Bono: Officially Better Than You

According to wikipedia: "in the High and Late Middle Ages, the principal duty of a knight was to fight as, and lead, heavy cavalry". Oddly enough, the standards of knighthood have fallen somewhat; in fact, if someone with little to no knowledge of Britain stumbled onto our shores today, they would probably come to the conclusion that the principal duties of a knight involved prancing about on a stage in a Donald Duck outfit and disturbingly over sized sunglasses, stabbing one-legged porn stars a bit with a broken glass and rooting ninety percent of the world's female population.

That's because Elton John, Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger have all been considered important enough to be bestowed with a state instituted title of honour. Don't you just love living in a country that has created a system in which certain people are officially declared to be much better than you by way of their ability to write songs about postboxes and kites and other twee nonsense?

Now, some people have argued that this whole knighthood rubbish is just the monarchy's way of saying, "Hey! We're not really an increasingly outdated and irrelevant anachronism in a world that has embraced Democracy! We like pop music too, you see!" but those people are probably just jealous haters. I mean, I personally see absolutely nothing wrong with deserving individuals getting bestowed with awards and titles for accomplishing something important by a woman whose greatest accomplishment is once making herself a cup of tea instead of asking her hordes of man servants, slaves and personal chefs to make one for her. But that's just me.

Anyway, just when you thought England couldn't slump lower than that time they let Paul McCartney join the hallowed ranks of Sir Lancelot, Sir Galahad and that bloke that looks like a sheila, the Queen has decided to grant an honorary knighthood to the biggest knob sack in the entire world: Bono from U2. Yes, all you ordinary plebs are now officially shitter than a man who wears sunglasses at all times, even inside and at night. As justified by Tony Blair, who probably should be doing more important things than sucking up to self righteous rock stars: "You have tirelessly used your voice to speak up for Africa". Which I think is quite a polite way of saying "used your inexplicable popularity to fly around the globe harping on at world leaders about how shit Africa is and getting a bit of free publicity in the process" really.

Now, I'm pretty sure that Bono accepting an honorary knighthood from England is actually tantamount to some sort of vast betrayal if you consider that several of the Queen's direct ancestors have been responsible for the deaths of millions of Irishmen, the destruction of their native language, several centuries of economic subjugation etc. etc. etc. But then again, I'm sure the Irish already hate Bono after that time he decided not to pay millions of dollars worth of taxes back into the country of his birth.

Arguably, the right thing to do would have been to just refuse the bloody thing. It's been done before; the list of celebrities who have refused some sort of imperial honour includes David Bowie, John Cleese, Kenneth Branagh, Albert Finney, Vanessa Redgrave, John le Carré, Robert Graves, Evelyn Waugh, Roald Dahl, J G Ballard, George Melly and even Nigella Lawson. Of course Bono did nothing of the sort even stating that he was "very flattered". Which means he now has less credibility than some snobby, posh bint with a cooking show.

I decided to do a bit of research by asking Colin the Irishman that works in my office how he feels about Bono's knighthood. He said, "I don't know about Bono, but that queen looks like she could do with a good knobbing." I think Colin is actually from New Zealand rather than Ireland but he does have a funny accent so close enough.

Things I dig: That Charlie Brown Christmas Special

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time you might have gotten the idea that I'm a right old cynical bastard. And you'd be right! And unsurprisingly enough, my new-born kitten hating level of cynicism extends to Christmas, the great annual holiday tradition celebrating that time a twelve year old girl dropped a sprog in some outhouse in the desert.

The thing about Christmas is, I'm not religious and I don't really like my family all that much so shameless materialistic consumerism is really the only thing I get out of all that Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire nonsense that characterizes a good two to three months of every year. Seriously, my idea of a good christmas is one in which the net value of all the gifts I receive is higher than the amount of money I had to shill out on gifts for all those friends and relatives and stuff. But before you start thinking I'm some sort of bitter, penny-pinching, cripple murdering old miser like in that Bill Murray movie Scrooged, I do indeed have a festive bone or two in my body.

Take the subject of this week's Things I Dig for example: Charles Schultz's famous and much loved animated TV special A Charlie Brown Christmas, an unashamed love-letter to the festive season that I nevertheless love the hell out of. Marking the first time Schultz's classic Peanuts cast appeared in animated form, A Charlie Brown Christmas has essentially become the yardstick for all Christmas films, books, TV specials and other assorted yuletide themed nonsense.

