The good people at 'No Chance: A Quarter To One' have accepted me into their loving arms and together, we shall help all those who seek enlightenment.
Go forth...and learn...
5 years ago
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
Thursday, 4 December 2008
Martin Has The X Factor
Last Saturday I sat in my big chair in my little flat and watched The X Factor. It's not something I normally do but my friend Tim had asked me to contribute some guest columnist comments to his tremendous blog along with Sian, Chris, and Socrates. Here, for pure shits and giggles, are my thoughts on last weeks episode in full...
That was the first full X Factor show I have watched and I have to say I won't be tuning in again. It reminded me of watching WWF wrestling when I was a kid, too much cheering, insane graphics, and coronary inducing theme music. I did laugh at Eoghan's intro bit, especially when a star was born within his eye before shooting out into the screen. Very 'Day Today'. I also laughed at the faces of the contestants at the 'Vote for us' stage after their performance. They looked up into my eyes like whimpering diseased puppies in a cardboard box left on my doorstep. It is a sad day in hell when the only judge i liked was Simon bloody Cowell, a man so rich that he can store thousands of pounds in the vast attic space built into the top of his hair. Danni Minogue was 'nice' but didn't appear to have anything to
say and constantly looked on the edge of crying which was very distracting. Cheryl Cole is an amazing looking woman but when she spoke she sounded like a bank robber issuing demands in a bank siege and i became very aware of the strange prison tattoo on her right hand. Scary. Louis Walsh is the worst of the lot. He looks and acts like a war criminal on the run, all strange little facial tics and a most
insincere smile.
Anyway, it was 'American Week' or as Dermot O'Leary referred to it 'Tearfest'. Everyone was crying. It was disturbingly similar to the news footage of the aftermath of a high school shooting. Dermot appeared at the end of each performance and after brutally manhandling each contestant (I particularly enjoyed when he almost strangled Eoghan) he would offer them a ragged piece of tissue. Anyone would
think he wanted them all to cry. The word for the day was 'Iconic' and Louis Milošević used it as much as humanly possible. BRITNEY was coming, the worlds favourite pop mentalist. Until then we had the contestants and their two songs each.
(in no particular order)
1. RUTH
Or Shouty McBoobs as I liked to think of her. I know she was a fave of yours Tim and I wanted to like her but I thought she was poor on this show up until her last performance. The Britney cover was a massively bad choice and between mumbling through a wall of echo and shouting at me like a drill sergeant I couldn't really make out her voice. This was remedied in the next song, a Bon Fucking Jovi ballad. Already losing in my opinion but hey. This truly was a scary performance.
Accompanied by a wall of flame Ruth turned 'I will Love You Baby Always' into a furious threat. At one point near the end I thought she was going to explode and braced myself. At the end her face melted with emotion and Cheryl said it sounded like 'it came from the pit of your stomach' which although supposed to be a compliment was actually insinuating that it sounded like she was throwing up.
2. JLS
Instantly annoying. I spent both of their performances trying to think of a good explanation of their name. Just Like Showaddywaddy? Jesus Loves Smiles? Obviously I failed. They did 'Hit me baby one more time' and I have to say I don't think I would ever tire of hitting them. Especially the tiny lead singer who, like everyone else on the show, had a 'CRY' button on his back that could be pressed at the end of the
song. For some unexplained reason the group performed in front of a metal bar, sole purpose of which seemed to be for them to lean on like winos at the start of the song. One guys jacket was so shiny I could see my face in it. The judges gave them a kicking. I think it was Simon referred to them as both 'Limp' and 'Lame' which made me 'Laugh' at 'Louis'. For their second song I have written down in my notes 'BORING'.
3.ALEXANDRA
Quite liked Amanda actually and thought she gave best performance of the night. A little disturbed by her announcement that she can taste her dreams though, is she an X-Man? Her Britney cover was Toxic and she gave it a good going over but on her second song she got stuck in and was so good that it made Simon 'proud to be british' which seemed an odd thing to say on American Week. Alexandra said Cheryl was her backbone which if true would make Alex the toughest woman alive.
