M.I.A. – Paper Planes

Sampling The Clash’s “Straight From Hell”, M.I.A. continues where The Clash left off with themes of racism and problems of discrimination that immigrants face. Paper Planes lays out a saccharin diatribe at the doorstep of the USA, with references to the fact that the USA wouldn’t allow her in to the country to work with Timbaland, due to her alleged connections with a Sri Lankan militant group. The single has already had several different versions and remixes released this year, but this is the definitive commercial radio airplay version. The chorus features the sounds of gunshots and the “Kerching!” of cash registers, backed up by a choir of Brixton school kids chanting that they want to “take your money”, ironically taking a pop at the authorities. The song basically plays upon the paranoia created by the USA and the UK in which all citizens should treat every immigrant with suspicion and contempt. Regardless of her past, the meaning of the lyrics and any alleged connections she has to any terrorist/militant groups, the song has now become a pastiche of what was originally intended. Punk in spirit, Pink in delivery.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Sia – Soon We’ll Be Found

There was a time when a female with a lethargic vocal delivery was quite sexy, but in these post-Winehouse days, it just tends to stop being sexy and start sounding as if the singer is pissed, or out of their heads on scag. Sia’s vocal starts off as lethargic, but then moves on to a mighty slur, like an octogenarian sitting by himself, mortal drunk, musing about his days of sex and hedonism through the haze of ten pints of Scotch. The Sex And The City generation of females may well take time out from buying shoes and handbags to weep salty puddles to this song, as it blares out from their status symbol stereos and they look back upon the greatest love that they lost. It’s that type of song, you know? The type that closes a romantic comedy starring the latest teenage star destined to be photographed knickerless whilst leaving a Limo. The type of song that 18-19 year old girls have on their MySpace profile. The type who have the obligatory profile picture of the pouting mirror shot, of one hand on the side, and the other hand desperately clutching the mobile phone which encapsulates the desperation of the reflection. On further inspection she’ll have wrote things on her profile like “life’s a journey, not a destination” and her friends will have posted messages saying “dnt wory bout him, he a dick, ya can do beta than him” and “u deserv beta babie girl” as she moves off from the first of many points in her life when her heart will be broken. It’s one of them, it may well have a lot of truth, honesty and passion, but when you get to such a point in your life when all you have left is bitterness and cynicism, it tends not to cut the mustard. Instead, it leaves you agitated and exasperated. By now we’ve all had our fair share of female fronted piano ballads giving way to strings, big emotional key changes and climaxes, the formula is a little tired now and love songs just aren’t my bag.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

The Breeders – Bang On

Recently Weezer produced one of my favourite drum sounds of the year, but now The Breeders, with Steve Albini at the controls rotating the knobs, have managed to surpass it.

Bang On is a lo-fi sugar rush with a rhythm section made from a thumping drum, and a bass guitar seemingly being pounded through a tired out 80s speaker which is just about to fall to bits. This unassuming affair by our favourite ever changing line up is a discreet two minute skeleton of a song, stripped right down to the bare bones, sending out the rallying cry of a pre-pubescent apathetic voice with “I love no-one and no-one loves me”. It’s a bit like a juvenile My Sharona, except with only an occasional guitar twang, and a bit of guitar twiddling that sounds like a swarm of bees coming to capture you for their queen. Great work from Kim and co.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Biffy Clyro – Mountains

Metaphorical nonsense is the order of the day in this one-off single from Biffy Clyro. The song has been receiving a large amount of airplay recently as it seems that they’re now experiencing the full power and marketing skills of a major label, taking their music to the masses. As would be expected from a band that has been working with a major record label, the band now have an expensively produced sound to their new single, they’ve even incorporated a piano throughout the song. Without using the phrases “selling out”, or “commercial shite”, it’s probably quite reasonable to say that they've totally lost their edge and have started to sound like Feeder. Although they get props for the production, for the melody and for the hooks, their point score goes into negative figures with some truly dire lyrics. As mentioned above, metaphor overload is on the menu. Simon Neil is the mountains and the sea, he starts off by taking “a bite out of a mountain range, thought my teeth would break the mountains down”, and he also writes a note to the jungle (?!?), with the jungles response being, “it wrote me back that I was never crowned king of the jungle, so there’s and end to my horizon”. Seriously, is there any need for such ghastly lyrics? And so it continues, with more lyrical cliché with, “Nothing lasts forever, except you and me. You are my mountains, you are my sea”. I’ve never been so offended by something like this in such a long time. As Biffy Clyro undoubtedly gain hoards of new fans from drab office environments tuning into commercial radio up and down the country, I can’t help but cringe when I see Margaret the 43 year old admin dullard singing along to “I am a mountain, I am the sea”. Biffy Clyro could well be the next Stereophonics, and that is certainly no good thing.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

The Music – The Spike

The Music’s second single from their Strength In Numbers album continues along the same sort of “also ran” trajectory that The Music have adopted since their first album, which seems like a lifetime ago. The Spike is a decent enough song, even if it does trudge through the same godforsaken territory of Kasabian through the verses, only to be uplifted with a “let’s get off our tits” chorus in the usual adolescent and juvenile groove you’d expect from The Music. But that’s the whole point; it’s six years since they released their baggy dance rocking self titled debut, and they haven’t really come much further since then. If adding a little bit of electronica into the mix is a gauge of maturity, then fair play, but in truth they haven’t seemed to progress any further than exactly what you’d expect from The Music. As lead singer Harvey recounts the dark days off his past drug use you’d think he’d be better off just telling it all to his sponsor, the notion of rockstar heroes writing anthems about the pro’s and con’s of drug abuse seem a little blasé to me nowadays. Although for the most part this single is as predictable and conventional as a film about basketball where the protagonists need to score with one second left on the clock, it’s for its sins still bearable. There’s a lot worse out there, but it’s hardly neither groundbreaking nor inspiring.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Eugene McGuinness - Eugene McGuinness

I was praying that this album wouldn’t be another middle of the road James Morrison type, but Mr McGuinness couldn’t be any further removed from the dull tones of Blunt, Morrison and those of that ilk. This self titled album from the Liverpool youngster marks new territory for the singer songwriter genre, with experimental arrangements akin to the great Brian Wilson and dozens of different ideas flying off the walls in each song. Following on from last year’s Early Learning Of Eugene McGuinness EP, McGuinness takes giant strides into cementing his place amongst great new British talent.

The album represents a fantastic storytelling Vaudevillian journey through modern day streets and fun fairs, with creepy organs from ghost trains to blistering rockabilly, skiffle and rampant folk. McGuinness is a bit like Patrick Wolf with a personality transplant and with lyrical wit increased by ten. His social banter forms the basis of the album with Crown The Crown’s “from Romford to Iraq, and I can spot a hell of a lot of stars on McDonalds caps” and even moments of self deprecation with “I’m a fucked up bastard and a sub zero psycho” in the violin led Wendy Wonders.

As far as debut albums go, this is by far one of the best I’ve heard in many years and shows much promise for the future of music in this country.

5/5


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Okkervil River - The Stand Ins

The Stand Ins follows on from last years The Stage Names as a continuation of the themes of fame, fortune and celebrity. The artwork from this latest album actually joins up with the artwork of The Stage Names to show one larger piece of art. Where The Stage Names concentrated on the stars of the shows, The Stand Ins spares a thought for the also-rans and those who fell by the wayside with a certain amount of pathos, including the suicide of a porn star (Starry Stairs) and the tragedy of a glam rock star dying of AIDS (Bruce Wayne Campbell Interviewed On The Roof Of The Chelsea Hotel, 1979).

Singer Songwriter focuses on the life of a person whose whole family is involved in show business and shows the fallacies and fraudulent side of fame, whilst the grim and lonely On Tour With Zykos wallows in a brooding loss of hope. Pop Lie is a more upbeat song, with a tongue-in-cheek look at musicians and the pretence of songwriters thinking that they can change the world with their songs.

Throughout, Will Sheff and his Okkervil band mates, produce a dark and bitter perspective on the other side of stardom, for those who tried to make it and failed and for those who had it all and lost it. This is a superb album which will garner even larger crowds for this band.

4.5/5


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Our Broken Garden - When Your Blackening Shows

Our Broken Garden is Anna Broendsted, sometime member of Efterklang, who follows up her celebrated Sailor EP with this album released through Bella Union. It’s an album full of sweeping, organic arrangements, recalling Cat Power from years back and a minimalism often associated with Scandinavian folk.

Broendsted’s voice and composition evokes a sense of isolationism and vulnerability which really does stir you up, but the whole album can be a little bit too much for one listen. I could happily listen on a Sunday morning with a pounding head, but putting the album on when you’re having a house party on a Friday night would be certain to see your guests either going on a serious downer or heading for the door.

