A few weeks back Britain woke up briefly to notice the state of its underage offspring, scattered around like trussed up refugees from a Paul Gadd pyjama party. But after a few hours a shinier and more interesting ball of political shit slinging hoved into view and the whole issue was dropped faster than Lindsay Lohan’s knickers.
For the media to ignore this problem for whatever reason is one crime and certainly a reprehensible one but to conveniently pick it up, fondle it for a few hours to fill some 24 hour news and then repress it the next moment like o so many drunken mistakes is horribly irresponsible. And the upshot of this complete lack of moral responsibility is Lady Blah Blah’s new range of porn films for children.
The fact that the song is as worthless as Dolf Lundgren’s career is neither hither nor thither. Horseshit fills the airways like the atomised contents of a hospital bin every day. But the fact that this trumped up shit goon can say; “I enjoy being a role model and I believe I have a lot to offer” to MTV one day and get her sloppy old gash out, wear cigarettes for glasses and Coke cans in her head in a piss poor lesbian bongo movie the next is yet another omen of the impending collapse of civilisation.
I can’t really speak for Beyonce’s part in all of this, she’s not really something I have any interest in understanding. Apart from being married to a walking pile of dog spaff she and her own brand of materialistic sassy feminism seem to be about as respectable as ‘pop divas’ get, especially when contrasted with the electrified whinings of Lady Baccy Blinkers and her insistence on dressing as if her cool glasses have given her ocular cancer resulting in her getting dressed blind, in a bin behind Etam. Surely calling a song ‘telephone’ and then putting a telephone on your head cannot be defended by anyone, it’s just simply inane, if a five year old did it you would probably send them for a special pair of glasses and some orthopedic shoes. I only hope her next song is called shit covered aids grenade.
I’m also painfully aware that this kind of titty showboating is purely designed to piss people off and cause outrage thus creating a publicity and financial windfall free of charge and that I am walking into it like a blind man into a leather bar. So what I resent more than children being shown porn disguised as music and the degradation of art to its lowest common denominator for the sake of marketing is me being made to feel like a 50’s dad. To counter this I’ve decided to beat them at their own game.
Next week I will be releasing the next ‘classic’ music video called ‘stem cells taste like pussy’ which will be made up of, amongst other things; A continuously looped sample of the sounds of a rape victim’s guilty orgasm played over a gabba beat set to images of puppies being boiled alive in tramp’s sick. I’ll call it art, and pay some well known wankers to do the same. I’ll say it’s a 21st century Un Chien Andalou and hang tampax off the puppy’s eyelids, for some compulsory product placement and to give my ‘piece’ a strong feminist message. Then I’ll prance around Shoreditch dressed as a lighthouse keeper with a picture of a bemused cormorant tattooed on my forehead while shoving cigars down my cock. The following outrage, confusion, praise and publicity will make me rich beyond my wildest. Then I can kick back, shit on a nun and declare myself a fucking good role model for kids.