4. EOGHAN
I hate kids on talent shows so this little prick was already up against it with me. His weird cold dead eyes reminded me too much of Haley Joel Osment, the kid from The Sixth Sense, to be considered 'cute' and 'lovable'. He fumbled his way through a miserable Britney cover after which everyone told him he was shit. To be fair to the little android he did not excrete salt-water from his eye sockets and was wheeled away. His next song was, I later found out, from that fucking abomination 'High School Musical' and so yet again Quigg was doomed in my eyes. He jigged about the stage with the grace and flow of a Thunderbirds puppet accompanied by at least 300 dancers. At many points I lost track of him and half expected (read as 'really wanted')him to be trampled underfoot. Louis babbled on about dancing like the petulant man child he is and everyone else cooed over little Eoghan like broody aunties. Best part was his beyond gormless expression at the end during the 'vote plead'. He looked smug, confused, and sad all at the same time which makes him some sort of facial expression triathlete.
5. DIANA
Or Buffy The Lyric Slayer. A very pretty mess. She appeared on both performances to have just got home after a night of gin and crying. She blundered about on-stage barefoot slurring her way through a Britney slush-ballad and giving a valium induced mumble-core version one of the most depressing songs ever, Everybody Hurts by REM. I wanted to put my coat around her and put her in a taxi home. I have noted here that she appeared to have a giant screen saver on in the background throughout both songs and that her initial appearance on a psychiatrists couch for her Britney cover was very apt. Cheryl said it was 'pitchy' like we are all supposed to know what that means.
Contestants temporarily done with, we had an hours respite (I played my XBOX) before the mild irritant Miley Cyrus sang something about someone and then BRITNEY WAS THERE. BRITNEY then did a completely lacklustre 'Vic-and-Bob-Shooting-Stars' club style song called 'Wuhhmenisahhhh'. As if this wasn't underwhelming enough she then gave a terrible interview finishing with the sage advice that all the contestants should 'Keep doin' it'. What a woman.
In the end poor Hair 'n' Boobs lost and left very gracefully, but not before destroying the first 3 rows of audience with her nuclear holocaust version of 'Always' again. Apocalyptic to say the least.
That was the first full X Factor show I have watched and I have to say I won't be tuning in again. It reminded me of watching WWF wrestling when I was a kid, too much cheering, insane graphics, and coronary inducing theme music. I did laugh at Eoghan's intro bit, especially when a star was born within his eye before shooting out into the screen. Very 'Day Today'. I also laughed at the faces of the contestants at the 'Vote for us' stage after their performance. They looked up into my eyes like whimpering diseased puppies in a cardboard box left on my doorstep. It is a sad day in hell when the only judge i liked was Simon bloody Cowell, a man so rich that he can store thousands of pounds in the vast attic space built into the top of his hair. Danni Minogue was 'nice' but didn't appear to have anything to
say and constantly looked on the edge of crying which was very distracting. Cheryl Cole is an amazing looking woman but when she spoke she sounded like a bank robber issuing demands in a bank siege and i became very aware of the strange prison tattoo on her right hand. Scary. Louis Walsh is the worst of the lot. He looks and acts like a war criminal on the run, all strange little facial tics and a most
insincere smile.
Anyway, it was 'American Week' or as Dermot O'Leary referred to it 'Tearfest'. Everyone was crying. It was disturbingly similar to the news footage of the aftermath of a high school shooting. Dermot appeared at the end of each performance and after brutally manhandling each contestant (I particularly enjoyed when he almost strangled Eoghan) he would offer them a ragged piece of tissue. Anyone would
think he wanted them all to cry. The word for the day was 'Iconic' and Louis Milošević used it as much as humanly possible. BRITNEY was coming, the worlds favourite pop mentalist. Until then we had the contestants and their two songs each.
