As I sat looking for stories to put into the blog for today, the last of the Christmas chocolates forming a nutritious breakfast sliding gently down my throat, something caught my eye that almost made me choke on my Quality Street in shock and surprise - Britney Spears is a bad parent. Yes, attack lawyers, I'll say it again - Britney Spears is a bad parent, and don't even get me started on her parents. Now before this becomes like every blog on the internet and links to every other site on the entire web without actually ever saying anything, I'll move on to the real meat of the story.
Apparently, shockingly enough, Britney Spears, singer, actress and horse-faced sex-siren to 12-year-old boys everywhere, isn't very good at raising her children. In the latest episode of "How to Fuck Up Your Perfect Life", she's been stretchered out of her house, apparently unable to walk due to being under the influence of 'an unknown substance'. £10 says that substance turns out to be a deludedly inaccurate estimation of her own importance. Now, I've never understood this, so I might be a bit backward or something, but can anyone explain to me why someone who has dozens of people specifically paid to answer their every whim, who has millions of dollars/pounds/yen/Tibetan stone amulets in the bank, and the adulation of every under-12 in the Western hemisphere (and that of a disturbing number of over-12s) would bother with drugs - drugs are an escape from reality, and when you're a young multimillionairess with nothing to do for the rest of your life but trying to think of ways to spend your copious amount of money while occasionally doing a bit of gyrating to a beat, you are surely the very definition of 'high on life' - what the fuck are you trying to escape?
Still, you've got to feel sorry for the kids. They might grow up to inherit whatever millions of dollars Britney hasn't put up her nose, as well as their own inevitable MTV special, but I for one would be embarrassed to the point of suicide if I was the bizarre offspring of a woman who's claim to fame used to be posing as a schoolgirl to get music executives hot and is now being completely batshit insane and a man who insists, despite everyone's insistance to the contrary, on referring to himself as 'K-Fed'. He probably refers to himself in third person and everything. Tosspot. If that's not child abuse, I don't know what is.
I still don't get why people fancy Britney Spears anyway. If I'm going to do the nasty to anyone who has the adulation of every 12-year-old in the country it's going to be Konnie Huq. I might even get a Blue Peter badge at the end of it as well. The only thing I'm likely to get at the end of a night with Britney Spears is crabs as big as my face.
Anyway, if, like Britney and a certain other musician I can't name for legal reasons but who's name rhymes with 'Michael Jackson', you really want to abuse kids (which I'm hoping you don't, no matter how much of a shower of little bastards they might be), then I reckon your best bet might just be a pair of skis and a great big fuck-off tree. I don't know about you, but if I went ski'ing, my first priority would be making sure there were no large obstacles in my path, particularly really big ones made of wood and anchored into the ground by ancient, immovable roots, and especially ones that would likely brain me off this plane of existence were I to crash into them. Were I not particularly confident of my ability to shift my slow, clumsy arse out of the way of such onrushing obstacles, I wouldn't fucking go ski'ing. You might say "oh, he was 11, it's very sad but he didn't know better" - he was 11, he wasn't a fucking retard. For starters, I knew at 11 that if I slammed myself into a tree at 50mph I'd come off the worse, and as is the usual cry when these things happen, where were the fucking parents? I know, having been one, that 11-year-old boys can be taken with a sudden urge for danger and bravado, and have to be talked out of it by sensible adults. That's the way it works. If parents didn't do their jobs, the British Army would be made up of a bunch of 12-year-old boys who love GI Joe, who all end up getting shot and replaced by the next bunch of 12-year olds when they realise their guns have triggers and you don't kill the enemy by pointing it at them and making "urh-urh-urh-urh-urh" noises then falling on the ground (OK, so kids raised on the current diet of Children's TV would probably march over and try to sing a song at the enemy about how violence is bad and we should all get along before being mown down in a horrific hail of blood and machine-gun fire, but that's an issue for another day).
Moving back to the shitness of the parents, the article states that the child was wearing a helmet, but not one approved for ski'ing. Right. You know, if I was going to take my child, the light of my life and the apple of my eye, off to do an obviously dangerous activity (such as voting Conservative in Wales, or sliding down a great big tree-dotted rock covered in slippery ice at about 50 miles an hour) I for one would make sure they had safety equipment before setting off. The correct safety equipment. I.e. if we're going ski'ing, buying them things approved for ski'ing. It's not that hard to work out, is it? Makes you wonder what sort of helmet they kitted him out with. Biking helmet? WW1 German army helmet with the metal spike? Kevlar kippah? Idiots.
Speaking of idiots, let's move on to sport. Something I've noticed about sports journalism is that it has a particularly low burden of proof before a story will be published - lower, even, than women's daytime gossip magazines; "Killer Mummy Gassed My Hubby", anyone? - meaning that almost anyone involved with sport can get almost anything said about them, anywhere, just by making shit up. My favourite is 'transfer rumour victim' footballers who seem to spend half their lives telling all and sundry about how they're about to be bought by Real Shrewsbury. "Watford striker Marlon King says he will leave the club during the transfer window - with Fulham tipped as his likely destination". Does he now? Does he give us any proof? Nope, so he could be talking out of his arse, but this statement alone was big enough to make it onto the BBC News website and at least one national newspaper. I'm going to start making shit up as well, I reckon, as the title of this post demonstrates. Tomorrow, I'm going to tip myself for a £60,000-a-week move to Spurs, just to see what happens. I wouldn't go, obviously, I love the fans here, I love the chairman, I love the fat bloke at the pie stand... Excuse me a moment, I've got to sanctimoniously kiss my badge. Won't be a moment.
