That's How You Do It

If you think Kanye West or Robbie Williams are amazing performers, you're wrong.





And if you think the same of Pink or Missy Elliot, well, it's probably best if you stopped talking to me all together.

The Love Affair Continues

YouTube



Enough Said.

Quandry

A couple of weeks ago, I was channel surfing on a Saturday morning (I know. You'd think I'd learn not too by now) when I stumbled across Pink's latest video single, which I have since discovered is called 'U & Ur Hand'. In a nutshell, the song is about men hitting on her and her being sick of it, so she wants us to give her the money we would spend on buying a drink for her, and then go home and have a wank about it.

The predictability, nafness, and sheer mediocrity of this song and it's accompanying video is more than enough for it to offend, but to top it off, it contains a couple of profanities. I can't remember the line exactly, but it's something to the extent of 'you're out of luck, I don't give a fuck'.

Genius.

Anyway, somewhere along the line somebody has made an error and channel 9 put the unedited version to air, and said naughty words were clearly audible.

By and large, I can usually let Pink slide. I mean, I can't stand the way she talks about how she hates the 'commercial' sex symbols type pop stars but somehow manages to be wearing next to nothing and pouting into the camera in every one of her videos, and trying to pass herself off as a legitimate creative artist is just plain offensive, BUT, if I were forced to choose between her and Britney (and let's face it, I am) I'd take her.


The quandry I was left in was wether to register an official complaint or not.

On the comedy side of things, I think this sort of stuff is A grade. From a censorship angle, calling to complain would make me quite the hypocrite, as I feel, like anyone with even the smallest amount of intelligence would, that censorship in all it's forms is completely abhorrent.

These 2 things aside, I thought if by registering a complaint I could contribue to this stinking pile of shit song being erased from the airwaves, I will have done mankind a greart service.

I mulled it over for a while, then turned the TV off and went back to sleep.

That'll teach 'em.

What We Are Is What We Are

Happy
Dissatisfied
Too intelligent
Too lazy
Too old
Switched on
Pleading for help
Egotistical
Aware of you and your scam
Deserving of all we desire
Sick of this rung
Baffled
Hopeful
Full of despair
Affluent
Lucky
Missing a crucial ingredient

and when you think about it

Pointless

Which One Are You

Do you like me or are you ignoring me?

We Give Thanks For Mike Patton

He understands.

It's Not My Fault Your Life Sux

Two nights ago I went out in the city. Granted, that was my first mistake, but I went none the less, and let's face it, I have every right to go. I arrived at the predetermined meeting place, which in this case, was a bar of reasonable repute. I say that for want of a better phrase - bars, by definition, contain drinkers, which by my definition are largely a bunch of very stupid people, and you shouldn't expect anything other than primitive behaviour from them. All that aside, this was a relatively nice bar, and being a Wednesday evening, I figured it would be close to bereft of the usual mindless twats you would find at an inner city bar.

I had been there for a maximum of 5 minutes. I was sitting at a table, reading a text message, when a short man, who looked (and I'm going to be frank here) liked he had either a)just come from prison or b)would be arriving there shortly, leaned over to me and said "looks like you're overdue for a haircut there mate".

Many things ran through my mind once he'd said that, none the least of which was picking up the stool I was sitting on and smashing it across his head. As far as drunk morons giving me shit goes, his was a pretty tame attempt. Growing up in a rural-esque town, when I actually HAD long hair, getting abused by drunk idiots for no good reason was par for the course, and you come to expect it. Generally, that's why you leave said rural-esque town and move to the city. You know, where people are a bit more open minded.

But I couldn't help but wonder the thought process that lead to this guy seeing me, thinking my hair is too long (it isn't by the way) and then feeling compelled to tell me to do something about it. I mean, what was he hoping to achieve? I wanted to ask him if he preferred his partners with short hair, or make some scathingly witty comment like 'if you're trying to get into my pants you're going the completely wrong way about it'. But then I remembered that there was someone running around the city randomly stabbing people.

So I ignored him.

And he went away.

It's funny how those old sayings ring true.