My love for this piece of seasonal perfection may surprise you considering that the film is a criticism of the only aspect of Christmas that I actually enjoy: crass commercialism and mindless materialistic consumption. But Charlie Brown's quest to find meaning in a holiday stripped of all it's traditional appeal is explored with such wit, charm, warmth and intelligence that it would inspire even the bitterest, miser asshole to buy giant turkeys for crippled dying little boys and stuff. Essentially, it's the perfect christmas antidote for those of you so innately jaded and cynical that you slid out of your mother's womb saying "Gross! I'm some sort of hideous squishy pruny thing covered in fucking placenta and I just squeezed my way out of swollen bloodied vagina! The beauty of birth my ass!" like I did.

But swollen bloodied vaginas aside, there's quite a lot to recommend about the film. In particular, I quite liked that they used real children to voice the characters. It lends the whole thing a timeless innocence completely devoid in today's animated features populated by overpaid movie stars and their obnoxious Hollywood accents. In particular, the kid who plays Charlie Brown is note perfect delivering just the right combination of sadness, world weariness and underlying hopefulness. The actors who portray Lucy and Linus are pretty good too. I also really dig the soundtrack with its cute 1960's jazz and kewl theme song that was recently used in the groovy Wes Anderson movie The Royal Tenenbaums.

A testament to its timelessness, the special has been homaged endlessly in cultural products vastly inferior to it. If you're watching it for the first time this year I'm sure you'll recognize a couple of scenes in it that have sort of entered the collective consciousness of western culture. The scene in which Linus recites the Christmas story and the final scene when the cast of Peanuts sing Hark the Herald Angel seem to have particularly struck a chord.

Most indicative of the film's intelligence is the role Schultz delegates Snoopy. Considering the slow eventual distillitation of the character into an internationally recognized merchandising mascot it is with, perhaps, a sly wink that Charles Schultz uses Snoopy as a symbol of the crass materialism of Christmas.


So, I'm sure you'll agree that Christmas movies are generally pretty bloody rubbish. Here's a few more that buck the trend:

A Muppet Christmas Carol
There's lots of rip-offs of A Christmas Carol out there and this is certainly one of them. This one, however, has the benefit of containing Michael Caine and Kermit the Frog.

The Office Christmas Specials
These aren't all that Christmassy but they have the word Christmas in their title and they're good.

National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation
Included on this list mostly because of that scene where Chevy Chase gets hit in the face a lot with a plank of wood.

Bad Santa
I really feel like this movie was made specifically with me in mind. The only thing that would have made this movie better is a scene in which Paul McCartney repeatedly stabs Bono in the elbow with a broken glass.

I also used to watch the Father Ted Christmas special that I taped off the telly a lot but, alas, I don't actually own a VCR anymore because only commie nazi thatcherites still use VHS. Merry Christmas!

Mel Gibson's Illegitimate Love Child Scandal

It must be hard being Mel Gibson. I mean, sure, he has hundreds of millions of dollars, he's frequently considered the "sexiest man alive", is more famous than you'll ever be, is in the position to make any old religious/historical vanity project he wants, has a film that's currently number one at the American box office and probably has a free ticket into Heaven for that whole Passion of the Christ thing. But the man just can't stop cocking everything up for himself can he?

I'm sure you all remember that time Mel Gibson got all liquored up on tequila, drove erratically around Malibu then told a bunch of policemen that all the fucking Jews were responsible for all the fucking wars in the world. "Especially that bitch Anne Frank," he may or may not have added. If you're a woman, I'm sure you recall this incident because you have been called "sugartits" by some unfunny prat every second day ever since it occurred. Everyone else might remember the incident because of all of Mel's embarrasing half-assed apologies, his stint in rehab, all the media condemnation and and self righteous finger pointing and the allegations that his own father thought the Jewish holocaust was all just a bit of make-believe really. Basically, in the last couple of months Mel Gibson has destroyed every last bit of goodwill he generated by making Mad Max 2, the only non-rubbish movie he's ever appeared in.

