Posts Tagged ‘ The Apprentice ’

freshly squeezed apprentice bile? that’ll be £4, reduced to 50p

oooh, I love me some Apprentice. About the only show on BBC ONE where you’ll ever get someone saying ‘You should be proud to be an accountant’, which to me is on par with saying to Peter Sutcliffe ‘at least you still have your HGV licence’. Initial thoughts? A good start, but missing a few Apprentice staples – there were no immediate baddies, the glorious HD-shots of Laaahndaahn have been cut to the quick and old Sugartits himself still looks like an angry walnut who has been rolled in barber floor droppings. All the better for a black suit though.

I still miss Margaret Mountford, the only woman after Deborah Meaden from Dragons Den who could kill a man at a glance. Karren Brady is alright, and of course Nick’s always good for a laugh, but when Karren and Nick rock up at the candidate’s house looking like the world’s most elegant TV Licence Fraud Investigators, you can’t help but feel a pang for what came before. Still, let’s not dwell.

Not much point in discussing the episode as not a great lot happened – they bought some fruits, chopped it, sold it, and Team Venture (the ladies) won. Their reward? A bottle of cava, a few balloons on the door and the chance to sit outside on the patio with a few church candles and two-hundred hours worth of bitching to unload. The boys, ‘Team Logic’, lost due to a few poor decisions by the inept project manager, Edward Hunter, whose only stand-out feature to me were his cauliflower-lips. Meh. The original plan was for the team to be called ‘Team Ability’, but I think they realised it would be too easy for me to add ‘Dis’ in front of it for a cheap joke.

Of course, we all watch it for the bitching, so I’ll throw my hat in the ring. I was going to rattle through and make a snide comment about all the contestants, but because there are so many at the moment (16, if I can count correctly – the shot of them all walking over London Millennium Footbridge looks like an advert for a M&S ‘Business Bitch’ Clothing Range advert) I’ll just stick to those I remember.

Leon Doyle – the young guy who looked like the bastard offspring of Mr Bean and Piers Morgan. Ineffectual yes, but I he’ll last, get a couple of chances to prove himself, and then be culled near the end.

Melody Hossaini – the PM for the ladies. Could. Not. Bear. Her. I know she’ll be getting edited to be disliked and will probably have a redemption storyline later on, but Jesus H Christ, that voice – every single word drips patronisingly from her immobile lower jaw, like she’s telling off a naughty child whilst trying not to upchuck in its face. I hope she goes and quickly, which means, of course, she’ll be there until the bitter end.

Helen Louise Milligan – she’s from Noocastle, but the only notable thing I spotted about her was that she has a neck that makes her look like Miss Scarlett from Cluedo.

Miss Scarlett from Cluedo

Helen Pet from Noocastle Pet

Vincent Disneur – looks like a mad caricature of a Bond villain with a suitably pompous name to match. His smarminess almost brought me out in hives, so again, he’ll get far. Did enjoy the looks of burning contempt he was getting from the people in the London office he was trying to flog his juice to (hur hur), but I have to say, they were pretty sanctimonious for people who work in YET ANOTHER IDENTIKIT ‘MODERN OFFICE’. Blagh.

Edward Hunter (fired) – well now come on. His management style consisted of hurrying people along and spouting business bullshit. Quite rightly fired, not least because he has a face that you could flip vertically and it would still look the same.

Glenn Ward – enjoyed him, although my first thought upon seeing him was that he was clearly there thanks to the kind souls at the ‘Make a Wish Foundation’, but seemingly not. Spoke lots of sense, but what is going on with his ear?

Seriously, is there another ear trying to fight its way out?

And finally, Lord Sugar. Aside from the fact he’s trying to shoehorn the word bleddy into every sentence now (we get it, you’re still a Cockernee, just er…a really wealthy one who doesn’t live in London) and he STILL can’t pronounce résumé correctly (just say see-vee Al, much easier), he’s still good for the odd comment. Can’t get past his dislike of business-patter whilst he rattles off the same tired speech at the start of every episode, mind.