The subdued sound that has been created on this album is perfect if you like your music to have some real sincerity about it. Broenstead’s vocal complements the subtleties of the music to deliver well-rounded and polished songs. Maybe spread across a couple of EPs, this would have been complete perfection, but a full album can become quite overbearing towards the end, leaving you with a tremendous amount of doom and self doubt in your soul, but maybe that’s what Broendsted is aiming for. The fragile delivery and foreboding feeling that tears are coming soon runs throughout this album. All in all an emotive piece that takes you very close to the edge.

4/5


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

James Yorkston - When The Haar Rolls In

A fourth studio album from James Yorkston sees him enlist his usual band of Athletes, as well as some folk legends in Norma Waterson, Mike Waterson, Marry Gilhooly and Olly Knight, to produce a folk album of epic proportions.

Strumming away on his guitar, I can almost smell the salty air wafting across my fish and chips and feel the coldness of my rock pool soaked socks. As with any traditional/folk style record, the music is as wholesome and honourable as a North East fishing community. The themes of the record echo throughout with a sense of belonging, being young and homely and not having a care in the world – this sort of freedom transfers to the music, with the songs being honest and ethereal, and a song writing style that doesn’t seem to be bound by any particular rules or criteria.

With every incidental violin, mandolin and concertina, I’m transported to the murky seaside town where the fog (or ‘Haar’) rolls in from the sea. This is atmospheric and creative folk that places this Yorkston album above any of his previous recordings, showing that he has evolved as something more than just your bog-standard folk singer into a great British songwriter.

4/5


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Jaguar Love - Take Me To The Sea

Jaguar Love are made up from ex-members of Blood Brothers and Pretty Girls Make Graves, and they’ve produced an album that comes at you from all angles in what is a painful battering. It’s an awful album of grating sounds, probably about as awful as how I’ll feel when it’s my funeral and I’m watching all the frauds and professional mourners turn up to eat the pork pie halves, whilst my loved ones are left with the breadsticks. At times the vocals sound like Marc Bolan after he’s binged on blue Smarties and Ribena, and they seem unable to pin down their sound, instead doing a bit of glam/art punk/avant-garde/bad metal and not really doing any of them well. The lack of melody is only reinforced with the nails down blackboard vocals which make most of the songs on the album unbearable after a minute or so. Lead singer Johnny Whitney manages to somehow encapsulate the worst qualities of the sounds of a whining child, a yappy dog and breaking glass to form some sort of vocal scalpel that jabs at your ear repeatedly until you have to switch off. There’s just far too much going on for me and none of it is very enjoyable, from the mid-90’s alternative sound of Highways of Gold, to the Iron Maiden-esque intro of Vagabond Ballroom and the 80’s pop vibe of My Organ Sounds Like..., Jaguar Love seem to be very confused about what they are meant to sound like. It’s not good.

0.5/5


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Noah And The Whale - Peaceful, The World Lays Me Down

When people mention ‘twee’, I usually frown, shudder, and think of herbal tea drinking twats, in garish cardigans and wellingtons knitting scarves and mittens. But Noah And The Whale have given me a whole new perspective on this. The album isn't so much ‘twee’ in the sense that they're a bunch of scarf knitting twats, but more in the sense that at times there's a lot of happiness, pleasantness and buoyancy in the tunes, but the difference is that below it all is a dark anti-folk undercurrent, with many of the unhappier songs dealing with death and unrequited love. Basically, it's not all bunnies and fucking toffee apples, it's more like a twee Arcade Fire, with the clever lyric and intelligent punnery of Bright Eyes. I love songwriters who can not only write the most basic and catchiest of choruses, but also a writer who can spend forever ripping up scraps of A4 until they have the perfect one liners for their stanza's. And that's what's going on here. The lyrics have so much meaning, they've clearly had so much thought go into them, with 5 Years Time being the type of earnest love song in the spirit of Peter, Bjorn And John’s Young Folk, which would be a massive summer hit in an alternate universe. Some of the initial twee-ness may put you off, but they write and perform desperately profound indie-pop which can’t help but make you smile and marvel at the whimsical wordplay.

4.5/5


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

The Hold Steady – Stay Positive

Here we have a new album of anthemic rock from American riff-meisters, The Hold Steady, which is more than pleasant and a change in direction from the previous efforts. I’ll get the comparisons out of the way immediately, it’s like Bob Mould fronting the E Street Band, songwriting akin to Springsteen, and the strangest ones I’ve picked up are the commercial sing-along pop and dual vocals of Rancid, and a certain feeling of 90s alternative rock a bit like Soul Asylum’s Grave Dancers Union. It’s no real surprise that you’ll find comparisons with Husker Du and Soul Asylum when you look at The Hold Steady’s Minneapolis connections, you could even compare the Purple Rain-esque guitar solo in Joke About Jamaica to Minneapolis’ most famous son, Prince.

The album only has two weak songs for me, those being One For The Cutters and Navy Sheets, everything else is great. Overblown pantomime piano and gruff enunciation are at the forefront as always, with social commentary on opening track, Constructive Summer and religious imagery with Both Crosses, whilst the album’s title track is raw out-and-out power-punk. As well as the usual influences scattered around, one of my favourite bits is the Elvis Costello style organ that crops up here and there.

This is an album full of potential summer hymns and anthems to harmonise along to in festivals all over the country. There are enough hooks and big choruses to get you jumping around and if you can’t remember the lyrics, there’s plenty of “woah-oh-ohs” for you to chant as well.

4/5


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Fight Like Apes – Lend Me Your Face

Lend Me Your Face is the first UK single from the new Fight Like Apes album. What struck me immediately about this one minute and fifty three seconds ditty is that the song title, Lend Me Your Face, is repeated twenty five times. That wouldn’t usually bother me, but when it gets to the point that it feels as if somebody is standing trying to drill a giant hole into the side of my head whilst shouting “Lend Me Your Face! Lend Me Your Face! Lend Me Your Face!”, then it does start to get irritating. I’m sitting writing this with an appalling hangover, which may account for the irritability factor here, but in all seriousness I could be in the most tranquil, placid and healthy of spirits and this, “Lend Me Your Face! Lend Me Your Face! Lend Me Your Face!” over and over again would still drive me to a horrifically heinous crime. I can imagine the phrase taking over my life, and when I’m standing accused in the dock I’m sure I’ll be able to get an insanity plea as I stand in my paper suit screaming, “Lend Me Your Face! Lend Me Your Face! Lend Me Your Face!”, over and over again at the judge and jury.

This is basically shouty obnoxious pop, in the vein of a sleazier unpolished Ting Tings. With synth overload and aggressive drumming, the Dublin band do have the basis of a good tune, but that is completely negated by the overwhelming urge to kill myself which is brought on by the monotony of “Lend Me Your Face! Lend Me Your Face! Lend Me Your Face!”. The sneering, vicious feminist lyrics aren’t my bag and probably have more in common with Valerie Singleton than Valerie Solanas. All in all a decent tune ruined by pointless repetition and annoying un-catchy vocals.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

White Denim – All You Really Have To Do

White Denim are the type of band that should have been strutting around the stage of Woodstock in 1969. Amongst the showers of bands these days that try to purvey their own brand of revivalist psychedelia and get full of acid, White Denim go straight for the throat with a harder approach to the tired old format of the American singer drawling through their fucked out of their head lyrics with a faint British accent. All You Really Have To Do parades around with a vocal halfway between Robert Plant and Jimi Hendrix, with a dirty filthy garage guitar and a sexual bass line. The song is a vicious attack of pop goodness, with the sound no doubt being influenced by the heavier of the blues and prog bands from the 60’s, think Jagger or Plant in their prime fronting Blue Cheer, or Hendrix playing with Captain Beefheart. In the space of two and a bit minutes, this song will tear your heart out and bash it around the town with the back of a guitar. A fantastic single, bursting with aggression, and dying to take you on a dark drug induced journey where burning tie-dye T-shirts covered in blood light the way.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Edwyn Collins – Home Again

This single, the title track from last year’s well received album, almost may never have made it out as a single – and that would’ve been a massive crime. When I think of Edwyn Collins and his near death experience, I can’t help feeling all sentimental for him and it gives you a little sense of perspective whereby you realise you should really be treasuring such people, rather than just being passé about somebody who wrote the soundtrack to many of your parties, break ups and break downs.

In the same vein as Richard Hawley, Mr Collins shows what an amazing wealth of singer songwriter talent we have in this country. Who needs all of the fashion bands in loud luminous leggings and Flock of Seagulls haircuts, when you’ve got songwriters like this producing some of the most sincere and heartfelt songs this side of the 60’s.

The single tells the tale of discovering and rediscovering the music of his youth and reflecting on where he grew up, something which will resonate with anyone who ever hears a song from their childhood and gets transported all the way back to feeling like a kid all over again. When you think about what he’s been through over the past few years, the song seems even more poignant and heart-rending, and even if he’s not looking for your sympathy, it's impossible to listen to this single without a sense of compassion and relief that one of the greatest British songwriters of the past 30 years is still with us.