Yeah, Mel Gibson really fucked up. But for a while there, it really looked like things were going to turn out alright for the crazy one from Lethal Weapon. Just recently Kramer replaced him as the media's official beleaguered racist celebrity of choice and everyone else got a little bit tired of making jokes about "sugartits" and when back to hating on Tom Cruise and Heather Mills. But alas, the man famous for making some sort of S&M movie about Jesus Christ has majorly cocked it all up once again; it was revealed this week that Mel Gibson fathered an illegitimate child 30 years ago.

According to Marilyn, the woman Mel allegedly had a bit of a todge with 30 years ago: "I was a slim young woman in tight-fitting jeans on the side of the road when a station wagon stopped. Mel turned to look at me with those amazing blue eyes and I was mesmerised. I told him, 'If anything happens and I get pregnant I'm going to come looking for you.'" And now, hilariously, the woman, her daughter and her grandson are suing Mel for a paternity test.

Personally I'd love to be there when Mel and his illegitimate grandchild meet for the first time. I'm sure it would go something like this: "Mad Max? This is your grandson Junior. He likes finger painting, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and just won a football trophy. Junior? This is your grandfather, Braveheart. He once made a movie about using telepathic powers to get into Helen Hunt's snatch, hates all the Jews in the world and thinks women lactate sugar from their tits."

In What Women Want, Mel Gibson's character, through a series of wacky misadventures, learns to stop being such an asshole and to respect women. Unfortunately, in real life, Mel Gibson can't seem to learn the same lessons his character did in a movie about using telepathic powers to get a root.

If movies are to be believed, Mel's only hope for redemption is to suddenly get magic telepathic powers enabling him to read the minds of a) single mothers raising illegitimate children fathered by billionaire movie stars, b) all the Jews in the world and c) sugary breasted women. Clearly this will provide him with the unique perspective required to stop being an asshole and stuff. Or maybe it will just provide him some more fuel for all those crazy, cartoonishly violent, jew/english/homosexual-hating, historically innacurate vanity projects he's seems to enjoy knocking up.

Blame Bono

Sorry about all the lack of posting and stuff but I took a bit of a week off because I was busy at work and I'm lazy. It won't happen again!

Here's a super cute picture of my dead dog!

Actual proper content tomorrow!

Princess Diana to be Commemorated by Craptacular Concert

We all remember when Princess Diana died. That's because the media harped on about it like she was the Son of Christ. Seriously, such was the hysterical deification of the woman that I totally expected her to rise from the grave three days later, root Mary Magdalene and eventually become the great great great grandfather of Amelie like in that rubbish Da Vinci Code movie. Alas, Lady Di has proven to be completely mortal and has, so far, completely failed to revive from that time her chauffeur was all like, "Blimey, I've lost control of me car!" and she was all like "Ow!"

Much like JonBenet Ramsey, it's odd to think that Princess Diana was once a real life person and not just a media buzz word. And not unlike King Arthur who went from some old-skool Saxon king to some sort of wizard befriender, superhuman warrior and Great Britain's future saviour after his death, Princess Di has gone from "that woman who appears on the cover of Hello! a lot" to "the greatest single woman in the history of anything ever and probably also the most important individual in the space-time continuum". It's odd how this happens really. I'm hoping that when I die I'll be massively upgraded from "that guy who hates Bono from U2 a lot" to "that handsome genius who saved the universe from evil space pirate ninja assasins". Fingers crossed.

I guess in a way, like King Arthur, the Princess of Wales will live forever...in the minds and hearts of the British people that is. I know I'll never forget the whole Lady Di death thingy as a result of her funeral being turned into an unforgettable internationally televized Entertainment Extravaganza. You know the one, it had record TV ratings and featured Elton John performing Candle in the Wind but with a word or two changed in order to alter it from a song about a 1950's JFK bonking drug overdosing voluptuous starlet to a song about an 1990's James Hewitt bonking smooshed in a French tunnel anorexic princess. Yeah, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Considering that Candle in the Wind has sold 33 million copies, I'm betting one of you guys even owns it.

Anyway, to celebrate the tenth anniversary of, um, their mother's horrible painful death, Princes William and Harry are recreating said historic groundbreaking funeral/concert hybrid but this time, with a way better line-up, namely Duran Duran, Joss Stone, Pharrell Williams and Bryan Ferry. Okay, slightly better. Also, Princess Di's dead body probably won't be participating this time. According to the official press release: "The concert is planned for July 1, which would have been Diana's 46th birthday, at Wembley Stadium in London. Money raised from the concert will go to charities she supported."

