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Mr Agreeable

Mr Agreeable: Watching Oasis Slide Away Into The Oomska
Mr Agreeable , September 1st, 2009 07:32

Over his usual high-end comestibles, Mr Agreeable ponders the departure of Noel Gallagher from Oasis

Waking up to a breakfast of sun-dried apricots, low calorie muesli, ginger infused tea and a gallon of overproof rum extracted by stomach pump from an elderly and recently deceased Rastafarian, I set aside my breakfast tray and turn to a selection of recent periodicals. Therein, I read with a raised eyebrow that Oasis, the noted "Kings Of Britpop" have split up. It seems that lead guitarist and main songwriter Noel Gallagher decided to leave the band following what he described as a campaign of "violent and verbal intimidation" towards his person.

F*** me till my f***ing ears explode, you call those f***ing notes I put in milk bottles and hurled through your f***ing living window "verbal intimidation"? I was just scraping my hooves and getting f***ing started! You should have waited to see the f***ing howitzers in store once I'd found my f***ing line and length! You wouldn't just have quit the f***ing group, you'd have locked yourself in a f***ing cupboard under the stairs living on f***ing tins of baked beans and refused to come out till you'd f***ing farted yourself into submission! "Oasis split"! The nation hasn't exactly taken to its f***ing widow's weeds, has it? Hear that distant sound, Noel? It's people f***ing dancing in the streets! I know you think dancing is very un-British and best kept to black Americans and not the sort of thing we should f***ing have in f***ing Manchester or at Glastonbury but f*** you, Noel! That's what they're f***ing doing! Dancing in the f***ing streets and burning you in f***ing effigy, you extraneous c***!

Prior to forming Oasis some 18 years ago, Noel Gallagher was a roadie for fellow Manchester group The Inspiral Carpets.

You know, Noel, I don't care if you f***ing went to see Tony Blair at Number 10 and shook him firmly by the f***ing dick, I don't care how many f***ing millions lumpen f***ing morons who think the colour grey is the most exciting one in the f***ing spectrum have f***ing showered on you – that you were once a f***ing roadie for the f***ing Inspiral Carpets is about as low a rung on the ladder of f***ing humiliating serfdom as you can f***ing get! It puts you lower than the f***ing guy whose job it was to hold f***ing Baldrick's f***ing wankbucket! It's just as well you had f***ing Liam besides you all those years, someone still waiting to grow a tail so that he can evolve into a f***ing monkey, the twat!

Alan McGee has stated that he feels the demise of Oasis is "a sad day for music".

Oh, for f***ing sure. We are like sheep without shepherds! Who now will lead us into the f***ing Valleys of the Endlessly f***ing Nondescript? Let's look back in f***ing anger! 1993! They arrive on the f***ing scene like a f***ing breath of stale air and f***ing overnight reduce British f***ing rock to a f***ing rank, plebby clay of f***ing atavistic, flagwaving f***ing guitarplod! They make a succession of f***ing albums, each more like drinking warm lager from a tin someone's been putting their f***ing fags out in than the f***ing last! Their lyrics are the f***ing random, clumsy spewings of some c*** who has yet to master even the basis sub-standard of being f***ing simplistic! Their last six or however the f*** many albums they made are like the f***ing gobby, incoherent ravings of some bow-legged pisshead who's been chucked out of the pub three f***ing times but insists on waddling his way back in so's he can bellow his pointless f***ing stream-of-urine monologue to no one in particular into the air! Yeah, f***ing sad day indeed, Alan! And thanks very much for f***ing "discovering" Oasis, by the way, rather than let f***ing sleeping twatcocks lie!

Having hastily cancelled a concert in Paris, Noel issued a statement apologising to fans who had bought tickets and were disappointed by their non-appearance.

This is what it's f***ing come to, eh, Noel? The Gallaghers, Kings of Britpop, Union Jack The Lads, end their days apologising to the f***ing French! That's how deep you've descended into cringing f***ing ignominy! It's the f***ing French who should be apologising, just for being f***ing French, but no, if anyone can sink f***ing lower and fouler than a f***ing nation whose idea of a f***ing toilet is a f***ing hole in the ground with a f***ing old woman with a f***ing mop standing next to it, it's f***ing Oasis! Good riddance to bad c***s!

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