Oh what a fucking year, eh? youtube, thames whales, suffolk stranglers, bird flue, ecconomic migrants, Iraq bombs, beastly Israeli's, Russian poisoners, gaming, quiz phone in's, sensationalist TV, the descent of Richard Madeley, Cosmic ordering, Noel Edmonds is alive, James Brown is dead, Castro is on the brink, Zidane, Hypocritical Man Utd fans, Man City and their chav manager, death of chavs(?), nah...
But we don't or shouldn't define our year and our lives by what the newspapers and media think is relevant. We are in a strange phase at the moment. We have the virtual power to control our lives. (It is only virtual...someone else is pulling the strings, whether it's the god of Second Life or The Sims, or Murdoch or Gates, it's anyone's guess.) Thus we blog, we 'tube' and google. Of course these are just trends which will get a bit boring, and kids will find something else, and the producers all along will wish they could have charged for these services. But the interest for celebrity gossip and the like will ebb away as we create our own self-obsessed alter egos online, or before the media. (Just as Aerial Leve) So it is in this spirit at this time of year that I host the winners of the Best Before 'Soft Target' Awards, that I came up with a couple of days ago.
THE BEST BEFORE 'SOFT TARGET' AWARDS
Among all the 'times' we are part of, much of it out-dated, let us hope that one tradition that will eventually ebb away are the dreaded Award ceremonies which are just as ubiquitous as the really naff urban myth that kids watch youtube boreathons for longer than they play computer games, watch TV, eat, masturbate and go to school. It's an impossible dream to wish that everyone will wake up from their collective mediorce consciousness and realise that these ceremonies that reward this mediorcrity and popularity as opposed to craft or ANYTHING must stop, but I am a dreamer. Instead I will continue this mockery as a punishment to you all for contributing to yet another mediorce year. So here we go...
LIFETIME UNDER ACHIEVEMENT AWARD FOR BEING AN UNINTENIONALLY UNFUNNY BORE WHO AS LONG AS HE LIVES WILL NEVER BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY- Boris Johnson
MEDIA SATURATED FUCKER- Russel Brand/Jamie Oliver
THE 'OUT OF HER DEPTH' AWARD- Charlotte Church
THE 'NOT REALLY OUTSPOKEN AND WITTY AWARD AND IN FACT SHE'S JUST A GOOD LITTLE MIDDLE CLASS GIRL WITH A FAMOUS DADDY'
- Lily Allen
THE 'BAILEY RAE AND DIDO COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT BETTER' BLAND ALBUM AWARD- Lily Allen
THE LESS POPULAR BUT COINCIDENTALLY LESS MIDDLE CLASS THAT LILY AWARD- Lady Sov
A CUNTY SMUG FACE TO FRONT A SHITTY DERIVAVTIVE BAND THAT MORRISSEY AND PAUL WELLER USED TO LIKE-Preston
The YOKO ONO GOOSEBERRY AWARD-Chantelle
THE YOUTUBE CELEBRATION OF THICKOS OF ALL CLASSES AND AGES AWARD WHO ARE IN FACT THE REAL LAB RATS OF THIS SOCIAL EXPERIMENT-Big Brother Voters
THE BEST ARSE OF THE YEAR- The Saturday girl who works at my off license. Her arse really does hug those Miss Sixty Jeans like her life depends on it. How do I have the heart to ask her to sit on my face?
2006's MOST MEDIORCE PROGRAMME THAT COULDN'T DECIDED IF IT WAS FOR KIDS, FOR A RADIO AUDIENCE OR QUEER AS FOLK?-Torchwood
MOST OVERRATED BAND WITH THE MOST PUNCHABLE COVER ART-Arctic Monkey's
HUMBLE PIES AWARD- Robbie Williams
I DON'T REALLY WRITE OR RESEARCH MY ARTICLES BUT I CAN SNIFF THINGS AWARD-Victoria Newton (The Sun)
FAGHAG OF THE YEAR-Victoria Newton (The Sun)
BORING FACE OF THE YEAR AWARD- This goes to this bespectacled middle-aged Asian woman who sometimes waits at my bus stop. I feel like thumping her in the face just to give it some life and character.
SEXLESS GARMENT- For the fourth year running, the THONG. Girls, pay attention. IT DOES NOT LOOK SEXY PEEKING OUT ABOVE YOUR HIPSTERS no more than heels and jeans look cool!
Happy new year x
Smirnov
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Saturday, December 16, 2006
The Best Before Christmas Special Selection Box (Bumper Edition!)
Welcome to a special edition of this blog entry. It's my Christmas special. Yes I realise that it's a bit premature but fuck it, if I was a retail establishment I'd be almost three months too late. Might as well get my office party out the way. Not that I have a real office but I suppose a desk is enough. But it still doesn't stop me feeling a little abnormal because I don't have an office to party in, or indeed any office staff to party with, or seduce them in the stock cupboard. So it's difficult to not feel left out, because, according to the national press that's where all the action is, everyone's having office parties, they've always had office parties, well at least ever since This Life. Maybe the whole world is an illusion and we're all living inside one gigantic office or a photocopier...floating inside the water cooler...You know that thing, where everyone meets to have a 'moment', anything from Bluetooth, to the shite that Catherine Tate passes off as humour. So what can you expect during this Christmas special? Well, as well as exclusive access to my office party, you will have the opportunity during my christmas special to go panic buying. Make sure you've enough petrol first. You can NEVER have enough petrol. Just join a queue somewhere. Doesn't matter if you'll be using the car that much, just make sure you've enough to last you for a couple of months. Fuck everyone else. Now that you're all tanked up you will have the chance to unreasonably empty every supermarket of bread and burn it somewhere. Stop the fat families buying fifteen loaves for two days.