In honour of Princess Diana's death it has been rumoured that Duran Duran will be switching the lyrics of Rio around a bit so it's less about Rio De Janeiro and more about Parisian tunnels covered in the brain matter of dead royals or something. Okay, I made that one up.

Madonna's Wacky Marital Breakdown

Madonna used to be a bit of a trend setter didn't she? I mean, twenty years ago the woman couldn't take a dump without starting some ridiculous trend; fake moles, blonde hair with black roots, crazy pointy metal bikinis...you name it she started it. And she even inspired a whole load of celebrities with her silly but surprisingly influential antics. Faux prostitute Christina Aguilera wouldn't exist today were it not for Madonna's attention seeking book Sex, both operating on the same principle as saying the word penis a lot in front of your Grandma. And who can forget Britney and Ashton Kutchers' embarrasing attempts to jump on the wacky Kabbalah bandwagon?

Sadly, it appears that Madonna's trendsetting days are over and she has become just another cog in the Hollywood Fame Machine, (not to be confused with the Hollywood Baby Machine, Britney Spears). For example, her current schtick singing electronic dance music and prancing about in an age-innapropriate leotard while surrounded by gay men was completely knicked from Kylie Minogue. And her recent adoption of an African baby was clearly a shameless attempt at emulating Angelina Jolie. And now, indicative of how far she has fallen since she became the most famous pop star in the world by singing about unbroken hymens, Madonna is starting to follow trends popularized by Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson, namely, divorce.

Yes, it appears that Madonna's relationship with mediocre filmmaker Guy Ritchie is on the rocks. "Huh? What the bleedin' hell is a Guy Ritchie," you might be asking. Well, if you don't know him as Mr. Madonna then you probably don't know him at all because that's mostly what he's famous for. But for those of you who really want to know more about a man who agreed to marry a woman who once dated Vanilla Ice here's a quick recap: Essentially, Guy Ritchie is that guy who popularized the rubbish "British Gangsters pull wacky heists while making witty pop cultural references in fake cockney accents" film genre that rears its ugly head every now and then. He is also responsible for the Maddona vehicle Swept Away but I'm assuming you've never seen that one because it has actually been known to make peoples' eyes bleed and/or explode, which means you couldn't be reading this right now.

Anyway, apparently maintaining a healthy marital relationship wasn't quite trendy enough for old Madge as it appears her relationship with Guy Ritchie is going the way of Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillipe, Paul McCartney and Heather Mills and Britney Spears and Kevin Federline with the couple reportedly fighting in some restaurant.

As reported by some anonymous nosey bitch, "The atmosphere between them was more than frosty. Guy was the one who was raising his voice most - you couldn't help but hear what he was saying. They were sitting in a corner booth and he was telling her that he'd had enough of her being controlling all the time and that something had to give. Madonna tried to give back to him, but he would just talk over her."

Personally I liked it better when Maddona was setting the trends. I know blonde hair and black roots is unattractive. But not nearly as unattractive as the shaven fifty year old vadge that Madonna will flap about in her inevitable Britney Spears inspired post-divorce paparrazi flash.

Bono: "Africa is shit! Also, Madonna is great!"

"Oh, bloody hell! Bono again," I hear you shriek. "I sick of that tosser! Write some more about Britney Spears' vagina instead!" Alas, I'm compelled to report Bono's every prat action just as people who drive past car crashes are compelled to stare at all the mangled bodies and stuff. You see, in the last couple of weeks something monumental has taken place: Bono has replaced Robin Williams as my least favourite celebrity of all time!

Now my deep hatred for Robin Williams is surprisingly not all that well documented on this blog if you consider that I've made but a few scant references to the man since I started it. But I assure you, I would rather having my eyelids pried open Clockwork Orange style and be forced to endlessly look at pictures of Britney Spears' gash than watch another Robin Williams movie. I mean, take Good Morning Vietnam for example, a movie so unfunny that they had to insert endless scenes of people fall around laughing in order to show you where the jokes are. Or look at Mrs. Doubtfire, a film that mostly just involved Robin Williams doing stupid voices for an hour and a half. And Patch Adams, well I don't have much to say about Patch Adams except that it is, without a doubt, the worst film ever made anywhere ever.

