Hello boys and girls, how are we doing today?
I'm up at nearly six in the morning trying to get my entire year's worth of work and play off of my external hard drive, which took it upon itself to fail this afternoon, and I've just been reliably informed by the parent who I've just spent the entire week shifting furniture for that any leisure time tomorrow is strictly off limits until I've taken down a bunch of wall brackets because the rest of the midgets in this house are too small to take the bloody things down. The sooner I'm off and back in a new flat the better. Still, anything's an improvement after spending yesterday feeling delicate and hung over watching Arsenal and Liverpool getting thrashed. Oh well.
Anyway, what's been going on in the news today? You ask, with a slight sense of apprehension. Well, first off, the government has announced that Northern Rock is going to be nationalised. That's right, to all of you who have lost thousands and thousands of pounds through Northern Rock's astonishing stupidity will now have the pleasure of having a certain percentage gleaned off your taxes to keep the bastards afloat and the management in Armani suits until they're back on their feet again. A huge comfort, I'm sure, to all the people that lost their savings to the point of not knowing where the next tin of soup is coming from thanks to the bastards at Northern Rock.
Moving on, who on earth let Nickelback into the charts? The ultimate purveyors of music for people who don't like music have been churning out their atrocious by-the-numbers radio rock for long enough now that us educated Brits should have grown beyond the American penchant for songs you can listen to without actually listening to them and given up on the bunch of Canadian wastrels for good. Then again, we are the ones that made Liberty X into platinum-selling recording artists, so perhaps I'm giving us too much credit; you do have to ask yourself what's wrong with a country that celebrates the sheer unadulterated mediocrity of Nickelback and Jack fucking Johnson enough to send them soaring to the top of the album charts, closely followed by a child abuser, a soul singer named Adele who's been labeled as 'the new Amy Winehouse' (does that mean she'll soon be found in a club toilet injecting heroin into her feet? - Ed) and Morrissey, a man who for all his songwriting talent has been writing the same jolly ditty about wanting a bloke to cum on his face for the past 20 years. Just go to Soho and get it over with, Morrissey, you're not fooling anyone.
Incidentally, 'Adele' (no surname - she's too famous to have a surname, despite nobody knowing who she is. Give over, love, you're not fucking Cher) is not the new Amy Winehouse. Why? Because I'd do Amy Winehouse, and I wouldn't do her. I reckon good old Amy would be more of a laugh in the pub for a start, and it's a lot easier buying gifts for a woman when you know the lady doesn't love Milk Tray, she loves a nice big bag of skag. It might be high maintenance, but never let it be said that I don't like them classy. That, and I've been looking for a nice Jewish girl long enough now that I'm willing to settle for just the latter half.
Anyway, speaking of Amy Winehouse, apparently Mark Ronson has been shortlisted for Single of the Year for 'his' version of 'Valerie'. Excuse me? His version? The Zutons wrote it, she sang it, what, precisely, did Mark fucking Ronson do? I'm getting sick of these 'producers' that actually do fuck-all but add a crappy GarageBand loop under someone else's song and get paid millions for the privelage. I thought Timbaland was bad enough with his piss-poor one-second drum loop under an already-crappy One Republic song getting him into the charts, but I don't actually see what Mark Ronson did at all. Perhaps he stood at the side and wanked in time with the trumpets, the malignant little tosser. Anyway, the theme for the Brit awards will apparently be 'Glam vs. Punk', so expect nothing to do with either, and the hosts will be Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne. Fucking hell, haven't they dominated TV enough? The only Osbourne I will accept presenting the Brit awards is Kelly, and even then only if she does it naked save for a few carefully placed scoops of Mint Choc ice cream.