Home Again will make you swoon, maybe cry, and maybe even make you want to get in touch with some of the people you take for granted or that you’ve never heard from in ages, fantastic stuff.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

Electricity In Our Homes – We Thought It Was But It Wasn’t

This is about as chaotic and disjointed as anything else that is out there at the moment. Just over a minute and a half of dirty, filthy art-rock. In the space of that just over a minute and a half, you’ll be subjected to the sneering and vocal aggression of an amalgamation of Johnny Rotten and Mark E. Smith, a frenzied assault of anarchic guitar lines like Zappa fronting Melt Banana, and a rhythm section that could’ve been taken from one of Ian Dury and the Blockheads’ lost singles, with the machine gun drums and humpy thumpy bass determined to march down your street, kick your door in and drag you dancing down your path in an impulsive paroxysm of glee.

The band have a distinctively 80s sound about them, which is no bad thing. I‘d much rather be sitting like a kid in my Lord Anthony anorak with a bag of glue listening to this band of rag-tag rogues in some graffiti covered squat, than face the reality of getting older and older.

Go and lose yourself in this single and hear a band expressing all of their insecurities and not giving a shit about it.


NARC. is currently available in all good record shops, pubs, practice rooms etc. etc. View more information on NARC. magazine, including outlets, at their MySpace, and at their website.

My Disappearance

I got bored stiff of having to watch the troglodytes every single day with a pen and pad of paper, taking notes on the bullshit and backstabbing, so I stopped doing the Big Brother blog.

I'm in the middle of trying to write a book now, although in all honesty, I'm actually right at the beginning. For the time being, I'm going to update this place with all of the stuff I've been reviewing the past few weeks.

Cunning Stunt

The entrance of Stuart has had the desired effect on the house, as predicted earlier. Already, Dale has been getting paranoid about having to go up against him for Jennifer's affection, and has been clinging on to his testicles as hard as possible and crying about how much he loves her - sad bastard. Meanwhile, Stuart (having been warned by Sylvia) has picked up on Mohamed and Rex's paranoia about him, and has the full intention of winding them up a bit.

It's became clear within the first 24 hours of his entrance, that Sylvia and Dennis do actually know the new weird eye cunt. Sylvia was caught talking to Jennifer saying "I'm in trouble" and saying she'll not be able to help herself. It's already clear that Stuart, Sylvia and Dennis know each other from the selection process, but they aren't allowed to discuss that. But, what I found out last night, is that they don't just go through the auditions, they also put groups of people in test houses together, film them and see how they react. It's quite clear by Sylvia's bed hopping that she's been with Stuart before. I've got a good feeling that he's fucked her already and now her boyfriend's going to find out. Her bed behaviour was a little too blatant and familiar, but he didn't seem to want to know, as if he's already emptied his sack in her and doesn't want any seconds.

Keep an eye on this one, as they'll definitely have a bit more action when the drink starts flowing. Clearly they have previous history.

Enter Stuart

A new housemate entered the house last night and replaced the cunt. He's called Stuart, he's an arrogant model and father of a small girl. He's everything that Dale has promised to be, but failed to be.

There's no two ways about it, this cat is going to be doing some humping. As soon as he walked in the door, Dale the Alpha male started cocking his leg and pissing all over the furniture to mark his territory as the new predator, who permanently looks like he's wearing mascara the weird eye cunt, surveyed the room stealthily, looking for flange and flesh.

Jennifer and Sylvia's eyes lit up like Belisha beacons and suddenly became moist. Jennifer realising that Dale is too much of a girls blouse and she wants a real man to treat her like shit, use her and violate her, whilst Sylvia soon forgot all about her "I've got a boyfriend, innit" bullshit and quickly gave Stuart a tour of the room, complete with nervous dancing and smiling.

Dennis thought his luck may well be in, thinking he was going to get some ass action, patrolling around Stuart like a vulture, getting ready to pick at his bones and go in for the kill. But regrettably for Dennis, Stuart likes to be asked if he is gay but doesn't love the cock.

It's fair to say that love rat Stuart has caused a bit of a stir. No two ways about it, the male side of the house will have a few problems with him coming in and getting all of the female attention. Whilst the women will compete for his attention. Clearly Jennifer has to decide on the choice of pissing around with Dale or getting some Stuart action, but in all fairness I think she's had her fun with Dale now, in the same way that a cat plays around with a dead bird. That's what you are, Dale. You're a dead fucking bird. You're a tiny little decapitated sparrow with your chest removed. Dale's behaviour will now get even more pathetic now as he tries to claim Jennifer for his own, metaphorically pulling at her pigtails, and making himself even more of a sad and pathetic loser.

It'll be interesting to see if there's any conflict between Sylvia and Jennifer now, as they both blatantly want cock. However, Sylvia has a boyfriend, which she was so adamant to point out when avoiding Mohamed the shoe bomber's advances. And Jennifer is already sort of with Dale, as far as Sylvia can see. So will they fight over him, or will they just have a threesome?

Either way, Stuart is just the type of cad that the house needs to stir things up. I hate him already, which is brilliant. Give it a week and he'll have Sylvia or Jennifer bent over the ashtray with their knickers pulled to the side, whilst Dennis pulls himself off in the jail, just wait and see.

Pop a Cap In Yo' White Ass

Below is a transcript from the conversation that cunt had with Darnell, which resulted in her removal from the Big Brother house:

" Darnell: Sylvia is keeping it real, said if it had been me, I'd have thrown water over somebody.

Alex: I'm not throwing water at anyone. It's bigger than that. This is three months, do you know what I mean? Three months in a house.

Everyone's got to come outside the house. Personal offence is never forgotten, do you know what I mean? We're just inside the house.

I've got a very, very, very, very, very strong team outside the house, strong, so solid, strong. I look forward to whatever the result.

If I get out first, I get out, make the plans. Everyone's got to come out after that. Every single one of you come out afterwards, remember I told you. Like I say, my team is strong, so strong.

Alex: I just can't wait to see my mans [sic] and them and see what their plans are, who they got...I'm not talking about those mans, I'm talking about my gangster friends.

Darnell: Collabos.

Alex: They got some instructions to follow out.

Darnell: That's what I mean...I've never seen anything like this, the people in here aren't real. It's like that movie shit, like movie people in here.

Alex: If you go, you get to make all the plans that you wanna make. When you're in here you can't do certain things. In my life I'm used to doing certain things.

You know people piss me off and I do something, like. I can't actually do that while I'm here. But like I say, I get to go out, see everyone's friends, I get to see their family. I get to do the shit that I wanna do. Pow, pow, pow." "

Taken from http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7462935.stm

Threatening to get people shot because they voted her out is quality like. What a horrible delusional cunt. How very "Muslim" of you. After giving Mohamed a world of shit for dressing as a woman for his birthday, it still amazes me how she considers herself to be a good Muslim. Drinking, smoking, swearing, bullying, violent threats, spitting a kid out when you're 15, I'm sure these are all admirable qualities and you're serving your Muslim community so very well. You horrible fucking trench.

The Cunt Is Gone

Alex "The Cunt" De-Gale has been removed from the house for repeatedly breaking rules on conduct and behaviour after yet another argument with a housemate.

Let's hope that she doesn't get to make a single penny out of the experience, the horrible vile cunt.

The official Big Brother website reports:

" Contestant Alexandra De-Gale has been removed from the Big Brother House for repeatedly breaking the programme's rules on conduct by behaving in an unacceptable and sometimes intimidating manner towards fellow housemates.


Alex was in discussion with Darnell in the living room shortly after 10.15pm yesterday evening (17th June), with a number of other housemates in proximity.

Discussing her nomination for this week's eviction, Alex was heard to make apparently intimidatory comments about her intentions on leaving the House. Shortly afterwards, Dennis, Rebecca and Rex discussed her comments in the garden and were clear that they found her behaviour to be threatening, a view that Rex repeated subsequently during a Diary Room discussion with Big Brother.

This incident follows a series of arguments involving Alex since the ninth series of Big Brother started on 5th June. She has twice been called to the diary room and reminded of the rules governing behaviour towards other housemates.

There has been a strong negative reaction from viewers to Alex's behaviour with Channel 4 having received a significant number of comments since launch.

Her latest remarks were not screened via the 'as live' streaming on E4 but were reported up to senior production staff. In consultation with executives at Channel 4 the decision was taken to remove Alex from the house on the grounds that she had repeatedly broken the programme's rules governing housemate behaviour, despite twice being reminded of her responsibilities.

Alex was called to the Diary Room at approximately 6pm on Wednesday 18th June to be informed of the decision and was removed from the House without further contact with other contestants. The remaining housemates were informed of Big Brother's decision at approximately 8pm.

Alex was one of two housemates nominated for eviction this week and as a result, in line with the terms and conditions covering phone voting on Big Brother, the latest eviction vote has been suspended.

