Waking up in an Alpine nursing home, successfully recovering from a transplant of liver and kidneys donated by young volunteers from Medicins Sans Frontieres who recently and thankfully died in a plane crash, I lay aside my breakfast tray of yolkless poached eggs, wholemeal muffin, grilled celery and a rusty cylinder of 160% overproof rum and peruse the latest music periodicals. Therein, I read that Florence Welch has admitted to almost burning down her Bowery hotel room with a tea light, following a night of drunken revelry involving the consumption of 17 Martinis.
F*** me sideways with Jesus on a stick, first f***ing things first. 17 f***ing Martinis? F***ing pathetic! That’s what you f***ing drink when you’re f***ing getting ready to go out a get f***ing drunk! A f***ing Martini isn’t a f***ing drink, it’s a f***ing glass stain! Second, I shouldn’t f***ing worry your provocation of a f***ing ginger head about burning to death. Every f***ing thing about you is so f***ing puddle-like, so homeopathically dilute, so anally f***ing dribbly, so blandly f***ing liquefied for the f***ing row after drooling row of Do Not Resuscitate semi-comatose f***ing tube breathers that constitute your f***ing fan base that fire would have no f***ing effect on you whatsoever, you spacewasting, vaporous f***ing turdmonger!
Jack White has released a new track from his forthcoming April album, entitled ‘Love Interruption’. Of this, and his forthcoming offerings, he says, “These songs were written from scratch, had nothing to do with anyone or anything else but my own expression, my own colors on my own canvas.”
Right. Well, first of all, stepping with nose pinched with forefinger and f***ing thumb over the actual track here, which has all the f***ing dynamism and f***ing zest of a bloke steeping out bed at four in the morning to go take a piss, taking a piss, then crossing the corridor back to f***ing bed again, what the f***ing f***? “Nothing to do with anyone or anything else but my own expression?” That sentence contains precisely piss all! What the f*** else were they gonna have anything to do with? Rain gauges? Pyjamas? It’s like saying “I saw it with my own eyes." Who the f*** else’s eyes were you going to see it with? As for “My own ‘colors’ on my own canvas? You’ve only got three f***ing ‘colors’, you glassy eyed, anal f***ing fungus – re, black and white! (Or “wite” to make it f***ing simpler for f***ing Americans!) C***!
Lana Del Rey has certainly polarised the critics! There are those who are annoyed at what they see as her deceitfulness in creating an earthier persona belied by her well-heeled, failed pop pedigree. However, many more scoff at notions of “authenticity” having anything to do with excellence in popular music.
Yeah, yeah, we f***ing get it. Artifice – good. Notion that “it isn’t authentic unless Aretha f***ing Franklin comes round to your house, in person, sings her heart out and them commits f***ing suicide on your living room carpet” – bad. We f***ing get it. Inauthenticity good! Laminated cut out of woman affecting to be a f***ing crack addict from Peckham lip syncing catatonically to lyrics produced by random computer crap rap generator good! Discovering woman actually to be Princess Anne even better! Praise f***ing be! Oh well, hot on the heels of the longer-than-f***ing-World-War II Lady Gaga debate, something to f***ing talk about, eh? Only about a f***ing decade before the ever-fertile world of f***ing pop music throws up yet another f***ing controversial debating point! “Pop”? Death by a thousand c***s in suits, more f***ing like!
Finally, it seems that almost 20 years on, “Laddism” is alive and boisterous – although, it seems that the Unilad.com site, with its posse of “top” boys and wenches have had to retreat behind a wall of apology, when a jovial comment they made about rape caused a certain amount of offence. However, when printed on their Facebook page, their apology elicited a number of robust responses from their fans who considered that remarks such as “85% of rape cases go unreported. That seems to be fairly good odds” as fair comment.
You know, it’s plausible that by now, humankind could have evolved to the point of sprouting wings, telepathy, the capacity to flit through wormholes to the other ends of the cosmos and to become invisible at will. However, we’re stuck as the f***ing lumps of stinking, earthbound f***ing flesh-clay that we are because as a f***ing species, we’re held back by the sort of f***ing braying, bollock-chewing, mentally and emotionally backward, shit-pond life with two bollocks to rub together but f*** all in the way of braincells who contributed to the above f***ing thread! The sort of c***faced f***ing lugworms who conceived this site, wrote that f***ing article and then still thought it was a jolly good idea even after they’d been showered in a righteous f***ing shitstorm! Crawl back behind your f***ing rock, dig a hole and f*** off forever into extinction, you pitiful, pathetic clags of f***ing cockrot!
