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View Results: I have been to the county of Fuckshire, it was ...
Nice? 31 13.30%
Nasty? 33 14.16%
Nasty but nice? 169 72.53%
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Old 05-18-2013, 08:12 AM   #11
planktonnn OP
.also, i am a twat
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Joined: Jan 2008
Location: ...Fuckinemshite...
Oddometer: 4,179
Todays Correspondence...


the pessimism thing cheered me up. Thanks.

oh yeah, who are Little Mix & One Direction?




Oh blast. Once more I write an answer in Gmail & once more it loses it... It was a doozie too, all about how there are slots within the poop pop industry that are periodically filled with alike acts (i.e. Beatles/Rolling Stones 60's vs Blur/Oasis in the '90s). But the answer was all wordy n ting & clevva. But then I pressed 'More reply options' to add an attachment or some-such & the words were gone and we are left with this here shadowy description of all that they were. I'm just listless & bored enough to ramble a truncated (but worse) alternative version at you as above, but the first version was much better, and made me look a lot more brainier n everything etc... Listless & engulfed by ennui enough to write something far longer than you might have time or inclination to read.

Anyway, are you not already a member of the Little Minx or One Erection fan clubs? I believe there is a discount for taking subscriptions to both together for they are no doubt linked under the same Evil Empire one way or another... I struggle to see why you might enquire and can only hope for your sake that it's not because you have them playing at the amphitheatre by you some time soon. If this is indeed the unfortunate case might I suggest you use hefty belts to strap thick pillows to your head to act as giant mufflers to block out the horrific homogenised pap that would be wafting across the fortress at you. Or maybe you could arrange to be in the Pyrenees that day?

If it ever were possible to say that Roll'n'Rock was the residence of teenage revolution & expression of inbuilt angst then surely this is no longer the case, as proven by these acts. Both groups hail, as you no doubt gather, from the sing-a-long talent show task force that fills the Saturday evening TV schedules here in the Former United Commonwealth Kingdoms, and any vestige if funinterstjoy that these progs once contained was sliced out as soon as they rotated the format to exclude the early open audition section of the series wherein we got to see the 'This one is a real nutcase with magnitudinal minus skills foolish enough to queue for hours to caterwaul in front of the audition judges & then throw a funk when they get told how deluded they are until security drags them out and then their family (there to support ‘Our Angel’ from Scunthorpe or similar) storm back in and oh do we laugh...' bunch, and thence do we gain some extreme pleasure from their awfulness. It really was the only part of the series worth seeing. As I imagine you're aware it's all a sort of 'New Faces' done gone fukked a close kissin cousin, with added loooooong pauses for tension and padding out purposes to make cheap TV, a kind of musical Generation Game, a Moderne Monetisation of Moronism.

This one ( lives a couple of hundred metres away, and strangely was not pilloried in the local press for her national disgrace, for they seemed perhaps embarrassed that this hateful little town of Nailzborough could produce her.

Once the programme gets beyond that wonderfully embarrassing stage we are left with the cruise ship singers who perform in styles devoid of style, mimicking a version of what people think singing is. I'm reminded of the Jacko vocal tracks once sent, and other ‘Greats with the solo button pushed’ vocal recordings I've heard - the generally perceived interpretation of 'what singing is' as embodied in these programmes would mean they wouldn't pass the audition.

Plus, the winners (whose 15 minute clock immediately starts ticking) have to be tragic, laughable or cute. There must be a heart wrenching tale behind them (Gareth Gates ( stutter, or a dead Mum), or they must not know how dumb they are, but sort of know, but not really Know (as in Stavros Flately or or they must embody a sort of muted sexuality by which means the mature woman or man can leer just a little, or the youngsters can pop a David Cassidy stylee poster on the wall (but of course in the present idiom make them their phone screen or ringtone). But oh it’s all so exciting, and produces what passes for conversation between people here in this strata of this world.

Hating this blancmange of mediocrity is of course a participation in the farce also, and just as I appreciate the intrigues of Bernard Charles Ecclestone as he flings motoring giants & various judicial systems against one another, one cannot help but note that the Anti Cowell RAtM 4 Xmas No 1 campaign ( was transparently circular in that Sony (? or some such conglomerate anyways) owned the publishing on either act & so any whipped up cashificationism was going in the same pocket of ‘Da Man’ whichever way the semi-hysterical morons voted through ‘choice’ of purchase, and the margins were probably higher on the winning RAtM sales loop anyway? They really have finally got it all sewn up once & for all, and any petite gaps that still exist through which one might ricochet the possibility of a ‘Quick Hit/Ejector Seat’ are surely no longer to be found in the Rawk Bussyness. Anyway, re LeMx, I ought consider myself a slightly blameworthy cog of the machine as one member passed thru/ough Soundstudio, tho/ough after my command (as mentioned on the current version of…

The contemporary predominant fashionable variant of The Talent Show is The Documentary About The Underclass. Beyond the daily dollops of what has been referred to by others as The Jeremy Kyle Nation there’s a current BBC programme thrashing up a tempest of indignation amongst the rude cognoscenti in Bedgrove but I can’t find a ref to it so instead view

Such simplistic documentary social critiques allow the working classes to think that they are the middle class, when in fact we know that what they think of as the upper class are in fact no more than the upper working class, in that if one is not truly financially independent one is nothing more than a wage slave, subject to the Marshalsea poor house should more than three months wages not be paid, thus leading to penury & collapse. As you will be no doubt acutely aware, it seems the lower reaches of the actual upper classes are of course beyond our sight above the Olympian clouds and are most likely friends of the Rothschilds/Rockerfellers – It’s like an extruded version of

Oh, I weep… :-D

...using the wrong spanner since 1964... ...Electronically begging for a rebuild via
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