Still, I certainly wouldn’t like to be on the end of his finger. Tomorrow’s episode should be fun – it’s all about technology, baby. Let’s just hope they’re not using an Amstrad Emailer in the task – I couldn’t bear to see Alan’s sweet testicle face obscured by an advert for London Buses and a bill for £1.50 for the privilege.

Goodnight.

Advertisements

x-factor episode 4: rice ‘nd peas

My Sky+ started recording early and I have managed catch the tail-end of Celebrity Family Fortunes, hosted by Vernon Kay. I only wish one of the families had been the Rooneys as the question was ‘Name a way to pay for something’ – the answer would surely be ‘not wiping my cock on her skirt, mumbling a thank you and leaving £20 behind the Travelodge travel kettle’. Ho hum. X-FACTOR IN 6 MINUTES. Doesn’t Jennie McAlpine (Fiz from Corrie) look like Carrie’s mother from seminal horror movie classic Carrie? THEY’RE JUST BREASTS MOMMA. Now, I’m going to try and keep this more succinct, I’ll still rattle on about the acts I really dislike but if I miss the odd person out, it’s because they were just too bland or their name wasn’t mentioned. Deal with it. Mmmhmm. I’m doing a 5-point-star at YOU.

OK here we go. We’re in London and Cardiff, and the guest judge is Pixie Lott.

I’m overcome with relief when I see Pixie Lott, as I was getting her name mixed up with La Roux. I have nothing against Pixie Lott bar her pretentious name and the fact she looks like an emotional Cat Deeley, but La Roux I caaaaaaaaahnt stand! If you type her name into google images, you’ll notice that every single image on the first page she’s pulling the same face – trying so hard to look like a boy. She also looks terrifyingly like my ex.

La Roux

Straight into the acts, then. First act is Kash “Craaaaaig Rabid” Dholliwar (whose name is just one step too close to being a filthy racist joke), a permanently-engaged sales executive for T-Mobile who has mentioned how ‘flash’ he is about 600 times in his opening speech. He’s dressed all ‘stylish’ (i.e. he’s bought his clothes at Burton when there wasn’t a sale on) but with his fake diamond earrings and crappy aviators, he’s more Fred than Kanye West. A proper cock. He’s also got a cock-chin, which is where someone shaves a little line on their soul-patch, making their chin look like a giant cock-end. Anyway, he’s singing ‘Closer’ by Ne-yo, prefacing his singing by saying ‘Let’s make some music’, like some dodgy geography teacher DJing the school disco. He’s got a dreadful voice, like someone letting the air out of a novelty balloon, and Cheryl isn’t ‘feeling it’, which is unusual as she’s normally gasping, fluttering her eyes and flicking her bean over any act with a hint of ethnicity. It’s a no from all four judges. HA!

Alice Tinker from the Vicar of Dibley (Diana Zavina) is on next, singing I’m Coming Out by Diana Ross. The only thing coming out is her muffintop over her Bet Lynch leggings, and Simon after seeing the aforementioned muffintop. It’s a no.

Unnamed man singing Moon River now – only gets a mention because he has teeth like a street of condemned houses.

Danomic next, so called because it’s Darren and Dominic (clearly taking a break from masturbating and fiddling with their ankle tags) and thus a clever portmanteau, though this doesn’t work if you’re called Peter and Dot. They attempt Everybody in Love by JLS wearing clothes that their mother is still paying off the catalogue for. Nope.

A witch is booed, a red-faced jockey is waved through, and we have cut to Simon telling Louis how he would ‘love to be in his head for an hour’. Or his arse for twenty minutes, he’s not fussy. Simon eats soup like a simpleton too – hunched over his bowl and spilling it down his top. He’ll be picking oxtail pieces out of his doormat-like chest-hair for weeks now (and this is speaking from experience, one of the joys of being a hirsute male is that you can save shards of Pringles in your body hair for later).

Breaktime – IKEA have a great advert featuring cats.

Come on, how many awwws did you do? Right, back to the show.