(in no particular order)
1. RUTH
Or Shouty McBoobs as I liked to think of her. I know she was a fave of yours Tim and I wanted to like her but I thought she was poor on this show up until her last performance. The Britney cover was a massively bad choice and between mumbling through a wall of echo and shouting at me like a drill sergeant I couldn't really make out her voice. This was remedied in the next song, a Bon Fucking Jovi ballad. Already losing in my opinion but hey. This truly was a scary performance.
Accompanied by a wall of flame Ruth turned 'I will Love You Baby Always' into a furious threat. At one point near the end I thought she was going to explode and braced myself. At the end her face melted with emotion and Cheryl said it sounded like 'it came from the pit of your stomach' which although supposed to be a compliment was actually insinuating that it sounded like she was throwing up.
2. JLS
Instantly annoying. I spent both of their performances trying to think of a good explanation of their name. Just Like Showaddywaddy? Jesus Loves Smiles? Obviously I failed. They did 'Hit me baby one more time' and I have to say I don't think I would ever tire of hitting them. Especially the tiny lead singer who, like everyone else on the show, had a 'CRY' button on his back that could be pressed at the end of the
song. For some unexplained reason the group performed in front of a metal bar, sole purpose of which seemed to be for them to lean on like winos at the start of the song. One guys jacket was so shiny I could see my face in it. The judges gave them a kicking. I think it was Simon referred to them as both 'Limp' and 'Lame' which made me 'Laugh' at 'Louis'. For their second song I have written down in my notes 'BORING'.
3.ALEXANDRA
Quite liked Amanda actually and thought she gave best performance of the night. A little disturbed by her announcement that she can taste her dreams though, is she an X-Man? Her Britney cover was Toxic and she gave it a good going over but on her second song she got stuck in and was so good that it made Simon 'proud to be british' which seemed an odd thing to say on American Week. Alexandra said Cheryl was her backbone which if true would make Alex the toughest woman alive.
4. EOGHAN
I hate kids on talent shows so this little prick was already up against it with me. His weird cold dead eyes reminded me too much of Haley Joel Osment, the kid from The Sixth Sense, to be considered 'cute' and 'lovable'. He fumbled his way through a miserable Britney cover after which everyone told him he was shit. To be fair to the little android he did not excrete salt-water from his eye sockets and was wheeled away. His next song was, I later found out, from that fucking abomination 'High School Musical' and so yet again Quigg was doomed in my eyes. He jigged about the stage with the grace and flow of a Thunderbirds puppet accompanied by at least 300 dancers. At many points I lost track of him and half expected (read as 'really wanted')him to be trampled underfoot. Louis babbled on about dancing like the petulant man child he is and everyone else cooed over little Eoghan like broody aunties. Best part was his beyond gormless expression at the end during the 'vote plead'. He looked smug, confused, and sad all at the same time which makes him some sort of facial expression triathlete.
5. DIANA
Or Buffy The Lyric Slayer. A very pretty mess. She appeared on both performances to have just got home after a night of gin and crying. She blundered about on-stage barefoot slurring her way through a Britney slush-ballad and giving a valium induced mumble-core version one of the most depressing songs ever, Everybody Hurts by REM. I wanted to put my coat around her and put her in a taxi home. I have noted here that she appeared to have a giant screen saver on in the background throughout both songs and that her initial appearance on a psychiatrists couch for her Britney cover was very apt. Cheryl said it was 'pitchy' like we are all supposed to know what that means.
Contestants temporarily done with, we had an hours respite (I played my XBOX) before the mild irritant Miley Cyrus sang something about someone and then BRITNEY WAS THERE. BRITNEY then did a completely lacklustre 'Vic-and-Bob-Shooting-Stars' club style song called 'Wuhhmenisahhhh'. As if this wasn't underwhelming enough she then gave a terrible interview finishing with the sage advice that all the contestants should 'Keep doin' it'. What a woman.