Angela Jain, Head of E4 and Big Brother at Channel 4, said: "Alex has said her comments were not intended seriously and has apologised, but those comments will be widely interpreted as having been intended to intimidate. Big Brother has very clear rules about housemates conduct and that kind of behaviour is simply not acceptable.

Other housemates have said they found her comments to be threatening and we believe that is a reasonable conclusion for them to have reached given the way Alex has behaved previously. She had already been spoken to twice about her behaviour and, like all housemates, was clearly informed before entering the house that she faced eviction if she acted in an unacceptable manner." "


Taken from here.

Cunt Reprieve

The voting for this weeks eviction has been cancelled according to the Little Brother and Big Brother folk. No information as to why, but obviously the cunt is going to get another week now.

Bollocks.

It's all probably something to do with every single phone vote these days being completely rigged and it follows on from the controversy of last weeks vote, where it was alleged that problems with the voting could lead to Stephanie re-entering the house.

Producers are currently tight-lipped, probably in an office somewhere, supping Starbucks and wondering what lie they can peddle to try and turn around a blatantly ridiculous situation.

Mind you, the Press Association have their own theory which is:

"The announcement also follows speculation that housemate Jennifer Clark might have to quit the show to appear in court.

The young mother has been ordered by a court to explain why she did not attend a hearing involving the breakdown of her marriage, according to reports. Clark, 22, missed the case to appear on the Channel 4 show.

If she did leave there would be no need for an eviction this week."


Full article here.

Stroke Victim and Cunt

Alex and Mario are up for eviction on Friday, as was widely expected. How big headed is Mario going to get when he survives eviction for a second time and the housemates all start believing the hype about his fan club and popularity? Unless the producers paint Mario very badly this week and Alex behaves, then the stroke victim might be leaving,

How Are They Getting On?

After 12 days or so, I thought that it might be a good time to give an unbiased and intelligent overview of how each of the housemates is coping with life in the house. This will involve giving a fair and thoughtful assessment of their character.

We may as well go through them in the order that they entered the house, so we've got swingers Mario and Lisa first. It's actually become quite creepy watching how Lisa crawls around sniffing the shit from Mario's arse, teasing his turtles heads with a curious finger and licking her digits as if she's ran out of biscuits on a chocolate dip. The transvestite bodybuilder is besotted with Mario and seems to be under some form of spell. He's like a fucking warlock, he's even got the blind twat in his pocket. Whilst many of the housemates dislike him, Lisa and Mikey are like Branch Davidians to Mario's David Koresh. He'll be trying to arse maul Mikey next and trying to convince him he'll be able to carry his child. Watch out for the FBI storming the house in week 9 and burning all of the housemates to death.

One dimensional virgin, Luke, was next. The girls say, "Ooh he's so nice", "Ooh he's so funny", whatever. Would you fuck him? No. He's basically tarnished for his whole life with being some sort of sitcom character from the 70's which it isn't fashionable to be again, yet. Once we come full circle and the BBC brings back situation comedy that involves overt racism and ill-thought out innuendo, then we'll let you speak up Luke and you'll get all the fanny you desire. However, I don't think it'll ever happen. He doesn't drink, swear or smoke, what a boring twat. How can you deprive yourself of some of the best things about being alive? I'd spike the fucker if I was in there, wait till he wasn't looking and spike his meals and drinks with loads of cheap Mitsy's, then sit back and watch him go absolutely mental to the point where he's sobbing his heart out and trying to crawl down a crack in the settee, whilst I stand there laughing and throwing slices of bread off his stupid pea head.

Rachel was the next housemate, and what a boring balding mong. She falls into the category of one of those lasses that I can't stand at all. You all know the type, 18-24 age bracket, one horrifically bland boyfriend their whole life, who they talk about full time at work and refer to him by his Christian name only as if you know them. She'll go on as if she's in her 50's even though she's only 24, talking to the menopausal hags at the coffee machine about the shite grown up telly that was on the night before, going on and on about how horrifically bland her weekend was, and the simple fact is that she's spent her whole life with this one horrifically bland boyfriend and hasn't ever been fucked properly. Lots of these types escape the hum-drum and learn a couple of other positions off a new boyfriend, but many are destined to be married by the age of 21 in a marriage that will become largely loveless by the time they're in their 40's, and the focal point of their relationship will be the children they spawned when they were 23, which has since left the marriage sexless and stagnant. She'll hate her body, her arse, her baggy wizards sleeve of a twat, her stretch marks and he'll try and rectify his self hatred by buying a sports car. He'll probably start getting sucked off by his secretary if he's daring enough. Yes, I think that's a fair assessment of Rachel.

DJ and pretty boy with not much to offer, Dale, came next. I honestly despair for this lad. I honestly thought he would go in and nail everyone in sight, be a total chauvinist pig but bang the arse of everyone that's in there whilst looking at himself in the mirror and flexing his guns Patrick Bateman stylee. It turns out that he's went in there, full of testosterone and a giant cock waiting to be grafted, but lost it all by falling in love and becoming obsessed with Jennifer. I would imagine by now, that his penis has become inverted and started touching the inside of his appendix and she'll soon have him rolling over and having his belly tickled and cleaning her discharge covered knickers. He's lost it. By week six I predict they'll find him cowering in a wardrobe, thrapping away at his cock like he's playing Daley Thompson's Decathlon, and screaming in a mirror "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you". Seriously Dale, grow some spuds and fuck her off, enjoy yourself, fuck that Sylvia man, she's game as fuck and she's not damaged goods.

Speaking of Sylvia, she's by far the most two faced in the house. Running in between all of the little cliques telling tales and spreading rumours and winding everyone up, she'll not last long. Everyone is starting to suss out that she actually has nothing to offer the house other than bitching and talking in some stupid London/Sierra Leone accent. When she gets out they should put her in some sort of Bad Lads style army assault course to test the incredible combat skills she learnt whilst fighting off the Revolutionary United Front. She couldn't be any more full of shit if she tried.

Dennis is just as boring as I thought he'd be. Another total bitch who comes out with that stereotypical line that bitches come out with, i.e. "If I've got something to say, I'll say it to your face". Fuck off man, we're so bored to death of hearing that bullshit. What do you offer the house? You prance around singing in a stupid voice at the top of your voice, you smoke, and you cry. That's it. That is all you bring to the table. Is that on his fucking CV under hobbies and interest? Singing, smoking and crying? What a shite cunt.

Blind freak, Mikey, was the next one to join us. Fuck me, what the fuck is his wardrobe? Does he just have a trunk full of fancy dress outfits? I'm half expecting to turn on one day and see him dressed as Hitler or as a fat gangster with a plastic Tommy gun. He was on there last night dressed as a cowboy for fucks sake, with a neckerchief on?!? Somebody have a fucking word. He's got the haircut of a Lithuanian exchange student and the dress code of a third world AID's ridden teenager. I wonder if he's in one of those programmes where he gets sent a load of old clothes in a black bin bag like they do in that Ethiopia. He'll be turning out in a 23 year old football shirt next that's five sizes too small for him, it'll be like a fucking belly top on him, with his blind pale belly hanging out the bottom. Wipe the flies off his blind face, give him some fucking flour to munch on, and sit the bow-legged Rickets ridden cunt in the corner. I'd get some glue and stick loads of bits of rice on the carpets me like and tell him it's some sort of special Braille task on the floor and he's got to work out what it says, just leave the cunt in the house all day whilst me and the rest of the housemates went outside to do some able bodied and fully sighted fun activities.

Alexandra, I'm not going to go over old ground again with you. I think we all know the score, don't we? She'll be out on Friday with any luck. I'm not even wasting my time typing. Make the most of your ten seconds of fame when you get out, before you go back to your pathetic life of living in some crummy tower block and flicking your bean to Jeremy Kyle.

Spoilt chef, Rex, came through the doors after the cunt. He seems to be the most straightforward one in there. He's the nemesis of Alex and he cooks everything for them. He'll probably make the final week as they're all too lazy to cook themselves so he'll be kept in just on that basis. The producers will probably introduce a task which takes Rex out of the kitchen to make things more interesting. He's formed a bit of a bond with Mohamed.

Mohamed the fat Muslim, has taken to eating mayonnaise on toast. You horrible, dirty, filthy hack. He's been banging on again about drinking and smoking even though he's a Muslim (again). Is that all your patter consists of? "I smoke, I drink, which is funny as I'm a Muslim". Who gives a flying fuck about you? Who fucking cares man? And those laps that you do round the garden after eating your mayonnaise aren't going to shift that horrific fucking kite you've got swinging around your mid-riff. Smoke some more and stop eating pure filth. I bet he fucking stinks.