In other news, New Zealand are hosting a conference on cluster bombs, the US have recalled about 4 million tons of beef for being a bit dodgy, and the Palestinians are pulling faces because the Israelis went and nicked a few militants for firing rockets at children. The Palestinian Authority has been stomping about and throwing its rattle out of the pram about 'overstepping of bounds' and such, but it's pretty simple to see the balance of power here; the Palestinians didn't like it one bit last time they got uppity and Israel turned their lights off, and they're more than capable of doing it again. If you don't like it, Palestinans, fucking move. You don't have to live slap bang in the middle of Israel, you could move to Wales or something. I'd suggest you stop killing children and try to get along with your neighbours instead, but you've had fifty odd years and you haven't seemed capable of doing that, so I won't even bother.
Move to Cardiff, you'll be happier there and it's by the sea and everything.
That's it really, except to tell you that in the football everything was exceptionally dull. Sir Alex has been earnestly crowing like the biggest cock on the farm about his 4 - 0 drubbing of Arsenal, while Arsene Wenger and Rafa Benitez have been keeping understandably quiet about the whole mess. The two late ties played today were incredibly tedious as Sheffield United played out a bore draw with Middlesbrough, and Pompey vs. Preston was decided by a scrappy own goal in the last minute of added time, but it wasn't nearly as dramatic as that makes it sound. Boring, but poor Darren Carter probably had to buy all his own drinks as the Preston players drowned their sorrows after he sliced what should have been a routine clearance into his own net at the arse end of injury time. Other tha that, the only major story is that Richard Scudamore's bloody stupid 39th-game idea is dead in the water, according to Reading chairman John Madejski. Well, him and everyone else with a brain.
That's all there is to tell you, really. In the Formula 1, every story everywhere seems to be about Lewis Hamilton's reaction to a few idiots dressing up as monkeys at him at testing in Barcelona - well, lack of reaction really, he's been extremely level-headed about it all and it's been the media that have hyped it up beyond belief. I think hes shown a great deal of maturity about the whole thing, which is more than I can say for the papers - while in the boxing some boxers have been talking about how bad and mean they are and how bad they're going to beat their opponent when they meet in the ring. Much as I expected then.
Anyway, I'm giving up on my battle with technology for the evening.
I think it's all gone right down the pan to be honest with you.
More tomorrow.
Goodnight.
I'm up at nearly six in the morning trying to get my entire year's worth of work and play off of my external hard drive, which took it upon itself to fail this afternoon, and I've just been reliably informed by the parent who I've just spent the entire week shifting furniture for that any leisure time tomorrow is strictly off limits until I've taken down a bunch of wall brackets because the rest of the midgets in this house are too small to take the bloody things down. The sooner I'm off and back in a new flat the better. Still, anything's an improvement after spending yesterday feeling delicate and hung over watching Arsenal and Liverpool getting thrashed. Oh well.
Anyway, what's been going on in the news today? You ask, with a slight sense of apprehension. Well, first off, the government has announced that Northern Rock is going to be nationalised. That's right, to all of you who have lost thousands and thousands of pounds through Northern Rock's astonishing stupidity will now have the pleasure of having a certain percentage gleaned off your taxes to keep the bastards afloat and the management in Armani suits until they're back on their feet again. A huge comfort, I'm sure, to all the people that lost their savings to the point of not knowing where the next tin of soup is coming from thanks to the bastards at Northern Rock.
Moving on, who on earth let Nickelback into the charts? The ultimate purveyors of music for people who don't like music have been churning out their atrocious by-the-numbers radio rock for long enough now that us educated Brits should have grown beyond the American penchant for songs you can listen to without actually listening to them and given up on the bunch of Canadian wastrels for good. Then again, we are the ones that made Liberty X into platinum-selling recording artists, so perhaps I'm giving us too much credit; you do have to ask yourself what's wrong with a country that celebrates the sheer unadulterated mediocrity of Nickelback and Jack fucking Johnson enough to send them soaring to the top of the album charts, closely followed by a child abuser, a soul singer named Adele who's been labeled as 'the new Amy Winehouse' (does that mean she'll soon be found in a club toilet injecting heroin into her feet? - Ed) and Morrissey, a man who for all his songwriting talent has been writing the same jolly ditty about wanting a bloke to cum on his face for the past 20 years. Just go to Soho and get it over with, Morrissey, you're not fooling anyone.