Anyway, all that is in the past now that much of my hatred for ol' Robin Williams has been transferred over to that wanker from U2 who always wears his sunglasses inside and at night. And oddly enough, you can thank aging burlesque dancer Madonna for this sudden plummet in esteem I hold for Bono.

You might recall Madonna recently caused a bit of a fuss by deciding that she wanted to own a little African boy and, because of all her money and fame, she was able to completely by-pass all the usual lengthy adoption nonsense that normal plebs have to go through. And now, eager to substantiate the urban myth that if you stand in front of a mirror and say Africa three times some insanely rich self important Irish rockstar will jump out and start rambling about poverty, Bono has waded into the controversy by praising Madonna for her actions and revealed to the press that he has offered the boy's father a job at his wife's ethical clothing label. “We’re trying to get jobs to Africa then people will be able to keep their children," he condescendingly said, cleaning his hundred thousand dollar sunglasses on his shirt.

Of course, it could be argued that Africans should be grateful that someone is raising international awareness of some of their problems. But personally I would be more pissed off that one of the most famous people on earth has decided to dedicate his life to flying all over the world telling people how rubbish my continent is. If I was Africa I would write Bono a carefully worded letter that would go something like this: "Dear Bono. Fuck off. Luv Africa."

Things I Dig: The Clockwork Orange Soundtrack

So I might make this a bit of a regular Friday feature here on Hell Fell. Consider it a pleasant intelligent sorbet to cleanse the palate after a whole week of pithy mean spirited low-brow jabs at rubbish celebrities and their propensity towards slagging off all the jews in the world, blabbering about how shit Africa is and flapping their privates about like exposed shaven labias are the latest Milan fashion. Basically I'll pick something I really dig and ramble about it for a couple of paragraphs.

This week I'll be discussing the soundtrack to A Clockwork Orange by Wendy Carlos. Now I used to really love the movie A Clockwork Orange but then it got a little bit ruined for me when I discovered that every idiot band and their great grandma had done at least one wanky take-off of the movie in every other video clip ever made. Seriously, watch Vh1 for an hour or so and I guarantee at least one videoclip will feature some prat dancing around in a white tracksuit with underpants on the outside and a bowler hat. I guarantee it.

However, it all worked out because I watched it again a year or so ago and realized that most of the reason why I liked the movie was because of all the banging music in it and not the sight of Malcolm McDowell hitting some fat guy in the groin with a walking stick. Don't get me wrong, I still think the film itself is pretty bloody good; I mean, I challenge you to find a movie with more memorable scenes in it and with a more compelling protagonist than Alex. And such is Stanly Kubrik's genius that I would probably have sex with him if he offered and if he wasn't all dead and stuff. I just dig the movie's soundtrack more.

If you've seen it, I'm sure you can still remember the moody, dystopian music that the film opens with. But if you haven't seen it, here's a bit of a run down: the soundtrack is primarily comprised of classical music but trippily re-interpreted with a synthesizer as the sole instrument. Basically, it's the sort of classical music someone would listen to in a Salvador Dali painting. I know what you're thinking: electronic versions of classical music? Wow. Daggy much? But it's not! It's really kewl!

As far as I know, there are two major versions of this soundtrack: the official one and one released by Wendy Carlos a few years later. I've got both of them on vinyl, because I'm one of those obnoxious twenty-something year olds that still buys music on vinyl, and I think the second one's a lot better. The official soundtrack is dragged down because it has a few normal classical music tracks and the song Singing in the Rain in it whereas the second is all just crazy Wendy Carlos stuff and even has a few tracks extended beyond what was heard in the film. Of the songs on the second album, I really like the batshit crazy March from A Clockwork Orange and the opening theme. But my favourite is probably Time Steps which is a stunning extended electronic soundscape and one of the few original compositions on the record.

Supposedly the soundtrack was hugely influential especially on the early electronic based artists in the seventies and eighties. You can specifically hear it's influence in a lot of Brian Eno's work, especially in his collaboration with David Bowie, Low. It also became the official sound for weird sci-fi movies for the next decade or so, albeit without the classical music angle. For example, check out the music in Logan's Run and Blade Runner.