And I've been neglecting something. Perhaps you can help me with something. I've got some empty can of diet coke, some empty bottles as well, and I've emptied the toilet duck plastic bottles I've been collecting. I'm looking to using them as makeshift baubles and bells for the tree and perimeter of the house. Ideally, I'd like to light the toilet duck bottles from the inside. Any piece of crap that you can get your hands on would be much appreciated. Fuck the electric bill. They can sing for it! I'd like to put underfloor lighting to the paving stones that lead to my house, like Michael Jackson's Beat it video. If we can't over-indulged now then why bother?
My christmas special doesn't end here. You can also join me as I compose a review and a schedule of television, and we must include the tired old jokes about Wizard of Oz, Bond films, emaciated fairies, smelly grandparents, left over turkey sandwiches, Santa's tooth decay, deceased monarchs, nightmares about mummies eyes composed of big shiny blood soaked baubles, and how, in this time of goodwill, we hope and pray that Charles Saatchi collection will go the same way as Hemel Hempstead Oil refinery.
Finally, join me later on, wine and mince pies nearby, by the lights of my Christmas tree as we reminisce about the season in times passed, when, as a child, we loved bells and candles made of of clay and candy, how we made our own party crowns at school from crepe paper, and ate jelly and flirted with our teachers. And we sang Little Donkey and felt sorry for the mule humping fatty Mary all the way to Bethlehem. How odd we thought camels were, well before they names some cigarettes after them and how we secretly hoped we'd see that big guiding light in the sky. And everyone of us felt special and protected. Yes, we'll talk about those old christmas discos where they play Wizzard, Shaky and even Gary Glitter and shed little nostalgic tears at the innocence of it all, and the pointlessness of adulthood. Then we'll clink our wine glasses as we listen to Holes by Mercury Rev.
I think my christmas special is almost over. Thank you for joining me. And you can relive this christmas with me as much as you like by scrolling down. Maybe this isn't enough, I should leave you with a some chocolates or a black and white film, so you can curl up in your Ikea sofa as it pisses freezing rain against the window, and you can consider how lucky and blessed you are, that you're born in the west, and all those freezing people in the Indian earthquake are not as spiritual as you, or you aren't any woman in Ipswich who have to contend with the biggest threat in this difficult period: The panic stricken media. Is that what you want? Perhaps I could hold up some mistletoe, offer you a cracker, seduce your partner...In the meantime until 25th December, don't let all those people keep whinging to you how commercial christmas is getting. Was there ever a time when it wasn't commercial in your life? If they want to supplement their feelings and spend hundreds or thousands of pounds, no-one is forcing them. I have to dash now. I must look at the research on the new big conspiracy, the one that will shake the foundations of the Royal Family to the core. The one you might have heard of. Was it they who arranged the death of the Thames Whale?
Goodnight and seasons greetings. x
And I've been neglecting something. Perhaps you can help me with something. I've got some empty can of diet coke, some empty bottles as well, and I've emptied the toilet duck plastic bottles I've been collecting. I'm looking to using them as makeshift baubles and bells for the tree and perimeter of the house. Ideally, I'd like to light the toilet duck bottles from the inside. Any piece of crap that you can get your hands on would be much appreciated. Fuck the electric bill. They can sing for it! I'd like to put underfloor lighting to the paving stones that lead to my house, like Michael Jackson's Beat it video. If we can't over-indulged now then why bother?
My christmas special doesn't end here. You can also join me as I compose a review and a schedule of television, and we must include the tired old jokes about Wizard of Oz, Bond films, emaciated fairies, smelly grandparents, left over turkey sandwiches, Santa's tooth decay, deceased monarchs, nightmares about mummies eyes composed of big shiny blood soaked baubles, and how, in this time of goodwill, we hope and pray that Charles Saatchi collection will go the same way as Hemel Hempstead Oil refinery.
Finally, join me later on, wine and mince pies nearby, by the lights of my Christmas tree as we reminisce about the season in times passed, when, as a child, we loved bells and candles made of of clay and candy, how we made our own party crowns at school from crepe paper, and ate jelly and flirted with our teachers. And we sang Little Donkey and felt sorry for the mule humping fatty Mary all the way to Bethlehem. How odd we thought camels were, well before they names some cigarettes after them and how we secretly hoped we'd see that big guiding light in the sky. And everyone of us felt special and protected. Yes, we'll talk about those old christmas discos where they play Wizzard, Shaky and even Gary Glitter and shed little nostalgic tears at the innocence of it all, and the pointlessness of adulthood. Then we'll clink our wine glasses as we listen to Holes by Mercury Rev.
I think my christmas special is almost over. Thank you for joining me. And you can relive this christmas with me as much as you like by scrolling down. Maybe this isn't enough, I should leave you with a some chocolates or a black and white film, so you can curl up in your Ikea sofa as it pisses freezing rain against the window, and you can consider how lucky and blessed you are, that you're born in the west, and all those freezing people in the Indian earthquake are not as spiritual as you, or you aren't any woman in Ipswich who have to contend with the biggest threat in this difficult period: The panic stricken media. Is that what you want? Perhaps I could hold up some mistletoe, offer you a cracker, seduce your partner...In the meantime until 25th December, don't let all those people keep whinging to you how commercial christmas is getting. Was there ever a time when it wasn't commercial in your life? If they want to supplement their feelings and spend hundreds or thousands of pounds, no-one is forcing them. I have to dash now. I must look at the research on the new big conspiracy, the one that will shake the foundations of the Royal Family to the core. The one you might have heard of. Was it they who arranged the death of the Thames Whale?
Goodnight and seasons greetings. x
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