The next act up is Tom Richards from South Wales and look, I don’t want to be unnecessarily cruel but he’s clearly shaved his chest ahead of the show to guarantee a yes from Louis, but all of his hair follicles have grown infected and he’s got big green spots all over his chest. Sometimes I hate having high-definition TV. But they’re well…rank. If you connected them all together like a dot-to-dot I bet it spells ‘Spunk here, Simon’. His mum looks like Angela Petrelli from Heroes and for whatever reason, they’re playing up the simple folk from Wales card. You know, usual guff about how it’ll change their lives if their son gets through – ASDA beans instead of LIDL, that kind of thing. He likes being on corners with boys? *cough* CIRCLE JERK *cough*. He’s singing The Script’s Man Who Can’t Be Moved…he’s not terrible but he’s doing my pet-hate – quivering his voice like he’s sitting on a washing machine. He has lovely boots, mind. Simon gives it the whole puff-piece (!) about singing another song because his style is so out of date (ironic coming from someone who looks like an 80s porn star), and whaddya know, the ‘random choice made up on the spot’ track that Spotty is singing is not only a) queued up and b) COMPLETELY different to his previous song. It’s a yes, after much whingeing and discussion. BULLSHIT. X-Factor, you’ve done this EVERY EPISODE SO FAR – making out like someone is on their last chance, changing their song, and letting them through after making them sweat (don’t fucking do that to the poor bloke, he’ll only block a few more pores). It’s more and more scripted with every series.

Anyway, Welsh Andrew Hayden-Smith leaves the stage.

Katie Smith attempts to cover ‘Use Somebody’ by Pixie Lott and because she’s breathy, she’s through. There’s only one person who has ever worn a beret on reality TV and got away with it and that’s Lucinda from The Apprentice. When’s that back? First week of October.

Lauren Francis, a barmaid from Plymouth, singing Heard It Through The Grapevine dressed as Peggy Mitchell, a barmaid from Walford. MEH.

Lee Vaughan, a pub singer, singing Come Together by The Beatles (I think) – he’s got a crap Mohican and a vacant, kind face. He starts humping the set, and I’m surprised that Cheryl’s Heaton genes haven’t kicked in as she doesn’t automatically get on her knees in front of a thrusting crotch. Girl is learning. He’s through.

The Cardiff auditions leave on a high, apparently. I still don’t see the point of having a guest judge, as Pixie Lott is bundled into a car after only 20 minutes of showtime and all I have learnt is that she has a mouth roughly the same size as your standard maths protractor and is capable of getting more rings on her finger than Louis during a Westlife contract negotiation.

Another break – now, is it just me, or is Joe McElderry currently starring in the Febreze advert with his brother where he has to ‘voosh’ his car? Evidence here.

There’s a splash for ITV2 which now has the tagline ‘You Know You Want To’. Want to what, lower my testicles into a deep-fat fryer to give me something more fun than watching your abortion of a channel? Seriously, they have a programme that they’re currently ‘casting’ called ‘The Only Way Is Essex’ – you can view audition tapes for this reality show online on their website. Never before have so many hymenless spunkbuckets paraded around in their bedroom in the vain hope of appearing on a TV show that by all accounts has the same amount of class as stopping for a quick shit in a motorway service station.

Yes, X-Factor then. What does Cheryl have tattooed on the back of her neck by the way – I presumed it was ‘OK I’ll swallow’ but I can’t make out the copperplate. Anyway, break out the hair lacquer and put Cheryl ‘THEM BLOODY FORUNNERS CUMIN’ OWA ‘ERE TAKING WOR JOBS’ on standby, as here’s a finger-clicking trio called Bun ‘nd Cheese. They compare themselves to Mary J Blige (pronounced Bliiiaaage) but they don’t come close. They attempt Listen by Beyonce but sound like a recording of a haunted church – all murmers and weird noises rather than words, which they seem to have forgotten. LOLZ. Who would have thought it? We can tick ‘Comedy Act’ off for this episode, at least. Bun ‘nd Cheese? Destiny’s Mild.