I like a couple of recent electronic artists like Boards of Canada, Autechre and Aphex Twin. But there's something compelling and atmospheric about early synthesizer based electronica that most later, more precise, computer based, stuff have failed to capture.

Film About Penguins Apparently the First Sign of the Apocalypse

Politics seems to be an odd thing in America. I mean, if you're labelled a conservative over here it pretty much just means that you're a little old lady who owns lots of monarchy themed tea sets and complains a bit about the gay wedding on The Archers. Or you hunt foxes for sport. However, over in America, if you're labelled a conservative it means that you own lots and lots of large firearms, wax nostalgically about slavery, make endless websites with "9/11: Never Forget" written all over them and go around yelling obnoxiously at people who believe in global warming.

Rarely has this strange pattern of behaviour been more apparent than in the recent critical reception of the animated film Happy Feet in which penguins voiced by Elijah Wood and Robin Williams learn lessons about conformity by tap dancing and singing and stuff. Curiously, no one in the media has slammed the film for utilizing dire comedian and actor Robin Williams, who everyone knows only has two schticks, talking really loud and fast and talking in an offensive effeminate approximation of a gay man's voice, neither of which are funny. Instead, the film has received a critical drubbing by a large number of American right wing media commentators for containing "brainwashing left-wing propoganda".

The film isn't out yet here so I can't pretend I've seen it. But allegedly it contains a subplot in which the penguins face extinction due to environmental changes. Director George Miller has defended this content by pointing out that the real life Emperor Penguin population has indeed decreased by 50%-70% over the last fifty years because of climate changes and overfishing.

Of course, such rational justifications have completely failed to placate the right arm of America's media who have shrilly protested the film's "left-wing environmental agenda" like someone took away their right to bear arms. Conservative radio personality, Michael Medved led the charge by wackily declaring that the film was the "darkest, most disturbing feature length animated film ever offered by a major studio." Fox news commentator Neil Cavuto described the film as "big time objectional" and made the pithy observation that "it was just like an animated Inconvenient Truth. I half expected Al Gore to pop up!" Even rubbish website Aint it Cool News got into the action with one reviewer labelling it "dangerous", "offensive" and "insidious".

Of course this could all just be sour grapes because Happy Feet is slaughtering The Nativity Story, a film that has a clear and much more easily substantiated right wing agenda, at the American box office. Personally I think parents should ignore both movies and pop their kids in front of the tube with a nice DVD of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory because it's awesome and doesn't have any religious nonsense or Robin Williams in it.

I'm still not sure why environmentalism is even considered a "left wing agenda" anyway instead of a general common sense human agenda. But then again I'm not a total fucking idiot. Probably.

Take That Tops Charts, Hope for Human Race Lost

As has been established by Hell Fell in the past, the 1990's were a stinky load of steaming rubbish. But now that I think about it, the embarrasingly titled "noughties" haven't really fared much better have they? I mean, the sixties had the Beatles, the seventies had Star Wars, the eighties had Michael J. Fox and even the god-awful nineties had Radiohead. What comparable genius cultural product does this decade have?

Absolutely nothing is the correct answer. You see, such is the cultural dearth that we live in, we are now relying on shit nineties boy bands for our entertainment. I am, of course, referring to nineties throwback Take That whose recent comeback album "Beautiful World" and single "Patience" are both currently holding the top spots on the UK music charts.

Now you'll probably just know Take That as those losers whose band fell apart after Robbie Williams quit but you might also have heard of them from that time Noel Gallagher called Robbie Williams "the fat dancer from Take That". They are also responsible for inspiring an entire army of bad 90's British boy bands such as East 17, Westlife, Five, Boyzone and Blue and used to repeatedly refer to themselves as "the biggest British band since the Beatles" a claim that can be completely substantiated only if you conveniently forget The Rolling Stones, Cream, Black Sabbath, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Deep Purple, Genesis, Fleetwood Mac, Status Quo, The Bee Gees, Queen, The Police, Eurythmics, Dire Straits, Def Leppard, Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, Iron Maiden and The Bay City Rollers.

To sum up: they're shit. But Take That appear to be just the tip of the 90's comeback iceberg with All Saints making a bit of a return recently and Spice Girls and Five allegedly on their way. And as horrifying as this trend is, it also highlights the disturbing fact that our entire culture has just been poached from the 1990's.