In the end poor Hair 'n' Boobs lost and left very gracefully, but not before destroying the first 3 rows of audience with her nuclear holocaust version of 'Always' again. Apocalyptic to say the least.
Sunday, 31 August 2008
Wasps 3 : The Quickening
2 months have passed. I have grown a beard. Not because of lack of access to shaving facilities, I have stuff in the flat. No, it is a beard of suffering. A beard of wasp enforced solitude. There are so many outside my windows that I am in constant darkness. I think I angered them a few weeks ago. Somehow one of them had got into the flat. I trapped it in the kitchen and hoped it would tire itself out and die. For 2 hours I sat and listened as it bounced into wall and window, before the sound stopped and I peered in. The wasp lay on its back, seemingly expired. I picked it up using my trusty Guardian and set it down on the table in front of the main window. The legs moved ever so slightly, as if in death throes and I bowed my head in respect. I could feel the hundreds of compound eyes on me and I felt obliged to allow their brother/sister a dignified death. Then it made a strong loud buzzing noise and instinct kicked in. In a flash I had lifted the paper and brought it down on the already mortally wounded beast, spreading it across the table like so much evil pate.
The noise of the wasps outside increased to a howl. I have just executed one of them, I thought, in cold blood no less. I remembered reading somewhere that when you squished a wasp, it left a scent that attracted other wasps. "Bent on revenge no doubt" I mumbled to myself. My god, what would they do to me now? In an effort to repair the damage already done, I scooped the remains of the fallen one into a match box and, head bowed, placed it on the window ledge before backing away.
Since then I have locked myself in the bathroom with only hastily grabbed fig rolls and hot chocolate granules to sustain me. Outside I can hear the wasps chewing through my cardboard defences, inching closer and closer to me. I feel like Saddam Hussain. I imagine myself as a sexy dictator of some sort of sexy Amazon land full of half naked women being sexy and stuff...woah. The sound of wasp outside my door has suddenly gotten louder. They are in the flat. The cardboard defences have failed me. The sound is deafening and I am now huddled behind the toilet, praying for a quick death.
Its morning. And what's more its quiet. I must've finally fallen asleep. I crawl across the floor to the bathroom door. I cannot hear a thing. I will risk a look. I carefully peel back the door and dart my head out. The first thing I notice is the distinct lack of wasps in the room. This is good. Next thing I notice is that my wooden table and chairs are gone. I really don't want to see the wasps that carried that stuff out, I think to myself moronically. I venture further into the room. Light is once more pouring into the flat and I notice that the matchbox containing The Unknown Wasp has gone. I turn to check the kitchen and there is someone there. Squealing like a large woman who has just seen david blaine remove his thumb and magically replace it, I fall back onto the carpet. "WHOTHFUCKARREYOUWHATTAREYOUDOINPLEASEDONTHURTME" I screech, bravely. No reply. The figure is not moving. I move cautiously forward until the light gives a better indication of what new terror I'm about to face.
It's me. It is a life size me made entirely of well chewed wood chippings. The statue depicts me holding a rolled up paper in one hand, and in the other, a matchbox. It is stunningly accurate apart from the antennae they have added to my head and the wings on my back. I run to the window. The wasps have gone. I hear birdsong, lawnmowers, and the cold, dead laughter of a child. I fall to my knees and weep sweet chocolatey, figgy tears of joy.
The noise of the wasps outside increased to a howl. I have just executed one of them, I thought, in cold blood no less. I remembered reading somewhere that when you squished a wasp, it left a scent that attracted other wasps. "Bent on revenge no doubt" I mumbled to myself. My god, what would they do to me now? In an effort to repair the damage already done, I scooped the remains of the fallen one into a match box and, head bowed, placed it on the window ledge before backing away.
Since then I have locked myself in the bathroom with only hastily grabbed fig rolls and hot chocolate granules to sustain me. Outside I can hear the wasps chewing through my cardboard defences, inching closer and closer to me. I feel like Saddam Hussain. I imagine myself as a sexy dictator of some sort of sexy Amazon land full of half naked women being sexy and stuff...woah. The sound of wasp outside my door has suddenly gotten louder. They are in the flat. The cardboard defences have failed me. The sound is deafening and I am now huddled behind the toilet, praying for a quick death.