The next act (Nicolo Festa – curiously an anagram of Faces Lotion – spooky if he gets in Simon’s group) gets introduced by Dermot to the tune of ‘What A Man’ and I think we’re supposed to think he’s dishy. But CHRIST no. If anyone can remember the reference, he looks like Spider from Coronation Street. He’s got twattish hair and a coldsore because nothing says ‘Chart Number  1’ like herpes. Hey, if you get crabs, you’ll get yourself on the judging panel. He believes he can be an icon – perhaps Recycle Bin, because he’s full of rubbish. DING. TAKE THAT. KAPOW. About as sexy as picking your bum in a library. Sorry, anyway, his singing. He attempts ‘A Song For You’ (gonna guess at it being Michael Buble’s version) and he’s getting doe-eyes from Cheryl. He has a terrible voice though – it’s gone all lispy and plummy. I’m distressed by the girl hovering backstage who looks like Diana Vickers, and trying so hard to be different. Bleurgh. Simon likes him because he’s ‘weird’, and what do you know – he’s through.

Adverts now. Anyone else really dislike the ASDA advert where the snotty bitches from ‘the village’ all go round to ‘Valerie’s House’ to compare their shopping prices online? It’s the way the chunky mother with cheap glasses says ‘Well I wouldn’t normally shop at ASDA’ as if she’s above such places? Please. It’s clear from her rubenesque stature that the greedy cow would shop at Netto if she thought there was a doughnut in it for her. BAH.

Next act? F.Y.D covering ‘She Said’ by Plan B, badly. I’m not sure why but it’s as if they have one too many people in the band? Anyway, surely we are all over this crappy jazz / acapella thing they’re doing? They’re through but we don’t discover what F.Y.D stand for, do we? Surely not because it’s ‘Fuck You Doing’, is it? Let’s change it to ‘Fairy Yum Delicious’.

Raquel Thomas has a pop at Superwoman next. She works in McDonalds and Louis laughs at her, saying that it isn’t what she wants to be doing. What a creep. A job is a job is a job after all, and someone has to put double gherkins on my burger with a smile. Another one for boot-camp.

A very pretty girl is on next – Jo Beetlestone – and she’s the only act so far that I like. I think it’s because I’m a sucker for blue eyes, and hers are very pretty. Plus, she’s an ‘equine dentist’, which I took to mean she manages horses teeth, rather than she’s a horsey looking dentist. Didn’t catch what she was singing but because it had Simon’s Guaranteed Erection Giver (a gospel choir) she’s waved through. A good voice though, so fair enough!

Oh my, the next act has a great shirt on, so that distracts me from the off. Not only do I like blue eyes, I love bright tee-shirts. I’m so vain. Anyway, Paije Richardson is an usher during the day (and Sean Kingston during the night) and I’m guessing, with that haircut, he’s starring in all manner of 90s Nickelodeon teenage-drama shows. He actually looks like Mack from MC Kids for the NES. I’m hoping he’s going to do something different but OH NOES, it’s ANOTHER FUCKING VERSION OF FLY ME TO THE MOON, complete with Claire Sweeney jazzhands. A big giant meh. Gay as a sixpence too. Simon please, no more swing artists. Time for the decision. Louis says yes. Cheryl says no (first time for everything) and it’s over to Simon, who also says no. Louis tries his best and pleads for a reprieve but Simon’s holding firm. Paije walks off and the crowd boos, and then BANG, Louis is out of his chair to head backstage quicker than if someone had said there was a sale on at CloneZone. A little motivational speech from the Irish Charmer, and Paije is told to come back next year.

Which he will.

And he’ll get through, to the tune of whoever wins this year blasting over shots of Simon’s smug, hairy face. Predictable? Nah.

Ad – memo to Martine McCutcheon. We know you have dimples, you don’t have to shoehorn your colossal gob into every shot in your Activia adverts. I get the impression you could be explaining your advanced piles condition to an unsympathetic proctologist and you’d still be gurning away like a fucking ‘cheeky faced’ moron.