Rebecca is a tramp, but she's a bit more of a likable tramp than I'd earlier anticipated. She's like a tramp who has a bit of a skill, like the mouth organ or guitar, or a mangy dog, rather than a tramp who imposes himself on you and breathes meths up your early morning snout. Well, sort of anyhow, apart from her not having a skill or a mangy dog. She doesn't actually seem to have anything about her, she's just some normal lass who gets her tits out when she's had a few, harmless really. Let's put our cards on the table though, she's not going to win, so we may as well kick her out now.

Albino Bond villain, Darnell, seems OK. He's stood his ground against the stroke victim and against Jennifer a couple of times and he does seems genuine enough, even though you wouldn't let him near your children. I'm not suggesting he's a nonce, but he's just a bit scary for kids. People that look like him should just be kept under the stairs or in a back yard kennel. They should just make a big hutch for him and fill it with lots of nice hay for his glossy skin to lie on and just feed him carrots and stuff. I'm surprised he's never joined a circus, actually. He'd make a fortune in a freak show.

Now what can we say about Jennifer? She sort of falls into the same boring category as Rachel, except that she'd definitely do the dirty. Another one of those lasses that pretends they're so high maintenance and they've got morals, when in fact they are as cheap as they come. She's stringing Dale on a bit, but if he gets her pissed enough he'll probably be able to get her fucked. Personally, I don't get the attraction in a lass that resembles Skeletor without the energy draining chains and has the teeth of a Californian crackhead. I'm sure she went into the house with a boyfriend, so she's either a cheating slag or she's playing Dale for a tit, probably both.

And finally, it's the cookie monster. She does actually look like she's lost weight since entering the house. She's still scary and easily the most likely to go mental and kill everyone and the least likely to get fucked. I can imagine her bludgeoning Mikey to death with a packet of Hob Nobs. She's the clear favourite to win. She's also been massaging people. There's absolutely Bob Hope of me letting her sugary lady's fingers come anywhere near my skin, horrible obese bison dog. She'd probably try and tear a chunk out of your shoulder and then sit slavering your blood all over her chin whilst caressing her breasts. She's sick in the head.

So I'll do an update once the nominations are out. Farewell.

Stephanie Leaves

A quick update from the weekend then. Friday night saw shit shitter, Stephanie, exit the house. This came as a massive surprise to the bookmakers as Mario was a clear favourite for the boot. However, the stroke victim and his lapdog transvestite partner were quick to reveal that they have a massive fan club back home and they have friends all over the country who are keeping them in.

In fact, Mario seems to be getting a little bit too carried away with his survival, already talking to Mikey about the final, as well as explaining again to the blind bastard that he is so much better than the other housemates, and he's not a fame hungry retard like the rest of them. He has vast management experience as he has ran a multi-million pound national company and worked in the army and participated in tasks all of his life, then of course, Lisa pipes in, "yes, he has, he's done it all, he's great" etc. etc.

Meanwhile, Sylvia has demonstrated her game plan by going backwards and forwards between various groups and trying to distance herself from Alex, but then being nice as pie to Alex. She's stirred things up a bit with Jennifer and Dennis, whilst saying fuck all to Alex.

The producers seem to be trying to keep Alex in, as earlier predicted. Most of the weekend has provided a focus on how much of a twat Mario is, with Alex featuring very little. Mohamed and Rex had a conversation with regards to Alex's motives which reported that she's started being nice to everyone once the eviction was over, yet more old-school Big Brother nomination tactics. It looks very likely that Mario will be up for eviction on Friday once the housemates have their first vote, I would imagine he could well be up with Alex and/or Rex, as these seem to be the big characters at the moment, but we'll have to see.

In other news, the group participated in a task whereby they all had to learn a musical instrument and perform "When the Saints Go Marching In", with Darnell as conductor. As conductor, Darnell had to allocate which housemate played which instrument. Again, this led to friction between Mario and another housemate. Mario instantly became the protector of the handicapped (again) by stating that Mikey should have first choice of instrument as he's blind (?). However, it transpired that he wasn't actually allowed to have a say in what instrument he was to play, and was allocated the triangle, because of its ease, in what was possibly one of the most patronising things I've witnessed on television in years.

The final rendition of the song was horrific, with Mario moving from blowing his own trumpet to the tuba.

Housemates have since had a clear the air meeting, proposed by Dennis, in which bitching and slagging each other off was brought up. They've also failed their most recent task, whereby they had to organise 6,250 grams of crisps into four different flavours by licking them, the flavours being Salt 'n' Vinegar, Cheese and Onion, Worcester Sauce and Ready Salted.

That's about it for now, it's all getting a bit boring in all honesty.

Here's a video of Mario and the tranny, the blind leading the blind. Note Lisa dressed as country legend Willie Nelson. "Tell them about the Ant and Dec". What's "the Ant and Dec"?!?! They're people not an object you tranny fuck.

Rex Rules, Remember I Told You

At last, after my slating of the chef with the stupid hair, Rex has stood up to Alex. Somebody had to do it, didn't they? He finally had enough of the bullying and decided to fight back and wind her up, our nation salutes you, Rex. However, you're still a daddy's boy and a cunt.

Before getting back to all of the Rex vs. Alex carry on, I'd better let you know what's been happening over the past few days. The first shopping task has now been completed, with the task being in two parts. Firstly, they all had to dress up in mad Lycra suits, which didn't exactly flatter a few people. Fat Yoko looked like a fucking post box wearing Dennis Taylor's glasses, and I can only imagine how difficult it must've been for Mario to get into his, what with his entire left side being numb due to several strokes. I'm also unsure where Lisa tucked her meat and two veg, but she did a convincing job. The task was basically a veritable mash up of camels toes and cock pouches, great television.

So they're all lined up, looking like what I can only describe as them shit wrestlers from the 80's who had no identity at all and weren't good enough to get free steroids and suntans, they just had to dress up in these awful body suits with their guts hanging out and get fucked up off the Ultimate Warrior, either them, or those magicians who are daring enough to "Break the Magician's Code" on them television programmes. Each housemate had to hold up a board thing above their head for as long as possible, but if they got tired they were out, or if the board thing dropped below a certain level they were out, so Dennis the homosexual performance artist and Rachel the trainee teacher who is going dramatically bald, were the winners. This meant that they were the most "persistent". I could think of a few other things as well, but if they want to go with "persistent" then that's fair enough. I was thinking more along the lines of the most "pointless cunts" or most "fucking shite", anyhow, I'm not the producer so let them get on.

As this was the first part of the task, Dennis and Rachel were rewarded a picnic for their efforts - which they didn't eat as they thought it was a trick, you stupid pointless cunts. In other news, stroke victim rounded the troops up to give them all an informational talk on Health and Safety within the house. He hadn't actually been instructed to do this, he just took it upon himself. He even threw that line in that patronising cunts come out with, "I'm obviously a bit older than the rest of you" - who gives a fuck man you horrible bell end, does that mean you've had more years than the rest of them to perfect being an out and out cock?

Again, his talk focused on Ray Charles, who he is desperately clinging on to like a barnacle on the side of a boat. Stroke victim has obviously clicked on to the fact that if he and the disabled's stick together, then he'll make the final week, they just need Darnell in their gang and they've got the full set of handicapped's. Sitting there pissing and whingeing on about how they don't play on their disability, how they just get on with life, how they don't let it affect them from living a full and active life. Full and active life? You're fucking blind man, Mikey. Can you explain that one to me? As far as I'm concerned, a full and active life involves reading and seeing things, not clinging on to walls and describing the wondrous materials and shapes you can feel as if you're Howard fucking Carter discovering Tutankhamun, it's a fucking wall man, go and cop a feel of some lasses tits, it's much more rewarding. You're a fraud anyway as far as I'm concerned. You're like that Tourette's twat who was on a few years ago, FULL. OF. SHIT. Anyone can swear their head's off, as far as I'm concerned it's called being ill mannered and not being brought up correctly, but they have to stick a "label" on it these days, don't they? Tourettes my arse, blind my arse. As far as I'm concerned, Mikey is wearing them droopy glasses you get from the joke shop but in contact lenses form. You just wait and see, he's a fucking mole. REMEMBER I TOLD YOU.

Back to the point though, Mario is determined to come across as this bloke who is so thoughtful and caring and who wants to guard Mikey because he has a disability. Just let him get on with it, man. Leave him be, he doesn't need you mollycoddling him, you fucking lopsided faced loser. Every opportunity he gets, he brings it up. "Right, the weddings off. I'm trying to make Mikey some food because he's blind and you don't understand that" What the fuck? It's like if someone tries to offer him a cup of tea, Mario jumps in, "Look, Mikey has a DISABILITY, I'm sick of people offering him hot drinks because he's BLIND, we all have to live in this house and we have to be mindful of his DISABILITY". What the fuck are you on about, you dick? Go and iron your fucking face out.