Incidentally, 'Adele' (no surname - she's too famous to have a surname, despite nobody knowing who she is. Give over, love, you're not fucking Cher) is not the new Amy Winehouse. Why? Because I'd do Amy Winehouse, and I wouldn't do her. I reckon good old Amy would be more of a laugh in the pub for a start, and it's a lot easier buying gifts for a woman when you know the lady doesn't love Milk Tray, she loves a nice big bag of skag. It might be high maintenance, but never let it be said that I don't like them classy. That, and I've been looking for a nice Jewish girl long enough now that I'm willing to settle for just the latter half.
Anyway, speaking of Amy Winehouse, apparently Mark Ronson has been shortlisted for Single of the Year for 'his' version of 'Valerie'. Excuse me? His version? The Zutons wrote it, she sang it, what, precisely, did Mark fucking Ronson do? I'm getting sick of these 'producers' that actually do fuck-all but add a crappy GarageBand loop under someone else's song and get paid millions for the privelage. I thought Timbaland was bad enough with his piss-poor one-second drum loop under an already-crappy One Republic song getting him into the charts, but I don't actually see what Mark Ronson did at all. Perhaps he stood at the side and wanked in time with the trumpets, the malignant little tosser. Anyway, the theme for the Brit awards will apparently be 'Glam vs. Punk', so expect nothing to do with either, and the hosts will be Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne. Fucking hell, haven't they dominated TV enough? The only Osbourne I will accept presenting the Brit awards is Kelly, and even then only if she does it naked save for a few carefully placed scoops of Mint Choc ice cream.
In other news, New Zealand are hosting a conference on cluster bombs, the US have recalled about 4 million tons of beef for being a bit dodgy, and the Palestinians are pulling faces because the Israelis went and nicked a few militants for firing rockets at children. The Palestinian Authority has been stomping about and throwing its rattle out of the pram about 'overstepping of bounds' and such, but it's pretty simple to see the balance of power here; the Palestinians didn't like it one bit last time they got uppity and Israel turned their lights off, and they're more than capable of doing it again. If you don't like it, Palestinans, fucking move. You don't have to live slap bang in the middle of Israel, you could move to Wales or something. I'd suggest you stop killing children and try to get along with your neighbours instead, but you've had fifty odd years and you haven't seemed capable of doing that, so I won't even bother.
Move to Cardiff, you'll be happier there and it's by the sea and everything.
That's it really, except to tell you that in the football everything was exceptionally dull. Sir Alex has been earnestly crowing like the biggest cock on the farm about his 4 - 0 drubbing of Arsenal, while Arsene Wenger and Rafa Benitez have been keeping understandably quiet about the whole mess. The two late ties played today were incredibly tedious as Sheffield United played out a bore draw with Middlesbrough, and Pompey vs. Preston was decided by a scrappy own goal in the last minute of added time, but it wasn't nearly as dramatic as that makes it sound. Boring, but poor Darren Carter probably had to buy all his own drinks as the Preston players drowned their sorrows after he sliced what should have been a routine clearance into his own net at the arse end of injury time. Other tha that, the only major story is that Richard Scudamore's bloody stupid 39th-game idea is dead in the water, according to Reading chairman John Madejski. Well, him and everyone else with a brain.
That's all there is to tell you, really. In the Formula 1, every story everywhere seems to be about Lewis Hamilton's reaction to a few idiots dressing up as monkeys at him at testing in Barcelona - well, lack of reaction really, he's been extremely level-headed about it all and it's been the media that have hyped it up beyond belief. I think hes shown a great deal of maturity about the whole thing, which is more than I can say for the papers - while in the boxing some boxers have been talking about how bad and mean they are and how bad they're going to beat their opponent when they meet in the ring. Much as I expected then.
Anyway, I'm giving up on my battle with technology for the evening.
I think it's all gone right down the pan to be honest with you.
More tomorrow.
Goodnight.
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