X-Factor is back and…wait for it…we didn’t even need to wait a year! No, Kenan Thompson is back (awwww here it gooooes!) for his second try and he’s only had a day or so to wait! He’s singing Man’s World by James Brown. For goodness sake. He comes out the first time, sings a jazzhands version of a Frank Sinatra (white) song, and apparently it’s the wrong fit. He comes back and sings a nice gospel song sung originally by a fat black man, and ding ding ding, we have a winner. He’s through, end of show.

Oh fuck off show. Fuck right off, you scripted, fake, apology for a show. For the record, he sings much better this time, but it’s all ringing so false. You can literally check off the scenes you’ll get in a show now:

  • A band or singer introduced by Dermot outside, who gives their story, has loads of confidence, then turns out to be a dire singer;
  • Someone given a ‘second chance’ at singing, when it clear the second song was what they were always going to sing and they just have to fluff the first song to create drama;
  • A Diana Vickers / Olly Murs clone who gets ushered through;
  • A shot of Cheryl’s battle with malaria which STILL hasn’t been shown;
  • A bit with Dermot looking sympathetic with the backstage help;
  • Simon Cowell winking at someone like the big throbbing cock that he is.

I’m really finding it quite difficult to write about the show now because a) I’m not interested in any of the acts and b) the acts themselves are so alike that my insults are running into each other. I might shake things up a little next week. I’m also sorry if this post doesn’t have the normal amount of piss and vinegar but that’s as a result of loathing the show so much.

But above anything else, we know what is truly wrong with the show. STILL no Emma Chawner. How I long for the day when that stage creaks loudly and she comes trundling out from behind the stage, pockets rustling with chocolate bars like a fleshy vending machine. Seriously people, if you can’t remember her, google her – she gets 14,800 hits. Mind you, there’s only 3700 websites, it’s just that she’s so fat that one page of ‘Chawner’ counts as four.

I love her really. Come on Emma, Audrey, Phillip and Samantha, put down those potato smiley faces with red sauce and get back on the X-Factor bandwagon. Your country needs your humiliation.

See: she’s not happy. Thanks all!

Daughter On X-Factor, Mother On Incapacity Benefit

My Sky+ started recording early and I have managed catch the tail-end of Celebrity Family Fortunes, hosted by Vernon Kay. I only wish one of the families had been the Rooneys as the question was ‘Name a way to pay for something’ – the answer would surely be ‘not wiping my cock on her skirt, mumbling a thank you and leaving £20 behind the Travelodge travel kettle’. Ho hum. X-FACTOR IN 6 MINUTES. Doesn’t Jennie McAlpine (Fiz from Corrie) look like Carrie’s mother from seminal horror movie classic Carrie? THEY’RE JUST BREASTS MOMMA. Now, I’m going to try and keep this more succinct, I’ll still rattle on about the acts I really dislike but if I miss the odd person out, it’s because they were just too bland or their name wasn’t mentioned. Deal with it. Mmmhmm. I’m doing a 5-point-star at YOU.

OK here we go. We’re in London and Cardiff, and the guest judge is Pixie Lott.

I’m overcome with relief when I see Pixie Lott, as I was getting her name mixed up with La Roux. I have nothing against Pixie Lott bar her pretentious name and the fact she looks like an emotional Cat Deeley, but La Roux I caaaaaaaaahnt stand! If you type her name into google images, you’ll notice that every single image on the first page she’s pulling the same face – trying so hard to look like a boy. She also looks terrifyingly like my ex, as per the evidence below. My ex had bad psoriasis though – perhaps the only sense that he was cracking in bed.