On to the proper task, and previous winners Dennis and Rachel had to take part in a giant steady hand game. Again, the housemates were dressed in their perverted wrestler suits, with transmitters attached to their arses. This meant that every time Dennis and Rachel fucked up on the steady hand game, the rest of the housemates would get an electric shock in their arse. This resulted in Yoko the fat post box crying her eyes out because of the pain (serves her right really, what goes around comes around. I'm sure it was her uncle who tortured and electrocuted Martin Riggs in Lethal Weapon), and the two stooges Alex and Sylvia quitting. In ripping her suit off, and saying she couldn't take the pain anymore, Alex was questioned by Rex, "I thought a strong woman like you could take a little shock?", and Alex went off on one again. "Yes, I went through childbirth. Yes, I've got three tattoo's", and then went on about how her pain threshold is different to everyone else's, as well as punctuating her incredibly eloquent points with the phrase "REMEMBER I TOLD YOU". You stupid, repulsive whore fuck. Stupid fucking come guzzling abject beast. Who are you???? Annoying cunt. Thankfully Rex made her cry.

Fortunately, Alex is such a horrible aggressive, petulant tramp pig, that she can't express herself without the need for shouting, so Rex wound her up even more by saying, "Stop being a baby, stop talking like a baby". This led Alex to rant a bit more, and to continuously come out with the phrase "REMEMBER I TOLD YOU" when talking to her sheep, war veteran Sylvia. By the way Sylvia, you lived through a civil war? You saw people get their arms chopped off? You had to escape in the dead of night? But you can't take a little shock on your arse? Fucking diddums you horrific acolyte tramp. Then, on a further rant about Rex and the fact that he was holding the wire for Dennis and Rachel during the task, Alex the cunt demonstrated even more of her immense maturity and articulation by declaring, "Wow-eee whoopie pants, to be exact". Doing yourself loads of favours here, Alex. She then went off to the diary room to complain about being bullied?!?! Except the word she was using was that she was being "personalised", you dense, cretinous cunt pig. Yet more of Alex's development into adulthood was shown with her refusal to lend Rex her lighter. To light a tab for 3 seconds, she wouldn't do it because it is HER property, which she has WORKED for and she'd feel "violated" if someone else used it. Gas lighters, five for a fucking pound, wind your fucking neck in you stupid, thick headed, simpleton, puerile infant cunt.

The housemates lost the task, so they're on basic rations next week.

Well that's about it all for the past few days. Eviction tonight and it does now look like it'll be Mario who exits the door. Fair enough really as he probably needs some medical care on his cockeyed, disproportionate cranium.

Alex Is A Cunt

I'm not entirely sure if I need to elaborate much more on the title? Do I? From now on, I think we'll just refer to Alex as "cunt". I was being quite polite before by referring to her as Scatman Crothers, the legendary black actor, but now I think "cunt" will suffice.

Who the fuck does she think she is? The 23 year old cunt has got to be the most evil person on our television screens at the moment, aside from that bloke on the advert for Picture Loans who has got to be hunted down. "I'm talking to Mike from Picture", "As long as they don't cancel football". Fuck you, you horrible prick. I really hope the credit crunch is taking hold now like, I really hope that the loan from Picture has completely fucked you over, I pray that the bailiffs are coming in to take away all of your furniture, I hope your home has negative equity and your pig of a wife has left you for some other smug cunt and all you've got left is your stupid fucking video camera for you to make your stupid fucking videos of you and your wife when you're making important phone calls to people. You horrible fat piece of shit.

But the cunt, what a piece of work. You've had a kid, eh? That automatically qualifies you as having incredible life experience, does it? It's funny, I don't want to pigeon hole people, because it isn't the same for everyone, but when a lass has a kid when she's 15 and has nothing to do with the Dad, that makes me think of you as a slag, it doesn't make me think you're an amazing strong person who I should respect. It makes me think that maybe you shouldn't have been offering your rancid twat to everyone behind the bike shed, in the hope that you'll get some horrific offspring (who'll stab someone to death in a few years) and get a free flat off the social. Anyhow, having a kid, struggling through life, finding a job, does that make you so much better than everyone else, does it? Do you honestly think that other people haven't struggled, or other people haven't got fuck all, or other people haven't had kids, or other people went and got jobs, what makes you so fucking special, you cunt?

I can't stand bullies, but I hate people who stand by and let it happen even more. Vicky Pollard fucked up the chips, so she gets a world of shit off the cunt? Blind boy gets dressed up like a fucking tranny Action Man when he's mortal and he gets a world of shit. Every fucker just sits or stands there watching in silence, spineless bastards. That Max Headroom chef is sitting there, whilst cunt is saying "I'm not cooking, we've got a chef here, why should we cook". Why the fuck is he not saying something, is that why he came in to the house, so he could cook for the full duration?

Poor Pollard is crying with child bearing hips girl, and poor blind boy man, did you see him crying the other day through his poor dead, black eyes? Saying that, that wasn't nothing to do with cunt, that was because of stroke victim and shit shitter arguing about the wedding. Did you hear what Ray Charles came out with? "I don't want the wedding to be off because I'm blind" What? What the fuck are you on about man, Ray? The wedding is going to be called off because you're blind? I tell you what, get your fucking poncho back on and get back to feeling around the walls like a dog looking for somewhere to piss, when we get back round to playing the disability card then you can pipe up, until then, keep your fucking mouth shut as well as your eyes, you fraud.

So the cunt got a warning for her attitude and for her behaviour. It's quite obvious that she'll be voted out when she's up for eviction in what will possibly be the biggest landslide ever, but what's the betting that the producers do their very best to keep her in for another few weeks. I have a feeling that things inside the house are going to get very ugly and I really hope that Alex's life gets destroyed outside of the house. I hope she loses her child, her job, her friends and her family.

I'll do a proper update on Friday as I've got a few things on right now. Other than the news on afforementioned cunt, it's looking likely that shit shitter will be evicted on Friday.

Loco Yoko and Eviction News

What the fuck is going on with that barrel of saturated fat and maize? Does she think she's entered a giant spelling bee? I've spent the last 24 hours watching her rotund, steroid pumped, sugar based mass shouting out words that she's learnt and spelling them out as best as she could. She said that she's learnt to spell "dignity" and then spelt it out as "D-I-N-I-T-Y". We're only a few days in and steg-head Yoko has already driven me beyond madness, cackling away like a witch with her bollocks out. If that's all she has to offer, then get her out, give her a dictionary, sit her in front of fucking Wizbit, put her in a giant fucking playpen with them books with pages made from foam that Mothercare sell, and teach the stupid twat how to talk and spell and then get her back in.

Although most of the housemates are educationally subnormal, at least they're human, unlike this heifer with caster sugar seeping through her pores only for her to scrape her undercarriage and suck on her fingernails for a new treat. She's a giant fucking biscuit man, a human fucking biscuit. She's like a big fuck off Maryland cookie. A big fuck off Maryland cookie that can't spell, or speak, or make sense or have any quality to stop me from going fucking mental.

Back to what's been happening, and hasn't that Alaxandra turned out to be a right cunt? She's like a cross between Scatman Crothers (pictured) and Queen Victoria with her mane tied back so horrifically tight that it drags her nose closer to her eyes. But what a piece of work? So, this is the girl who got the Nobel Prize for spitting out a bairn and then getting herself a job, but who the fuck would employ this tramp pig? Yet another one who can't speak properly because she's so "street". Sorry, I'm not down with your lingo, the only words I can decipher are "innit" at the end of every sentence. You've been watching too much Ricki Lake man whore dog. Do us all a favour when you get out, Scatman, and get yourself in front of a television with mental Yoko and watch some fucking Wizbit. Learn a thing or two. Going on and on and on and on about "respect", here man fuck off, do you think you're on Goodfella's or something? You stupid fucking hog.

Another alarming incident this weekend has been the Bond villain declaring he has a disability. What? You have a disability? Here we go, I thought, here's some more attention seeking stunt, what's your disability then white face? Well, it turns out he needs glasses. Glasses? That's a disability now is it? Well fucking hell, all of these years I've been missing out on my disabled badge for my car because I'm mentally handicapped. How am I mentally handicapped? Well, I get migraines now and again. Seriously, henchman, fuck off. You need glasses you cunt. Just because you can't read the letters on an eye test, it doesn't mean you have a disability you stupid fucking cat nonce.

We've also been getting more information on Sylvia's terrifying life amongst civil war in Sierra Leone. She came out with the most incredible and heartfelt patter I've ever heard, "I've witnessed it and everything" and "gunshots were so loud". Fucking hell, move over Siegfried Sassoon. Then she's going on about how soldiers would come around and chop your arms off. How many arms you got, Siegfried? Two? Is that right? You've got two arms? Why don't you shut your fucking hole. Moaning and pissing on about your stupid fucking war. I know someone called Tommy who worked in the pit from being 16 years old, he lost his arm in an accident, never moaned about it once, never stopped him going to work, never made him retire early, he just kept on going down in the pit with his Mars bar sandwich for bait, and you're moaning about having two arms and gunshots being loud? Fuck me man, it's a third world country you came from, not a fucking action movie. You expect them all to have silencers or to knock on your door and tell you there's going to be a bit shooting? Sorry if it's too loud. Grow up you dick.

