Hello, people of the internet. I come bearing the horrible news that spack-handed TV presenter, charity worker and all around general good egg Jeremy Beadle has died. Now I'm not going to make any jokes out of respect for the man that entertained me throughout my childhood by winding up thick twats for my personal viewing pleasure, but don't be too shocked if he comes popping out of his coffin going "you should have seen the looks on your faces! You're on Coffin-Cam!". Or not. There's not a great many jokes you can make about pneumonia, but you've got to wonder just what a man who was born with a congenital deformity, survived leukaemia and had a cancerous kidney removed only to eventually succumb to pneumonia, all while raising over a hundred million quid for charity, has to do to get a break. Either way, lots of sympathy goes out to his family, as in the world of insufferable TV arseholes, he actually seems like he was a good bloke. Oh Lord, why in your infinite wisdom could you not see your way clear to taking Russell cocking Brand instead?
I've got other ideas - Noel Fielding in a plane crash perhaps? John Leslie in a quadbike accident? Les Dennis in some sort of hideous collision between his eyes and a rogue supertanker full of paint stripper? I'm just throwing suggestions out there. You know, in case anyone's listening.
In other news, Irish planes-running-on-potatoes airline RyanAir has been ordered by the Advertising Standards Authority to withdraw an advert featuring a model dressed as a 'sexy schoolgirl' because it "irresponsibly linked teenage girls with sexually provocative behaviour". Might I suggest that, if the ASA are going to start pursuing that angle, they might want to order the withdrawl of every friday night town center in Britain, because I don't know about where you live, but around here you'd be hard pressed to find a teenage girl not linked quite strenuously with sexually provocative behaviour. Whether they like it or not, with the way British society is at the moment, perhaps if the ASA are truly shocked and offended by the idea of teenage girls sexualising themselves, they ought to consider withdrawing themselves from Britain, because the second their representatives spend a friday night anywhere other than in deep prayer for our mortal sexualised souls, their eyes are going to burst. Widespread offence my arse, the Daily Mail didn't even receive a single complaint, and they complain about bloody everything.
However, if you're curious and you want to see what the Advertising Standards Authority's reaction to the existence of the Spearmint Rhino might be, it might look a little bit like this, frankly the scariest thing you can see on a passenger aircraft, with the possible exception of a big gap where the wing used to be at 55,000 feet and climbing: a mid-flight pilot-based nervous breakdown. Not a quiet, sobbing "she took the kids and moved in with Carlos" type of breakdown, but a full-on raving 'I demand an audience with the baby Jesus RIGHT FUCKING NOW' type breakdown. The best kind, though admittedly not when the bloke is in charge of flying your big tin tube safely to it's destination. It's quite frightening to think, with all the stringent checks there must be on mental competence, etc, that pilots must go through, that you can be perfectly normal one minute and shouting about the rapture coming next thursday the next. I didn't think the disconcerting image for passengers of a crashed plane left at the end of a Heathrow runway a week or so back could be beaten, but seeing your pilot being carried out of the cockpit in limb restraints foaming at the mouth and screaming about Jesus probably tops it.
Don't fly Ryanair, kids. It makes you into a mental.
Also, the award for 'Most Painful-Sounding Headline of the Year' goes to 'Court orders return of new baby'. It's not quite what it sounds like on first glance, but it's the mental image of the midwife getting a good run-up on the rugby punt to get the little bugger back up there that I can't shake. My favourite BBC News headline ever is still last year's "Bus Kills Family", just for the short, stark horribleness of it, but this one has to be up there in the "I'm starting to think they do these on purpose" category.
In sport, Liverpool fans have launched an audacious bid to purchase the club themselves after Dubai International Capital seem to have cooled their interest. Initial prospects suggest that they will need to get 100,000 Reds fans to pay £5,000 each. It's not going to happen, obviously, because while I don't doubt that a massive club like Liverpool have plenty more than a paltry 100,000 fans, very few of them will have £5,000 they're willing to spare to purchase a tiny part of their football team, even with the unique kind of passion the Scousers have for their football. You can understand why they'd try, though, what with the insipid way that Liverpool rolled over and played dead for West Ham today, but the blame for that still has to lie at the feet of Rafa Benitez rather than anyone higher up, and he should probably walk before the board. Frankly, Reds fans, if I had a couple of billionaires willing to buy my club a new stadium and £60m worth of new players every year, I wouldn't argue with them, and would eye with deep suspicion any manager that cannot beat West Ham, who for however much I do rate them as a top-8 force, shouldn't really trouble a team with the calibre of players Liverpool have without some serious questions being asked.
Elsewhere in the football it was same-old, same-old, as Avram Grant's total football revolution continues to elude Chelsea as the 1 - 0 juggernaut established under Jose Mourinho rolls on and on. That said, if Chelsea miss out on titles this season it will be because of The Special One's early-season stumbles and not the results gleaned by the zombie-faced Grant, which just keep lurching forward, slowly and ominously, towards the small, scared, huddled group of teams which comprise their remaining fixture list. Over in the blue half of Liverpool, Jonathan Woodgate made his debut for Spurs as he did his share in making their 0 - 0 draw with Everton one of the dullest affairs I've seen all season, while Ronaldo scored some more goals and did a bit of posing as well, to ensure that both the male and female contingents of the red half of Manchester went home happy, and that the groundsmen had a difficult job ahead of them wiping suspect substances off of a good few of the Old Trafford folding seats. I hate him. It's not for footballing reasons, it really is just pure unashamed jealousy, honest.