Its morning. And what's more its quiet. I must've finally fallen asleep. I crawl across the floor to the bathroom door. I cannot hear a thing. I will risk a look. I carefully peel back the door and dart my head out. The first thing I notice is the distinct lack of wasps in the room. This is good. Next thing I notice is that my wooden table and chairs are gone. I really don't want to see the wasps that carried that stuff out, I think to myself moronically. I venture further into the room. Light is once more pouring into the flat and I notice that the matchbox containing The Unknown Wasp has gone. I turn to check the kitchen and there is someone there. Squealing like a large woman who has just seen david blaine remove his thumb and magically replace it, I fall back onto the carpet. "WHOTHFUCKARREYOUWHATTAREYOUDOINPLEASEDONTHURTME" I screech, bravely. No reply. The figure is not moving. I move cautiously forward until the light gives a better indication of what new terror I'm about to face.
It's me. It is a life size me made entirely of well chewed wood chippings. The statue depicts me holding a rolled up paper in one hand, and in the other, a matchbox. It is stunningly accurate apart from the antennae they have added to my head and the wings on my back. I run to the window. The wasps have gone. I hear birdsong, lawnmowers, and the cold, dead laughter of a child. I fall to my knees and weep sweet chocolatey, figgy tears of joy.
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Wasps 2
It's been a few days now since the wasps came back. I managed to seal all possible entrances into my flat and have kept the windows shut. Still they gather outside my window. Buzzing around and occasionally bumping into the glass, like they are testing its resistance. I have not left the house since THEY came. Work called and I feigned illness the first day. After that I stopped answering the phone. I have to stay here. This is MY flat. If I go they may find a way in. What then? Eh? All my furniture chewed up and a huge uber-nest on my wall. Thats what then. Nooooo. Not this time you godless flying hitlers. I will prevail. I have been ordering pizza online and getting the pizza man to push them through the letterbox. So far this has been less than efficient. Most of the pizza toppings have been gathering in a little pepperoni pile outside my door. This has in turn attracted flies. As long as THEY don't smell it i'm ok. Last night I lay awake all night wondering....if THEY kept trying to get through my keyhole would evolution take over? Would they eventually breed a wasp capable of either coming through the keyhole or worse...a wasp that could function as a key and open my door, beckoning in the legions that await? What would that be called? Wey? Kasp? Kesp? At this point, 4 am apparently, my neighbor Mr. Hatred shouted through the wall. I really should develop an internal monologue of some sort. The walls are thin in this building.
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
Wasps
Well…I knew they’d come back. Its wasp season once again in my flat. Last night I was forced to face 3 massive, stupid angry wasps with only the guardian (living up to its name) to defend myself with. They are getting in through a ventilation..um..vent in my kitchen. The first one caught me off guard and I couldn’t figure out where it had come from. I have 3 different vents in the flat. so at 11.30 pm last night I was running around my small abode in my pants with a rolled up paper in one hand and cardboard and sellotape in the other. Furiously smacking the winged devils with the paper and sealing up the ventilation points with tape and cardboard. All the while chattering to myself and the wasps in a deranged whisper. “ohhh I’ll get ya, I’ll get ya, think you’re great, get through this hole now you stripy stingy bastards, fuck you wasps, I'll kill ya, I'll kill ya…”. I could almost hear the “plinky plonky crazy” music from The Shining in the background. So I’ve called landlords and they are sending in the cavalry. Should be all dead by tomorrow hopefully. As will I be, more than likely due to the lack of ventilation in my flat.
Saturday, 9 August 2008
Monday, 4 August 2008
Adam Buxton Excellence
Incidentally, I hope Morgan Freeman is ok. I think he's great. He would be a great loss.
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