Meanwhile, Ray Charles has been wandering around dressed like Nicky fucking Wire in some sort of leopard print robe. Do his family buy him these clothes for a laugh? Poor cunt, I bet he gets footballs kicked off his head and tripped over by people on his estate all the time. I bet he gets wheeled out on a morning by his family, dressed in a silver cat suit, and put in the middle of the street and all the kids use him as a goal post and wedge his stick in a drain for the other post. Poor bastard. Anyhow, Yoko thought it was "hiwarious" that blind boy went in the swimming pool, how patronising can you get? He got the task of being stroke victims best man and took to the task with great aplomb. It all went a little sour though when he, Barrowman and stroke victim all had a little bit too much to drink in the hot tub.

This is the scenario, the three of them are sitting in the hot tub, splashing each other with water, tickling each other and cuddling each other. Barrowman and Ray Charles are both dressed as bunny girls, stroke victim has his trunks on. Anyhow, Ray reaches around as he does and finds a thong, which Barrowman and stroke victim then put on him as if he's some form of handicapped mannequin. A few of the housemates come back into the room and it transpires that the undercrackers that blind boy is wearing belong to war veteran, Sylvia. So there's a big argument. The whole argument was basically Scatman Crothers and Siegfried Sassoon shouting and bawling at Ray Charles, telling him to fuck off and going on and on and on about "respect" again.

Meanwhile, shit shitter and stroke victim got married, and signed everything, and then after the wedding Big Brother announced a secret couple were in the house. This led to the other housemates speculating and if they guessed the secret couple correctly, the four task participants (Stroke victim, shit shitter, Graeme Dott and Lisa Ferigno) would be up for eviction. Well would you credit it, Ray Charles was the only one who guessed that Ferigno and stroke victim were a couple, so they failed the task.

This means that stroke victim, shit shitter, Graeme Dott and Lisa Ferigno are all now up for eviction. I've a feeling that shit shitter might go, but you never know, things might improve over the week.

In closing, I've noticed that the Sunday Express made a bit of a balls up with their Big Brother coverage yesterday, with Dan Fielder winging his way through his article by getting the facts completely wrong. Mr Fielder, undoubtedly on some giant form of salary, spent an entire article talking about the fake relationship between Mario and Rachel. Don't you mean Stephanie, Dan? Or shit shitter, Dan? He even made up quotes that Mario had came out with "And this is my better half-girlfriend-partner Rachel". Serious, you can just make up actual quotes in the papers these days, can you? I didn't realise you could actually just blatantly make up quotes and attribute them to someone else. Dan, get yourself a new researcher, or watch it yourself, or just leave making up lies and talking shite to scum like me. The article can be found here.

More updates later in the week.

So What's Been Happening?

Well, owing to the current plight this country is in, I didn't get myself much sleep on Thursday or Friday night, worrying about jobs, money, drink, and all of the other shite that runs through your head when you just want to have a wank and turn back over, so because of this I was flicking through the channels at 5 on Friday morning.

Other than some mong called Paige on channel 37, sprawled out on a settee in some seedy London studio, pretending to be speaking to perverts on the phone who are either horrifically ugly high powered businessmen getting their kicks from their company paying off their phonebill full of filthy texts/calls to premium rate numbers, or daytime nonces who've just put a shift in of teasing toddlers tushies with cream cakes and fondants in the playground, to come home and crash out on their semen spattered sofa's and open a six pack of Muller Rice and dousing their cock in it to ease the friction burns, erm, aside from Paige, I flicked on to the Big Brother live feed to see what was happening.

So, I report, at 5am on Friday morning, a few of the older housemates had retreated to beddy byes, the younger, keener, cock hungry ones were still awake, marking their territory like wolves. Seriously, Rebecca may as well have cocked her leg and pissed on Dale. In fact, there's that much scent-marking going on I'm surprised the cleaners aren't getting called in to get a Dyson on the amount of piss and shit that's soaking into the carpet around Dale's feet.

The token situation was explained to the housemates, whereby they can buy a day's hot water for a token, or buy some drink for a token, or buy some hairdryer time. At which point, Pollard pig piped up "Does everyone need to get washed every day?". Are you serious? Not all females equate hygiene to scrubbing their front arse with a full Doner you horrific skank. God only knows what sort of fragrance emanates from her battered Coventry fadge, but I'm willing to wager that it's as foul as some of the tunes that come from her Coventry brethren, The Enemy.

As stroke victim Mario has now proposed to Stephanie as part of their secret task, I'm feeling more and more alarmed about the comparisons being made with Stephanie and Abbey Clancy. What's the crack like, they've both got hair and skin? Seriously man, I've got more in common with Clancy. Stephanie isn't even fit to pull Clancy's tampon out, and where I'd be willing to crawl naked over rocks and glass to break the spine of one of Clancy's mammoth turds with a Biro, I wouldn't even be prepared to use the same bog as Stephanie, you can catch it off a seat, you know. I bet Stephanie can't even shit properly, I bet her shit is shit compared to the mighty Clancy.

Anyhow, stroke victim and shit shitter are now sharing a bed, much to the jealousy of stroke victim's transsexual boyfriend, Lisa. I think Lisa is getting a bit of the green eyed monster, which is funny really, as she does look like she's got a bit of the Lou Ferigno about her. I've never seen her in the pool yet, but I'd imagine he'll/she'll have her bulging muscles out and be wearing really shit burgundy swimming trunks.

The show that was on on Friday night didn't feature much more than Thursday night's live broadcast, the only other thing of interest was that pumpkin-headed Yoko on steroids wandering round by herself looking for a toilet when directly in front of a door marked "Toilet".

I've still not been able to bring myself to watch the live feed so I've not got much else to report at this time. In all honesty, this drab set of tossers have even left The Sun struggling for sensationalist bollocks. One of their top exclusives today (Saturday) was a picture of Dale sniffing some poppers. I'm sure they're just building themselves up to a summer of destroying each contestants lives and the lives of their families, but they're all fair game so keep the lies and propaganda coming.

They're In The House

A total of 93 days of my life down the tube for a summer of self obsessed cunts slagging each other off and grabbing sly wanks in the showers (boys and girls).

So we’re underway and already we’re subjected to Davina and her desperate attention seeking sycophantic bullshit. Great, you know Chris Moyles, we get it. Let me guess, you’re going to phone and text him whilst he’s on air so you can keep in the limelight? Sad pathetic cunt. And you aren’t kidding anyone with your black dress to make you look slimmer, you’d need 400 of them to make it look as if you weren’t over the hill with your horrific spunk ridden carcass and your fake personality you horrible wretched sow.

Onto the house, so there’s zero tolerance, there’s a cage for bad people, an ashtray for those who suckle at the devils little white teats, a room full of Lady Marmalade beds and a room full of Frankland Prison beds, I was hoping for a Ray Winston type to smack McCall across the bracket with a snooker ball in a sock, no such luck.

So first up we’ve got Mario and Lisa, a couple who are blatantly swingers, so guaranteed at least a threesome this year I would think. Apparently Mario looks like Joey off Friends. Hmmm, I’ll tell you who he does look like. Remember the episode of Friends were Joey had to have an identical twin to cash in on some medical experiments? And the twin looked fuck all like Joey? Well, that’s who Mario looks like, except not exactly like him, he looks like that actor if that actor had four strokes. Lisa is as false as her tits, and if her tits were as cheap as her they’ll be filled with black bin liners and paper mache.

Housemate number three is Luke, a 20 year old politics student. He looks like a cross between former Big Brother Star Preston and snooker star Graeme Dott. He seems to be wearing his father’s suit though. You know when you see fresh faced scamps going for their job interviews in their dad’s suits? Well that’s him, all he’s missing is his leather bound Record of Achievement under his emaciated arm. The suit is also reminiscent of a suit that Rodney used to regularly wear on Only Fools and Horses, except Rodney didn’t rabbit on like a market trader as this horrible twat does.

House mate four is apparently stunning?! She’s Stephanie, 19 who has a high tooth to mouth ratio. Imagine a Lesbos fest between Anneka Rice, Natasha Bedingfield, Melinda Messenger and a piece of semen soaked dog shit and you’ll be near enough to how this trench looks. Arrogant but one of those arrogant lasses who is also extremely cheap, a few glasses of cheap wine masquerading as champagne and she’ll suck you off, high class. Couldn’t be any cheaper if she tried and she’s guaranteed to get fucked like, no question about it. If I can also be Gok Wan for a second, her shoes DID NOT go with her dress.