Look out for a new feature on the blog on Sunday.
Goodnight.
Apparently, shockingly enough, Britney Spears, singer, actress and horse-faced sex-siren to 12-year-old boys everywhere, isn't very good at raising her children. In the latest episode of "How to Fuck Up Your Perfect Life", she's been stretchered out of her house, apparently unable to walk due to being under the influence of 'an unknown substance'. £10 says that substance turns out to be a deludedly inaccurate estimation of her own importance. Now, I've never understood this, so I might be a bit backward or something, but can anyone explain to me why someone who has dozens of people specifically paid to answer their every whim, who has millions of dollars/pounds/yen/Tibetan stone amulets in the bank, and the adulation of every under-12 in the Western hemisphere (and that of a disturbing number of over-12s) would bother with drugs - drugs are an escape from reality, and when you're a young multimillionairess with nothing to do for the rest of your life but trying to think of ways to spend your copious amount of money while occasionally doing a bit of gyrating to a beat, you are surely the very definition of 'high on life' - what the fuck are you trying to escape?
Still, you've got to feel sorry for the kids. They might grow up to inherit whatever millions of dollars Britney hasn't put up her nose, as well as their own inevitable MTV special, but I for one would be embarrassed to the point of suicide if I was the bizarre offspring of a woman who's claim to fame used to be posing as a schoolgirl to get music executives hot and is now being completely batshit insane and a man who insists, despite everyone's insistance to the contrary, on referring to himself as 'K-Fed'. He probably refers to himself in third person and everything. Tosspot. If that's not child abuse, I don't know what is.
I still don't get why people fancy Britney Spears anyway. If I'm going to do the nasty to anyone who has the adulation of every 12-year-old in the country it's going to be Konnie Huq. I might even get a Blue Peter badge at the end of it as well. The only thing I'm likely to get at the end of a night with Britney Spears is crabs as big as my face.
Anyway, if, like Britney and a certain other musician I can't name for legal reasons but who's name rhymes with 'Michael Jackson', you really want to abuse kids (which I'm hoping you don't, no matter how much of a shower of little bastards they might be), then I reckon your best bet might just be a pair of skis and a great big fuck-off tree. I don't know about you, but if I went ski'ing, my first priority would be making sure there were no large obstacles in my path, particularly really big ones made of wood and anchored into the ground by ancient, immovable roots, and especially ones that would likely brain me off this plane of existence were I to crash into them. Were I not particularly confident of my ability to shift my slow, clumsy arse out of the way of such onrushing obstacles, I wouldn't fucking go ski'ing. You might say "oh, he was 11, it's very sad but he didn't know better" - he was 11, he wasn't a fucking retard. For starters, I knew at 11 that if I slammed myself into a tree at 50mph I'd come off the worse, and as is the usual cry when these things happen, where were the fucking parents? I know, having been one, that 11-year-old boys can be taken with a sudden urge for danger and bravado, and have to be talked out of it by sensible adults. That's the way it works. If parents didn't do their jobs, the British Army would be made up of a bunch of 12-year-old boys who love GI Joe, who all end up getting shot and replaced by the next bunch of 12-year olds when they realise their guns have triggers and you don't kill the enemy by pointing it at them and making "urh-urh-urh-urh-urh" noises then falling on the ground (OK, so kids raised on the current diet of Children's TV would probably march over and try to sing a song at the enemy about how violence is bad and we should all get along before being mown down in a horrific hail of blood and machine-gun fire, but that's an issue for another day).
Moving back to the shitness of the parents, the article states that the child was wearing a helmet, but not one approved for ski'ing. Right. You know, if I was going to take my child, the light of my life and the apple of my eye, off to do an obviously dangerous activity (such as voting Conservative in Wales, or sliding down a great big tree-dotted rock covered in slippery ice at about 50 miles an hour) I for one would make sure they had safety equipment before setting off. The correct safety equipment. I.e. if we're going ski'ing, buying them things approved for ski'ing. It's not that hard to work out, is it? Makes you wonder what sort of helmet they kitted him out with. Biking helmet? WW1 German army helmet with the metal spike? Kevlar kippah? Idiots.
Speaking of idiots, let's move on to sport. Something I've noticed about sports journalism is that it has a particularly low burden of proof before a story will be published - lower, even, than women's daytime gossip magazines; "Killer Mummy Gassed My Hubby", anyone? - meaning that almost anyone involved with sport can get almost anything said about them, anywhere, just by making shit up. My favourite is 'transfer rumour victim' footballers who seem to spend half their lives telling all and sundry about how they're about to be bought by Real Shrewsbury. "Watford striker Marlon King says he will leave the club during the transfer window - with Fulham tipped as his likely destination". Does he now? Does he give us any proof? Nope, so he could be talking out of his arse, but this statement alone was big enough to make it onto the BBC News website and at least one national newspaper. I'm going to start making shit up as well, I reckon, as the title of this post demonstrates. Tomorrow, I'm going to tip myself for a £60,000-a-week move to Spurs, just to see what happens. I wouldn't go, obviously, I love the fans here, I love the chairman, I love the fat bloke at the pie stand... Excuse me a moment, I've got to sanctimoniously kiss my badge. Won't be a moment.
Look out for a new feature on the blog on Sunday.
Goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment