TV Hell

Heavy Bummer Man

So the die has been cast and the final of crap factor knows its line-up.
Poor old dirty Ben couldn’t cut the old yellow stingy stuff on the night – and I don’t mean a wee infection.

Little Eddie Munster played a blinder on national television and cried… Yup, he cried. I can hear my Mum and Grandmother all the way from Devon going “awwww bless his heart, lets text vote and keep him in” now in normal circumstances this could be true, apart from the fact I know my mum can’t even work a car stereo let alone fathom out how to text from a mobile (cell phone).

As for Leona, yes I know she cried too but with THAT hair, I think it can be forgiven.

So Dirty Ben, leant over, and took it straight up the tailpipe. Justified?

It would have been a more interesting final had he got through, but then again, who cares. The life expectancy of one of these reality show winners generally only ever amounts to the Christmas number one and then a follow up single that isn’t promoted and dips in around number 15 in the charts and out again (Michelle McManus anyone?).

So who are the real winners? The phone networks who get around 50p every time you text a vote, which factually costs bugger all to process? The ITV network who’s viewing figures go through the roof on an otherwise unchallenged slot on Saturday night television, or good old Mr Cowell, who probably makes ooberzillions every time a series is aired. I’ll let you decide among yourselves.

So what now? Well, If there’s any justice, Ray and Leona will be promoting in their respective buses up and down the country during finals week and Ray will go to the dentist to get his manky chippo toof capped and the dentist will accidentally cement his gob up, and whilst at the hairdressers, Leona will accidentally scoff down a thickening agent instead of a coffee and weld her jaw shut.

So now, we have Lionel Richtea biscuit on, in his rather fetching black shiny pyjamas. Can my evening get any more wired? I feel like I’m in the zone, the zone that is of complete boredom and potentially damaging to my wrists should something sharp happen to fall into my reach. Oh Jesus, now bastard Westlife are on stage with him aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.

On a more positive note, the weekly shop wasn’t half as bad as it could have been, and that’s it over for another week (I hope).

Be Beautiful

cV