Straight into the acts, then. First act is Kash “Craaaaaig Rabid” Dholliwar (whose name is just one step too close to being a filthy racist joke), a permanently-engaged sales executive for T-Mobile who has mentioned how ‘flash’ he is about 600 times in his opening speech. He’s dressed all ‘stylish’ (i.e. he’s bought his clothes at Burton when there wasn’t a sale on) but with his fake diamond earrings and crappy aviators, he’s more Fred than Kanye West. A proper cock. He’s also got a cock-chin, which is where someone shaves a little line on their soul-patch, making their chin look like a giant cock-end. Anyway, he’s singing ‘Closer’ by Neo, prefacing his singing by saying ‘Let’s make some music’, like some dodgy geography teacher DJing the school disco. He’s got a dreadful voice, like someone letting the air out of a novelty balloon, and Cheryl isn’t ‘feeling it’, which is unusual as she’s normally gasping, fluttering her eyes and flicking her bean over any act with a hint of ethnicity. It’s a no from all four judges. HA!

Alice Tinker from the Vicar of Dibley (Diana Zavina) is on next, singing I’m Coming Out by Diana Ross. The only thing coming out is her muffintop over her Bet Lynch leggings, and Simon after seeing the aforementioned muffintop. It’s a no.

Unnamed man singing Moon River now – only gets a mention because he has teeth like a street of condemned houses.

Danomic next, so called because it’s Darren and Dominic (clearly taking a break from masturbating and fiddling with their ankle tags) and thus a clever portmanteau, though this doesn’t work if you’re called Peter and Dot. They attempt Everybody in Love by JLS wearing clothes that their mother is still paying off the catalogue for. Nope.

A witch is booed, a red-faced jockey is waved through, and we have cut to Simon telling Louis how he would ‘love to be in his head for an hour’. Or his arse for twenty minutes, he’s not fussy. Simon eats soup like a simpleton too – hunched over his bowl and spilling it down his top. He’ll be picking oxtail pieces out of his doormat-like chest-hair for weeks now (and this is speaking from experience, one of the joys of being a hirsute male is that you can save shards of Pringles in your body hair for later).

Breaktime – IKEA have a great advert featuring cats. Come on, how many awwws did you do? Right, back to the show.

The next act up is Tom Richards from South Wales and look, I don’t want to be unnecessarily cruel but he’s clearly shaved his chest ahead of the show to guarantee a yes from Louis, but all of his hair follicles have grown infected and he’s got big green spots all over his chest. Sometimes I hate having high-definition TV. But they’re well…rank. If you connected them all together like a dot-to-dot I bet it spells ‘Spunk here, Simon’. His mum looks like Angela Petrelli from Heroes and for whatever reason, they’re playing up the simple folk from Wales card. You know, usual guff about how it’ll change their lives if their son gets through – ASDA beans instead of LIDL, that kind of thing. He likes being on corners with boys? *cough* CIRCLE JERK *cough*. He’s singing The Script’s Man Who Can’t Be Moved…he’s not terrible but he’s doing my pet-hate – quivering his voice like he’s sitting on a washing machine. He has lovely boots, mind. Simon gives it the whole puff-piece (!) about singing another song because his style is so out of date (ironic coming from someone who looks like an 80s porn star), and whaddya know, the ‘random choice made up on the spot’ track that Spotty is singing is not only a) queued up and b) COMPLETELY different to his previous song. It’s a yes, after much whingeing and discussion. BULLSHIT. X-Factor, you’ve done this EVERY EPISODE SO FAR – making out like someone is on their last chance, changing their song, and letting them through after making them sweat (don’t fucking do that to the poor bloke, he’s only block a few more pores). It’s more and more scripted with every series.

Anyway, Welsh Andrew Hayden-Smith leaves the stage.

Katie Smith attempts to cover ‘Use Somebody’ by Pixie Lott and because she’s breathy, she’s through. There’s only one person who has ever worn a beret on reality TV and got away with it and that’s Lucinda from The Apprentice. When’s that back? First week of October.

Lauren Francis, a barmaid from Plymouth, singing Heard It Through The Grapevine dressed as Peggy Mitchell, a barmaid from Walford. MEH.