Also, I've been hanging about for fucking ages now waiting to be able to publish this post, because Blogger decided to take their servers offline for some 'Lets Annoy Blandford' time just as I added the last full stop, but I've run out of things to say for today so I won't bore you to death with details of my life, except to say that tomorrow looks like being a short day for me, so I ought to be more than alright with tomorrow's edition of Your Say Thursday, which is good, because I've got a proper guest publication lined up and everything. Never let it be said that I don't vary my material. Still, thanks for that, Google. Domain name soon.
Goodnight.
I've got other ideas - Noel Fielding in a plane crash perhaps? John Leslie in a quadbike accident? Les Dennis in some sort of hideous collision between his eyes and a rogue supertanker full of paint stripper? I'm just throwing suggestions out there. You know, in case anyone's listening.
In other news, Irish planes-running-on-potatoes airline RyanAir has been ordered by the Advertising Standards Authority to withdraw an advert featuring a model dressed as a 'sexy schoolgirl' because it "irresponsibly linked teenage girls with sexually provocative behaviour". Might I suggest that, if the ASA are going to start pursuing that angle, they might want to order the withdrawl of every friday night town center in Britain, because I don't know about where you live, but around here you'd be hard pressed to find a teenage girl not linked quite strenuously with sexually provocative behaviour. Whether they like it or not, with the way British society is at the moment, perhaps if the ASA are truly shocked and offended by the idea of teenage girls sexualising themselves, they ought to consider withdrawing themselves from Britain, because the second their representatives spend a friday night anywhere other than in deep prayer for our mortal sexualised souls, their eyes are going to burst. Widespread offence my arse, the Daily Mail didn't even receive a single complaint, and they complain about bloody everything.
However, if you're curious and you want to see what the Advertising Standards Authority's reaction to the existence of the Spearmint Rhino might be, it might look a little bit like this, frankly the scariest thing you can see on a passenger aircraft, with the possible exception of a big gap where the wing used to be at 55,000 feet and climbing: a mid-flight pilot-based nervous breakdown. Not a quiet, sobbing "she took the kids and moved in with Carlos" type of breakdown, but a full-on raving 'I demand an audience with the baby Jesus RIGHT FUCKING NOW' type breakdown. The best kind, though admittedly not when the bloke is in charge of flying your big tin tube safely to it's destination. It's quite frightening to think, with all the stringent checks there must be on mental competence, etc, that pilots must go through, that you can be perfectly normal one minute and shouting about the rapture coming next thursday the next. I didn't think the disconcerting image for passengers of a crashed plane left at the end of a Heathrow runway a week or so back could be beaten, but seeing your pilot being carried out of the cockpit in limb restraints foaming at the mouth and screaming about Jesus probably tops it.
Don't fly Ryanair, kids. It makes you into a mental.
Also, the award for 'Most Painful-Sounding Headline of the Year' goes to 'Court orders return of new baby'. It's not quite what it sounds like on first glance, but it's the mental image of the midwife getting a good run-up on the rugby punt to get the little bugger back up there that I can't shake. My favourite BBC News headline ever is still last year's "Bus Kills Family", just for the short, stark horribleness of it, but this one has to be up there in the "I'm starting to think they do these on purpose" category.
In sport, Liverpool fans have launched an audacious bid to purchase the club themselves after Dubai International Capital seem to have cooled their interest. Initial prospects suggest that they will need to get 100,000 Reds fans to pay £5,000 each. It's not going to happen, obviously, because while I don't doubt that a massive club like Liverpool have plenty more than a paltry 100,000 fans, very few of them will have £5,000 they're willing to spare to purchase a tiny part of their football team, even with the unique kind of passion the Scousers have for their football. You can understand why they'd try, though, what with the insipid way that Liverpool rolled over and played dead for West Ham today, but the blame for that still has to lie at the feet of Rafa Benitez rather than anyone higher up, and he should probably walk before the board. Frankly, Reds fans, if I had a couple of billionaires willing to buy my club a new stadium and £60m worth of new players every year, I wouldn't argue with them, and would eye with deep suspicion any manager that cannot beat West Ham, who for however much I do rate them as a top-8 force, shouldn't really trouble a team with the calibre of players Liverpool have without some serious questions being asked.
Elsewhere in the football it was same-old, same-old, as Avram Grant's total football revolution continues to elude Chelsea as the 1 - 0 juggernaut established under Jose Mourinho rolls on and on. That said, if Chelsea miss out on titles this season it will be because of The Special One's early-season stumbles and not the results gleaned by the zombie-faced Grant, which just keep lurching forward, slowly and ominously, towards the small, scared, huddled group of teams which comprise their remaining fixture list. Over in the blue half of Liverpool, Jonathan Woodgate made his debut for Spurs as he did his share in making their 0 - 0 draw with Everton one of the dullest affairs I've seen all season, while Ronaldo scored some more goals and did a bit of posing as well, to ensure that both the male and female contingents of the red half of Manchester went home happy, and that the groundsmen had a difficult job ahead of them wiping suspect substances off of a good few of the Old Trafford folding seats. I hate him. It's not for footballing reasons, it really is just pure unashamed jealousy, honest.
Also, I've been hanging about for fucking ages now waiting to be able to publish this post, because Blogger decided to take their servers offline for some 'Lets Annoy Blandford' time just as I added the last full stop, but I've run out of things to say for today so I won't bore you to death with details of my life, except to say that tomorrow looks like being a short day for me, so I ought to be more than alright with tomorrow's edition of Your Say Thursday, which is good, because I've got a proper guest publication lined up and everything. Never let it be said that I don't vary my material. Still, thanks for that, Google. Domain name soon.
Goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment