Category Archives: Jackson, Michael; grave-pilfering exploitation of

That Was The Year That Will Be

Posted on by
1
It’s that time of the year again where every newspaper, website, magazine, pamphlet, TV show and idiot-with-a-keyboard in whatever field produce their end of year awards or lists.  You know the sort of thing- ’50 Best Albums of the Year’, ’25 Best Movie Scenes of 2009′, ‘The Top 10 Shows Which Are A Bit Like Flash-Forward, But Aren’t Flash-Forward’ and, being a decent sort, I’ll sum them all up for you right now and save you the time of actually reading them.
The Resistance by Muse, Jade Goody R.I.P., Roger Federer’s French Open Final, That Scene From ‘Bruno’ On The Talk Show, Roy Cropper in a Canal, Michael Jackson, Thierry Henry’s hand, Michael Jackson, Barack Obama, Michael Jackson, The 4th Series of 30 Rock, House is in a Mental Asylum!, A Creeping Sense of Existentialist Dread, Michael McIntyre, Jedward, Jedward, Does Anyone Else Feeling This Gnawing Emptiness?, Fucking Bono.
There you go.  Done.  That was 2009 which, if it had a unifying theme, was essentially 2008 with more resonant celebrity deaths.  And now that it’s out of the way and I’ve summed it all up for you we can get on to job of dishing out next year’s awards- a process rendered infinitely more fun that for 2009 as it’s based on a combination of idle speculation, crackpot brainstorming and desperately chased hunches.  And so, ladies and gentleman, 13 months early, I present The ItSaysHere 2010 Awards…
Album of the Year- ‘Susan Boyle’s Second Album By Susan Boyle’- Susan Boyle:  Boyle won 14 Grammys, 8 Brit Awards and sold 47 million copies of this, her 2nd album, on which she presents a stirring collection of touching but powerful cover versions of her favourite touching but powerful Leona Lewis cover versions.  Bonus Track:  Leona Lewis and Susan Boyle cover Will Young and Gareth Gates’ cover of ‘The Long And Winding Road’.
Film of the Year- ‘Paedophil’- Sascha Baron Cohen trawls across America’s deep south in the guise of a convicted child sex offender called Philip.  Spends all his time making incredibly insensitive comments about any children in his vicinity and offering to buy an hour of delirious sexual pleasure with any passing kids by negotiating with thier parents in a thick Belgian accent and outrageous hat thereby making a point about the reactionary nature of many Americans but actually just proving that Baron Cohen can do funny voices and is happy to risk getting his head kicked in.
TV Show of the Year- ‘The X Factor Election Special 2010′- Hosted by Dermot O’Leary and David Dimbleby, the nation goes to the polls to decide who will occupy 10 Downing Street next year with a mandate to ease Britain through difficult economic times and increasing European intergration as well as a 1 year record deal with Simon Cowell.  The public vote and Peter Snow’s ‘Swing-o-meter’ will decide the final two before they go before the judges panel (Cowell, Louis Walsh, Cheryl Cole, Diane Abbott MP, Ian Hislop) for a vote-off.  They both get to make one final impassioned speech to the nation, highlight 3 manifesto policies of their choice and perform their favourite Rod Stewart song before the winner is announced and the Queen joins them onstage to plug her latest single and ask them to form a government.
Sportsman of the Year-  Thierry Henry- Redeems himself for his handball against the Irish by not only guiding the French to World Cup glody but also winning Strictly Come Dancing- beating Greg Wallace from Masterchef in the final foxtrot round- and also starring in the greatest Gillette advert ever with Tiger Woods who everyone’s been looking at a bit funny since that car crash.  Not that anything happened in that car crash, you understand.  I’m just saying.  I mean, they don’t crash themselves do they?  And what was he doing out at that time of the night anyway?  Two words- Geroge Michael.  That’s all I’m saying.  Just that.
Fiction Book of the Year- ‘Flags and Giraffes’ by Eileen O’Murray- Utterly pretentious load of shit which features no discernable plot whatsoever, has hardly any interesting or likeable characters, is sprinkled with swear words and descriptions of drug taking to try to seem edgy, and is mostly told from the perspective of a narrator who is needlessly cryptic and moany.  Is easily battered in terms of originality, ideas, interest and sheer story-telling ability by every single comic produced this year but everyone on Newsnight Review is terrified that they’ll be struck of the list of pretentious clever-clogs for even admitting they’ve heard of Superman.  Throughout 2010 comics will remain so hopelessly uncool that not even Will Self will pretend to like them ironically to annoy The Guardian.
Non-Fiction Book of the Year- ‘Battered in the Pants’ by Jim Hell- A publishing milestone as, after years of misery memoirs clogging up the nations’ bookshelves and being bought by an apparently multi-million strong population of unsettling voyeurs, this represents the first book to be written by someone who actively set out to get abused as a child knowing the lucrative career that would follow as a writer in later years.  This particularly harrowing tale of constantly going to the vicars house in a tight shorts and a vest top to take showers while asking for help in finding the soap will move even the most hardened psychopath to tears.
Celebrity of the Year- Robbie Williams- Scores a major hit in all the celebrity magazines and websites by finally reuniting on stage with Take That.  His decision to patch things up with Gary Barlow was, he says, a really special moment for him and not in any way to do with the fact that they now sell more records than him and is entirely unconnected to the reality that he’ll suddenly get a bit of an attention spike in a career that was rapidly plummeting downhill while his former bandmates about whom he’d not shown the slightest interest in the last near-decade were suddenly the biggest act in Britain again.
News Event of the Year- The End of the World As Gabriel’s Trumpet Sounds, The Rivers Run With Blood and War, Famine, Pestilence and Death Stalk The Land.  All in HD on Sky News!

It’s that time of the year again where every newspaper, website, magazine, pamphlet, TV show and idiot-with-a-keyboard in whatever field produce their end of year awards and lists.  You know the sort of thing- ’50 Best Albums of the Year’, ’25 Best Movie Scenes of 2009′, ‘The Top 10 Shows Which Are A Bit Like Flash-Forward, But Aren’t Flash-Forward’ and, being a decent sort, I’ll sum them all up for you right now and save you the time of actually reading any of them.

The Resistance by Muse, Jade Goody R.I.P., Roger Federer’s French Open Final, That Scene From ‘Bruno’ On The Talk Show, Roy Cropper in a Canal, Michael Jackson, Thierry Henry’s Hand, Michael Jackson, Barack Obama, Michael Jackson, The 4th Series of 30 Rock, House is in a Mental Asylum!, A Creeping Sense of Existentialist Dread, Michael McIntyre, Jedward, Jedward, Does Anyone Else Feeling This Gnawing Emptiness?, Fucking Bono.

There you go.  Done.  That was 2009 which, if it had a unifying theme, was essentially 2008 with more resonant celebrity deaths.  And now that it’s out of the way and I’ve summed it all up for you we can get on to job of dishing out next year’s awards.  Yes, just for you, I’m going to get the jump on absoultely everybody else on the planet and give you the highlights of 2010 before they even have a chance to happen.  Doing this is a process rendered infinitely more fun than doing it for 2009 as it’s based on a combination of idle speculation, crackpot brainstorming and desperately chased hunches.  And so, ladies and gentleman, 13 months early, I present The ItSaysHere 2010 Awards…

Album of the Year- ‘Susan Boyle’s Second Album By Susan Boyle’- Susan Boyle:  Boyle won 14 Grammys, 8 Brit Awards and sold 47 million copies of this, her 2nd album, on which she presents a stirring collection of touching but powerful cover versions of her favourite touching but powerful Leona Lewis cover versions.  Bonus Track:  Leona Lewis and Susan Boyle cover Will Young and Gareth Gates’ cover of ‘The Long And Winding Road’.

Film of the Year- ‘Paedophil’- Sascha Baron Cohen trawls across America’s deep south in the guise of a convicted child sex offender called Philip.  Spends all his time making incredibly insensitive comments about any children in his vicinity and offering to buy an hour of delirious sexual pleasure with any passing kids by negotiating with their parents in a thick Belgian accent and outrageous hat, thereby making a point about the reactionary nature of many Americans but actually just proving that Baron Cohen can do funny voices and is happy to risk getting his head kicked in.

TV Show of the Year- ‘The X Factor Election Special 2010‘- Hosted by Dermot O’Leary and David Dimbleby, the nation goes to the polls to decide who will occupy 10 Downing Street next year with a mandate to ease Britain through difficult economic times and increasing European intergration as well as a 1 year record deal with Simon Cowell.  The public vote and Peter Snow’s ‘Swing-o-meter’ will decide the final two before they go before the judges panel (Cowell, Louis Walsh, Cheryl Cole, Diane Abbott MP, Ian Hislop) for a vote-off.  They both get to make one final impassioned speech to the nation, highlight 3 manifesto policies of their choice and perform their favourite Rod Stewart song before the winner is announced and the Queen joins them onstage to plug her latest single and ask them to form a government.

Sportsman of the Year-  Thierry Henry- Redeems himself for his handball against the Irish by not only guiding the French to World Cup glory but also winning Strictly Come Dancing- beating Greg Wallace from Masterchef in the final foxtrot round- and also starring in the greatest Gillette advert ever with Tiger Woods who everyone’s been looking at a bit funny since that car crash.  Not that anything happened in that car crash, you understand.  I’m just saying;  I mean, they don’t crash themselves do they?  And what was he doing out at that time of the night anyway?  Two words- Geroge Michael.  That’s all I’m saying.  Just that.

Fiction Book of the Year- ‘Flags and Giraffes’ by Eileen O’Murray- Utterly pretentious load of shit which features no discernable plot whatsoever, has hardly any interesting or likeable characters, is sprinkled with swear words and descriptions of drug taking to try to seem edgy, and is mostly told from the perspective of a narrator who is needlessly cryptic and moany and who you wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire.  Is easily battered in terms of originality, ideas, interest and sheer story-telling ability by every single comic produced this year but everyone on Newsnight Review is terrified that they’ll be struck of the list of pretentious clever-clogs for even admitting they’ve heard of Superman.  Throughout 2010 comics will remain so hopelessly uncool that not even Will Self will pretend to like them ironically to annoy The Guardian.

Non-Fiction Book of the Year- ‘Battered in the Pants’ by Jim Hell- A publishing milestone as, after years of misery memoirs clogging up the nations’ bookshelves and being bought by an apparently multi-million strong population of unsettling voyeurs, this represents the first book to be written by someone who actively set out to get abused as a child knowing the lucrative career that would follow as a writer in later years.  This particularly harrowing tale of constantly going to the vicar’s house in tight shorts and a vest top to take showers while asking for help in finding the soap will move even the most hardened page-twitching psychopath to tears.

Celebrity of the Year- Robbie Williams- Scores a major hit in all the celebrity magazines and websites by finally reuniting on stage with Take That.  His decision to patch things up with Gary Barlow was, he says, a really special moment and not in any way to do with the fact that they now sell more records than him and is entirely unconnected to the reality that he’ll suddenly get a bit of an attention spike in a career that was rapidly plummeting downhill while his former bandmates about whom he’d not shown the slightest interest in the last near-decade were suddenly the biggest act in Britain again.

News Event of the Year- The End of the World As Gabriel’s Trumpet Sounds, The Rivers Run With Blood and War, Famine, Pestilence and Death Stalk The Land. All in HD on Sky News!

This Is It

Posted on by
Reply

Let me tell you about the man who boiled himself to death in a pair of waders. Essentially, he was a chap who got his rocks off by filling a massive pair of waders with water and then standing in them with his nipples wired up to the mains. This in turn, and don’t ask me how he figured all this out, allowed him to use a dimmer switch to electorcute himself in a way he found arousing. Or at least it did until the day he suffered a minor seizure during one shock and was unable to move his arm and flick the switch off which in turn lead to him slowly simmering his way to oblivion over the next hour or so. A bit like a broth. But with a hard-on.

Pretty humiliating eh? And that’s still nowhere near how undignified the death of Michael Jackson’s been; with still no sign of the poor dead man’s torment abating. As if it wasn’t bad enough having helicopters hovering over his final ambulance ride, as if it wasn’t bad enough having reports of his death inter-sperced with clips from the Thriller video where he dances around as a corpse, as if it wasn’t bad enough having details of his mammoth prescription drugs shopping list plastered all over the papers, as if it wasn’t bad enough having that jaw-dropping memorial service beamed around the world- especially when Usher looked like he was going to hysterically rip the coffin lid open, desperately grab Jackson’s body by the lapels and try to sing him back to life- as if all that wasn’t bad enough we reach the coup de grace this week with the release of a video documenting his final weeks called ‘This Is It’.

This seems to have been lost on everyone- after all ‘This Is It’ was the title of the comeback show he was rehearsing for- but what sort of name is that for a film of a man’s final acts upon this Earth? A film which everyone will be watching in the hope of seeing the Grim Reaper hiding behind the drum riser ready to pounce. ‘This Is It’. ‘This Is It’. Honestly. ‘This Is It’. For a sense of perspective, here’s a few titles for a film of Michael Jackson hurtling towards his end which would have been in no way in worse taste than ‘This Is It’:

‘Dead Man Dancing’. ‘Prescription For Death’. ‘Doomwalker’. ‘Blame It On The Druggie’. ‘Lets All Watch A Man Uniwttingly Rehearsing Himself Into The Grave’. ‘Beat It’.

It’ll probably make a fortune for everyone involved (apart from the star, obviously) including the director Kenny Ortega, a man who is also responsible for High School Musical and therefore already on course for being one of the most sinister men on the planet even without his part in ‘Wacko Jacko’s Terminal Journal’ (another potential title). Obviously, what ‘This Is It’ serves to do is allow Jackson’s fans to see a little more of him, especially as there’ll be no more new performances to savour in the future. After all, we can’t turn back time.

Except, of course, we can. In fact, we did it just this last Sunday when we all turned the clocks back an hour and gave ourselves a luxurious extra hour in bed. Or at least, that was the plan. What actually happens when the clocks go back is:

1. Everyone tries to decide whether to turn the clocks back before bed- which’ll mean waking up at about 7am which is an ungodly hour for anyone to be conscious on a Sunday; or turn them back in the morning which’ll mean forgetting to turn them back in the morning and being an hour behind everything till at least mid-afternoon, like a time-traveller who’s fallen 60 minutes out of sync with the rest of existence and is therefore excluded from everything as he or she slowly loses their grip on sanity and finally flips out when they realise they’ve missed the first hour of the ‘Come Dine With Me’ omnibus in which the hilariously stuck-up estate agent has burnt her souffles and spilled a bloody mary on Ryan the overly critical baggage handler from Dewsbury.

2. People who use their phones as their alarm clocks all forget whether their phones automatically adjust when the clocks go back and can’t decide if they should go ahead and alter it or not. They all decide not to then wake up in the morning, check to see what time their phone is showing, realise that they don’t know if the time it is showing has actually been corrected or not, struggle with unending futility to find another clock in the house but realise they now use their new 3000 gigabyte, 27 terra-pixel handset/MP3 player/whisk to do ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING IN THEIR LIVES. They then switch on the Andrew Marr show to find out what the time is, are faced with the creeping dread of discovering they don’t actually know what time the Andrew Marr Show starts and finishes and therefore give up and go back to bed, their planned luxurious lie-in now lying tattered, sweaty and ruined beneath the duvet.

3. No-one really benefits at all on Sunday, then they go to their jobs on Monday and suddenly realise they won’t be leaving work during daylight for the next 6 months and seriously consider flinging themselves under the nearest TransPennine Express.

4. Something important happens with farmers but no-one is sure what it is.

Bearing all this in mind, it’s little surprise that there’s been a rumbling in recent days of discontent with the whole idea of pushing and pulling the hour hand backwards and forwards twice a year. After all, Daylight Saving Time was originally brought in to help agriculture during the First World War and since farmers these days are restricted to simply growing cows with which to trample hikers to death there isn’t much point to it anymore. People who think this are missing the point by a mile.

If we can all decide twice a year to bend time to our will so that it’s suddenly an hour earlier or later than the clocks say it is then why can’t we expand this to suit our every whim? After all, the wonders of Sky+ now mean that TV schedules are basically meaningless beside the striding magnificence of our personal timelines so let’s just extend that to life itself.

Don’t want to get up for work in the morning? Fair enough- it’s now 3 hours earlier. Don’t want to turn 30 next year? Not a problem, lets just say you’re 18 again. Don’t Like Mondays? No problem, it’s Tuesday already. You’re favourite musician’s dead? No sweat, just go to the pictures and we can all pretend he’s still alive.

Actually, we’ve already sorted that last one.