Lee Vaughan, a pub singer, singing Come Together by The Beatles (I think) – he’s got a crap Mohican and a vacant, kind face. He starts humping the set, and I’m surprised that Cheryl’s Heaton genes haven’t kicked in as she doesn’t automatically get on her knees in front of a thrusting crotch. Girl is learning. He’s through.

The Cardiff auditions leave on a high, apparently. I still don’t see the point of having a guest judge, as Pixie Lott is bundled into a car after only 20 minutes of showtime and all I have learnt is that she has a mouth roughly the same size as your standard maths protractor and is capable of getting more rings on her finger than Louis during a Westlife contract negotiation.

Another break – now, is it just me, or is Joe McElderry currently starring in the Febreze advert with his brother where he has to ‘voosh’ his car? Evidence below.

There’s a splash for ITV2 which now has the tagline ‘You Know You Want To’. Want to what, lower my testicles into a deep-fat fryer to give me something more fun than watching your abortion of a channel? Seriously, they have a programme that they’re currently ‘casting’ called ‘The Only Way Is Essex’ – you can view audition tapes for this reality show online. Never before have so many hymenless spunkbuckets paraded around in their bedroom in the vain hope of appearing on a TV show that by all accounts has the same amount of class as stopping for a quick shit in a motorway service station.

Yes, X-Factor then. What does Cheryl have tattooed on the back of her neck by the way – I presumed it was ‘OK I’ll swallow’ but I can’t make out the copperplate. Anyway, break out the hair lacquer and put Cheryl ‘THEM BLOODY FORUNNERS CUMIN’ OWA ‘ERE TAKING WOR JOBS’ on standby, as here’s a finger-clicking trio called Bun ‘nd Cheese. They compare themselves to Mary J Blige (pronounced Bliiiaaage) but they don’t come close. They attempt Listen by Beyonce but sound like a recording of a haunted church – all murmers and weird noises rather than words, which they seem to have forgotten. LOLZ. Who would have thought it? We can tick ‘Comedy Act’ off for this episode, at least. Bun ‘nd Cheese? Destiny’s Mild.

The next act (Nicolo Festa – curiously an anagram of Faces Lotion – spooky if he gets in Simon’s group) gets introduced by Dermot to the tune of ‘What A Man’ and I think we’re supposed to think he’s dishy. But CHRIST no. If anyone can remember the reference, he looks like Spider from Coronation Street. He’s got twattish hair and a coldsore because nothing says ‘Chart Number  1’ like herpes. Hey, if you get crabs, you’ll get yourself on the judging panel. He believes he can be an icon – perhaps Recycle Bin, because he’s full of rubbish. DING. TAKE THAT. KAPOW. About as sexy as picking your bum in a library. Sorry, anyway, his singing. He attempts ‘A Song For You’ (gonna guess at it being Michael Buble’s version) and he’s getting doe-eyes from Cheryl. He has a terrible voice though – it’s gone all lispy and plummy. I’m distressed by the girl hovering backstage who looks like Diana Vickers, and trying so hard to be different. Bleurgh. Simon likes him because he’s ‘weird’, and what do you know – he’s through.

Adverts now. Anyone else really dislike the ASDA advert where the snotty bitches from ‘the village’ all go round to ‘Valerie’s House’ to compare their shopping prices online? It’s the way the chunky mother with cheap glasses says ‘Well I wouldn’t normally shop at ASDA’ as if she’s above such places? Please. It’s clear from her rubenesque stature that the greedy cow would shop at Netto if she thought there was a doughnut in it for her. BAH.

Next act? F.Y.D covering ‘She Said’ by Plan B, badly. I’m not sure why but it’s as if they have one too many people in the band? Anyway, surely we are all over this crappy jazz / acapella thing they’re doing? They’re through but we don’t discover what F.Y.D stand for, do we? Surely not because it’s ‘Fuck You Doing’, is it? Let’s change it to ‘Fairy Yum Delicious’.

Raquel Thomas has a pop at Superwoman next. She works in McDonalds and Louis laughs at her, saying that it isn’t what she wants to be doing. What a creep. A job is a job is a job after all, and someone has to put double gherkins on my burger with a smile. Another one for boot-camp.