Rachel is 24 and a trainee teacher. Years back a friend of mine slept with a lass the spitting double of her, and whilst she was sleeping after intercourse, he preceded to wipe his penis across the filters of her cigarettes. I’ll now have this image in my head every time I see her. She’s an annoying gobshite with child bearing hips. I can’t see her bearing any children in the foreseeable future as any male having to spend longer than 30 seconds in a room with her would either have to top themselves, quite literally, or beat her to death. So unless she’s prepared to squat on a pile of second hand man goo, or try and get pregnant from severe blows to the temple, I can’t see her getting in the family way.

Dale is the one who all the girls will keep voting in. A cross between previous contestant Hutton and Warren off Hollyoaks, with the personality of terminal cancer. He’s one of those “Wahey! I’m a lad” type lads who thinks he is God’s gift because he kicked a football once and likes lager. He is basically that stereotypical shit from every single pub in every single town in every single country who thinks he can fuck anyone. I will figure you out, you cunt.

The next one is Sylvia. She’s a 21 year old student who fled civil war in Sierra Leone. Seems quite rough looking and miserable to me in fairness, with her catalogue clothing and her comments that she doesn’t like her wrists – obviously a bad experience one time in bringing some Yardy off in a back lane.

Dennis, 23 is our token gay man. He’s a dance student who wants to be “accepted”, OK, OK, we’ve had all that bullshit with Nadia man, come up with something original. He will repeat “fabulous” over and over and over again, guaranteed. He’s a bit like that John Barrowman character.

Next we have Michael who is “blind”. I’m not sure, he seemed to make a few comments about peoples clothing, so maybe he’s just wearing googly eyed contact lenses. Mind, the reaction to him from the housemates upon his entrance was wonderful - looking at him as if they could catch blindness off him by talking to him and with complete disgust. Still unsure why he was wearing a wig wam, or if he was coming dressed as Lou Diamond Philips from Young Guns. So he’s one of those people who are hilarious because they get on with their disability rather than wallowing in it, disgusts me like. It’s like that lass who was on Grange Hill who couldn’t walk properly and used to dribble all over herself, now she’s a stand up comic. She’s not fucking funny, man. She can’t even string a sentence together without you getting a load of teeth and spit, and people sit there clapping like fucking seals and laughing in sympathy, boo the fucker off man, she wants to be “normal” like us, boo the fucker off, that’s what you would do to any other shit comic. Sympathy voting cunts. Anyhow, he does seem slightly funny, I’m unsure if he appreciated the patronising way he was led into the house by that lass talking to him as if he was a 4 year old, I would have stood him facing the wrong way of the entrance me like.

Alexendra is next, a 23 year old accounts executive. Thinks she’s an “It Girl”. Blah, blah blah, “ooh I had a kid when I was 16, ooh now I’ve got a job and a car”. Well fuck me. Let’s get a Nobel Prize set up for you. Can I get this right? You had a kid when you were 16 and now you’ve got a job? Well fucking hell, I’m blown away, you fucking total legend. I don’t know anyone in this world who could possibly have a kid when they were 16 and then get a job, unreal, fuck me man, you’re like a demi-God. FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING MONG. And, clean up the 5pm shadow under your arms, you’re a disgrace to your child and your profession.

Now it’s Rex, correctly predicted as an entrant by PopBitch, some fuckers been blabbing. He’s a 23 year old executive chef. I’ll tell you what he actually is, he’s a cunt. Maybe I’m jealous, but what he is, is a person who has never had to worry about a thing in his life, never had to work, because all his fuck ups and problem’s are covered by daddy’s cash. Fair play, it’s not his fault that he was born into that, but it is his fault that he’s a complete and utter twat with a Max Headroom haircut. He’s your typical spoilt London party boy, coming in the house with a pair of silver winkle pickers on, seriously mate, have a fucking word, eh?

From blind card, to race card, it’s Mohamed. Looking like a young Bill Withers, or maybe the inter breeding of Leo Sayers and John Tickle. “People call me a terrorist”. Great man, fuck off, who gives a shit about your shit fucking patter man. “I‘m a Muslim but I eat pork and drink and have sex”. Wow, you fucking rebel man. Yet another X Factor style sob story, “I fled a civil war”. God you’ve had it so tough man. How old were you? Four? It’s not as if you were in the fucking trenches you sad sack of shit. Try growing up in Thatcher’s Britain man, there’s a war for you.

Rebecca is next, I’m not even going to bother with the Vicky Pollard reference as it’s far too blatant. She’s a 21 year old nursery nurse and seemed to be wearing giant pieces of gold bullion or maybe ingots around her ears in the audition process. What an absolute pig, she’ll be absolutely gagging for some cock in there and I wouldn’t be surprised if they all got mortal and went through her and she fell pregnant and had no idea which one was the dad, so then we have a special one off Big Brother – DNA Test show. Seriously, roll this lass a tab and give her some white lightening and you can shag her. She’s one of those lasses in a bus stop who offers you a blow job for her bus fare, nice.

Darnell is a James Bond villain/henchman who also works as a songwriter. Shameless credibility alert – “I’ve been arrested at least 5 times”. Well, hang on, surely it is 5, or it’s 4 or 6, fucking hell it’s not as if they’re big numbers, you can even count on your fingers. You stupid albino cunt. Prancing around with the mannerisms of Greg Rusedski and some form of American high school jock.

Then it’s Jennifer, the Tweedy comparisons are immediate, rough Geordie lass, head strong, hates blacks (allegedly). Anyhow, regardless of her faults, I’ll have to support her due to my immense sense of regional pride, and the fact that there are just that many fucking knackers in the house.

Finally it’s a pumpkin headed fat sack of lard, Kathreya. She can’t speak English, she wears stupid Victorian clothes which have been transformed into modern day with loud colours to match her loud, cookie swilling personality. She says that her mother isn’t a whore, OK then?!? Relevance?? And for some reason she’s wearing shoes made from house bricks.

So that’s them all in now, what a bunch of freaks. Mario and Lisa now have to pretend they aren’t a couple and Mario has to pretend he’s in a relationship with Stephanie, great undercover story, which will blatantly get blown by stroke victim Mario pretending he’s 25 and mentioning every two seconds that they’re a couple, have a bit subtlety man Rocky.

It Starts Tonight, Man

Cyber nerds and television nerds, take heed, Big Brother starts tonight. So apparently the theme is "Homegrown", not weed and that, just turnips and spuds and the like.

There's apparently a stand up comedian, a DJ, some parents, some over 40's, a "hot girl" amongst the people. I've also heard a rumour that they won't be doing the walk down the carpet after exiting the posh black cars this year. Also, rumours of a blind person going in? Seriously, producers, please don't make the targets that easy for me to take down.

Fish in a fucking barrel.

So, I've half decided that I will do a daily Big Brother blog to keep the creative juice flowing and to keep the depression and senility at bay.

God it's such a relief that the internet isn't in Braille format, Ray Charles, you're going down my boy.

Big Brother

Attention seeking verruca's from the heel of society will once again enter the Big Brother house this Friday, seeking to be as sensationalist and camera savvy as possible over the course of the miserable British summer.

As always, I'll say, "I'm not watching that pile of shite", "I hate it", knowing full well that I'm going to end up watching every single episode and as much live feed as possible, whilst I hide from the public and cower under my duvet, cock in hand, praying that the stereotypical page 3 wannabee hag will get her tits out in the hot tub.

So, I'm toying with the idea of accompanying the bile and diatribe that will usually come from my brain with turning this into a Big Brother Watch for the next few weeks. I'm not entirely sure if I will yet, I'll probably have decided and changed my mind a dozen times by the time Friday comes around, but maybe I will. I appreciate that most of the contestants are the lowest form of humanity anyway, and are in effect sitting ducks, but who cares.

There'll be 12 or so going in this year won't there? I would imagine that this year will have the first gay fuck, I think we might also have a rape or a murder, just to spice it up.

Who will be the contestants? Well we already know that there'll be the stereotypical outrageously camp man who makes the heterosexual men feel uncomfortable. There'll be the other gay man who is quite butch and who hates effeminate gays, a proper lads puff. We'll have an intelligent lass who thinks she's above everyone and who has 3000 A* GCSE's or something. We'll have a couple of lads who go "get your tits out" and are obsessed with lager, kebabs and thinking they can fuck any lass in the world - invariably one of them will shag a really nice lass, or at least get pulled off. There'll be a couple of eye candy lasses who can't wait to get into and out of their bikini's, they'll either bond and form an evil bikini group, or they'll become sworn enemies, argue a lot and vie for the attention of the male eye candy. The male eye candy will be cool as fuck, he'll have nice cars, be well dressed and knock about with rock stars and footballers, girls will swoon, boys will wish they were him, but he'll have a fatal flaw and end up getting caught fucking an animal or just having a full blown breakdown.

As always, Davina, who is just as much of an attention seeking brat as the contestants, will become increasingly more tiresome over the summer and the two new Big Brother's Little Brother hosts are going to rile me and destroy the show that Dermot made essential viewing. At least Big Brother's Big Mouth may be worth watching, dependent on the host. Bring back Mr Brand, please?