocking up the most hits by far was Boxo’s Desert Island Donkeys so that’s our worthy winner for 2010.

Cheers!

That’s all folks, put any gripes in a new post. Wishing you all a Goat-Gotten New Year with plenty of ammo to post here.

Lost

We have been approached by the delightful Lotte. Can anyone help a damsel in distress?

Here’s the e-mail in full. “I’ve lost my hairdryer. Can anyone help? Love from Lotte”

This is clearly a priority Red alert. Defcom 3. All leave cancelled. Whatever you’re doing, log off now and join in the search. We need to find this hairdryer now, there’s no saying who’s got it. Or even what they’re doing with it. Life as we know it may depend on what the fiendish kidnappers intend.

Feet of clay

By our man with the rubber trombone and the crumpled packet of Fisherman’s Friends, Mark Harwood

Jo Brand wrote a book called “A Load of Old Balls”, in which were mercilessly depicted the flaws of revered men. So, thanks for the idea, Jo.

Let’s see which celebrated figures we can rubbish. I might have gone for Eric Craptone or Ross Noble, but I had stuff to get off my chest concerning a complete dork, the alleged musician Miles Davis.

Miles Davis was one of the most ridiculous, absurdly over-rated fevered egos of 20^th century music. It was seen as groovy to be into his records, from “Birth of the Cool” to his crossover dabblings and every introspective bleat-fest in between. He assembled around him musicians who had immense technique and no interest in entertaining the listener, and led them with a weedy tone that should have been laughed at.

Davis fans lash out

But, leaving aside his dismal music, let’s take a look at Miles the man.

He would play the whole gig facing away from the audience if he saw white faces there. Of course, our liberal Press saw little wrong in this.

His dress sense can best be described as OTT Joe 90, or crassly futuristic if you wish to be kind.

Let him speak for himself:

“For me, music and life are all about style.”

Not substance, purpose or charm then.

“Do not fear mistakes. There are none.”

Did he never listen to his records?

“If I was given an hour to live, I’d spend it choking a white man. I’d do it nice and slow.”

There’s that charm again.

“Get the f*#£ out of my face bitch”…. to an eager fan who wanted an autograph.

The engaging wit goes on and on.

The prosecution rests.

That’s one icon clasted.

Let’s see more.

Maybe we’re lying / Then you better not stay / But we could be safer / Just for one day

Neverland

Obituary by HornDevil

That Mickeal jackson eh? 1st he’s black then hes white then he’s dead. danglin babies over balconies, well it aint right, & all his brothers islam. all that whooping & groin scratching. oooh so macho with his militry uniforms, & that janet can’t keep her top on. likes his monkeys oh yes but he’s a druggy. tell you waht, i wouldn’t have im at my place, there’s kiddies about. just make your own mind up.

TV

Ming on the box. 

I have been away from the UK for over 13 years now but I am not totally unaware of developments ‘back there’. Oh no indeed. I follow, as far as I  can, such news stories that merit attention and I see their newspapers from time to time.  So I am aware of the rise and rise of ‘celebrity culture’ but nothing prepared me for the sheer unrelenting mind-numbing tsunami of dross that flows from actual UK TV shows. 

Helen got this download gid-gad that allows us to plug into our DVD player and watch this stuff ourselves and see what all the fuss is about. I’d heard all about it (repeatedly) from UK touroids and ex-pats but I was stunned into disbelief to witness this snapshot cameo of my own country and what it has become. 

The vast majority of the shows available for download deal with ‘celebrities’. These seem to be people with no discernable skill or talent but are famous for being on television, and hence deemed worthy of worship. We see celebrities shopping, cooking, dancing, skating, eating bugs in jungles, singing, cleaning, but above all talking about themselves. Many of them seem to have lips like the Joker in the Batman movies. We see them arriving at celebrity functions with other celebrities, competing for attention with other celebrities and battling to ensure that other celebrities are evicted and not them. 

There also seems to be an entire stratum of celebrity commentators who gain celebrity themselves by interpreting the delphic utterances and activities of other celebrities for people who are obviously too stupid to grasp the deep significance of a red dress or a new haircut. While largely adoring of their hosts, this parasitic growth can at times be mildly critical of a footwear choice or a poorly advised make-over and – sensation! – a major news story breaks, and all the other celebrity commentators swing into action to breathe oxygen into a non-story of totally trivial inconsequence. And thus they increase their own celebrity, and so on, and so on. 

I watched Piers “I’m not pulling any punches” Moron’s Review of 2009. For him (legs strangely akimbo) and his drooling canned laughter audience the top 3 global events of the year are (1) a woman with pneumatically enhanced tits has split up from a man with hair; (2) the Diana-esque reaction to the death of a foul thick woman who racially abused an Indian starlet; (3) the banking crisis, which only made the list as top ‘bankers’ e.g. ‘Fred the Shred’ have been celebritised too, albeit in a negative boo-hiss way. The war in Afghanistan got a mention as celebrities had views written for for them on the return of dead squaddies. “I mean its kindalike awful innit?”. Also mentioned were Michelle Obama’s clothes, David Beckham’s adverts for underpants and a Brit failing to win at Wimbledon. Earth-shaking stuff indeed. 

I have seen “talent” shows where acts of such desperate yet utterly unsupported ambition are lined up for public humiliation by a panel of smug C-list judges (e.g. Kylie Minogue’s spectacularly unsuccessful sister). I glanced at something called “The Great British Body” where a couple of blonde bimbettes convince fat, ugly and deformed people to strip naked on camera. And, desperate for their ’15 minutes of fame’, the dolts comply. In mediaeval times a common form of entertainment was to laugh at lunatics. Have we reverted to this? It seems so. 

I saw an abomination called “How clean is your house?” where some prissy and officious women invade a student flat and find it’s dirty. (Shock! Horror!) Then they force the google-eyed students to clean it up (lots of product placement here). And that’s it – primetime entertainment. I grimaced through a cookery show where two teams of pub chefs are forced to compete by someone called Gordon Ramsay whose major talent seems to be to swear on screen while the desperate chefs kow-tow to his tyranny as they need the prize for business reasons. And their glimpse of fame. 

I forced myself to watch in its entirety a live show by a strange being called Russell Brand who, it seems, is famous for saying he shagged an old actors grand-daughter and endured such a blizzard of criticism that he turned it into a stage show that just wasn’t funny at all. Big screens show the live audience celebrity comment on this raging controversy and the audience is in uncontrollable paroxysms of laughter at the positively Wildean wit entailed (not). “I mean, ‘e’s bang outta order innit?” says one sage of the screen. 

In defence, Helen says it’s good to see what we’ve left behind. But if this torrent of toxic vacuity has been abandoned then all well and good, bye-bye Blighty. But the truly terrible thing is that she’s only had this download gid-gad going for 3 days and we’ve barely scratched the surface and there are yet greater depths to plumb before we truly plunge into the abyss.Television has been possessed by tabloid journalism beyond exorcism.  By the spirit of Jedward I abjure thee: no more and yet thrice no more! 

Name that tune

You’re a slave to fashion and your life is full of passion/ It’s the way you are/ You’ve suffered for your art with the jogging in the park/ You know you should go far//