A very pretty girl is on next – Jo Beetlestone – and she’s the only act so far that I like. I think it’s because I’m a sucker for blue eyes, and hers are very pretty. Plus, she’s an ‘equine dentist’, which I took to mean she manages horses teeth, rather than she’s a horsey looking dentist. Didn’t catch what she was singing but because it had Simon’s Guaranteed Erection Giver (a gospel choir) she’s waved through. A good voice though, so fair enough!

Oh my, the next act has a great shirt on, so that distracts me from the off. Not only do I like blue eyes, I love bright tee-shirts. I’m so vain. Anyway, Paije Richardson is an usher during the day (and Sean Kingston during the night) and I’m guessing, with that haircut, he’s starring in all manner of 90s Nickelodeon teenage-drama shows. He actually looks like Mack from MC Kids for the NES. I’m hoping he’s going to do something different but OH NOES, it’s ANOTHER FUCKING VERSION OF FLY ME TO THE MOON, complete with Claire Sweeney jazzhands. A big giant meh. Gay as a sixpence too. Simon please, no more swing artists. Time for the decision. Louis says yes. Cheryl says no (first time for everything) and it’s over to Simon, who also says no. Louis tries his best and pleads for a reprieve but Simon’s holding firm. Paije walks off and the crowd boos, and then BANG, Louis is out of his chair to head backstage quicker than if someone had said there was a sale on at CloneZone. A little motivational speech from the Irish Charmer, and Paije is told to come back next year.

Which he will.

And he’ll get through, to the tune of whoever wins this year blasting over shots of Simon’s smug, hairy face. Predictable? Nah.

Ad – memo to Martine McCutcheon. We know you have dimples, you don’t have to shoehorn your colossal gob into every shot in your Activia adverts. I get the impression you could be explaining your advanced piles condition to an unsympathetic proctologist and you’d still be gurning away like a fucking ‘cheeky faced’ moron.

X-Factor is back and…wait for it…we didn’t even need to wait a year! No, Kenan Thompson is back (awwww here it gooooes!) for his second try and he’s only had a day or so to wait! He’s singing Man’s World by James Brown. For goodness sake. He comes out the first time, sings a jazzhands version of a Frank Sinatra (white) song, and apparently it’s the wrong fit. He comes back and sings a nice gospel song sung originally by a fat black man, and ding ding ding, we have a winner. He’s through, end of show.

Oh fuck off show. Fuck right off, you scripted, fake, apology for a show. For the record, he sings much better this time, but it’s all ringing so false. You can literally check off the scenes you’ll get in a show now:

·A band or singer introduced by Dermot outside, who gives their story, has loads of confidence, then turns out to be a dire singer;

·Someone given a ‘second chance’ at singing, when it clear the second song was what they were always going to sing and they just have to fluff the first song to create drama;

·A Diana Vickers / Olly Murs clone who gets ushered through;

·A shot of Cheryl’s battle with malaria which STILL hasn’t been shown;

·A bit with Dermot looking sympathetic with the backstage help;

·Simon Cowell winking at someone like the big throbbing cock that he is.

I’m really finding it quite difficult to write about the show now because a) I’m not interested in any of the acts and b) the acts themselves are so alike that my insults are running into each other. I might shake things up a little next week. I’m also sorry if this post doesn’t have the normal amount of piss and vinegar but that’s as a result of loathing the show so much.

But above anything else, we know what is truly wrong with the show. STILL no Emma Chawner. How I long for the day when that stage creaks loudly and she comes trundling out from behind the stage like a vending machine made flesh. Seriously people, if you can’t remember her, google her – she gets 14,800 hits. Mind you, there’s only 3700 websites, it’s just that she’s so fat that one page of ‘Chawner’ counts as four.

I love her really. Come on Emma, Audrey, Phillip and Samantha, put down those potato smiley faces with red sauce and get back on the X-Factor bandwagon. Your country needs your humiliation.

JP