For example, anytime you turn on the TV you can guarantee that a repeat of either The Simpsons, Friends or Seinfeld will be playing at any given moment. Even the whole teen emo thing is just a better marketed version of the 90's Goth movement right down to the Barbie backpacks worn as ironic statements. In fact, the only things unqiue to the 2000's is reality TV, jokes about "Weapons of Mass Destruction" and Britney's Spears' exposed vagina and all of those things are shit.

I'll be honest, this whole thing scares the shit out of me. And it begs the question: what else will this lazy decade take from the nineties, dust off and pass off as a brand new cutting edge cultural product? Kirk Cameron? The Macarena? Kenny G?

Everybody Hates Heather Mills-McCartney

People really seem to hate that one legged porn star Heather Mills-McCartney, don't they? Not even Mel Gibson gets as much hate as Heather and he supposedly despises an entire race of people and only values women because of the innacurate assumption that they lactate sugar from their breasts or something. People even prefer Tom Cruise and everyone knows what he gets up to, from his crusade to stop women from not killing their newborn babies to his plans to sacrifice his virginal, captive bride Katie Holmes to Lord Zenu. All poor Heather did was divorce Paul McCartney then bleat on a lot about how much he loved stabbing her elbows and stuff.

"Dig a hole and put something in it" sang Paul McCartney in 1967. "Preferably Heather Mills' fake leg so the bitch has to hobble around hilariously on her one good one," he might have added had he written the song in 2006. You see, the relationship between the Beatle that gadded around barefoot like a hobo on the cover of "Abbey Road" and the least popular Beatle spouse since the last time Yoko Ono opened her mouth has hit a new low. Which is really saying something considering that their marital breakdown of the last twelve months has included Paul pettily changing the locks on their home, hysterical claims of spousal abuse, Stella McCartney trying to kill her mother-in-law and Paul probably also sang a Wings song or two to poor Heather. Yet despite suffering horrors no human being should ever have to endure, being subjected to an accoustic version of "Live and Let Die", the public seems to be completely against Heather Mills and firmly in favour of Paul "Ringo's nose has more charisma than I do" McCartney.

And it just keeps getting worse and worse for Heather Mills. In what has been labeled as a deliberate play to the media, she was photographed this week carrying a piece of paper with the words "I'm seeking an order for the occupation of the matrimonial house" written on it. But the move has backfired on the not-so-gay divorcee with The Sun, determined to maintain its reputation as the trashiest tabloid rag in existence, hiring a Scottish Yard handwriting expert Ruth Myers to analyse Heather's messy scrawl. And the prognosis isn't good: “Her writing shows she is a fantasist who lives in her own manufactured world. This woman has a tendency to live in a world of deception and has lost all sense of truthfulness.”

Which all seems a bit unfair and biased to me considering that McCartney made hundreds of millions of dollars out of all his "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds/I am the Walrus/Strawberry Fields Forever" fantasist crap. And clearly Heather's "tendency to live in a world of deception" was inspired by John Lennon, who believed lying in a bed for several days would stop people doing the ol' stabby, stabby in Vietnam.

Some bint that writes for The Sun called Jenni also offers this lovely piece of advice to Heather: "She should try to maintain as low a profile as possible because she’s fighting someone who is considered a demi-god in this country and worshipped by millions." Which surprises me because I wasn't aware that anyone in Britain even liked Paul McCartney at all. In fact, I would venture that I haven't met anyone who didn't wish that all those late sixties conspiracy theories that Paul McCartney was secretly dead weren't just a little bit true.

I decided to do a bit of in depth research into the matter. Ergo, I asked Shelley at my work what she thought of ol' Macca to which she replied, "He's shit. By the way, stop using my fucking coffee mug," which is just about the most positive thing I've ever heard anyone say about the man who once wrote "When I'm Sixty-Four", officially the twee-est song ever written until Elton John nauseatingly played "Candle in the Wind" at Princess Diana's funeral.

The Return of Spaceman Steve!

I've brought Spaceman Steve back for all three of you clamouring for his return! Hooray!

Click on it to make it bigger

Continued next week if I can be bothered!

Britney Spears' Vagina: Officially More Famous Than Kevin Federline

What a dull week this has been. Sure, Kid Rock shouting slut and whore at Pamela Anderson because of Borat was mildly amusing. And who didn't laugh at Yoko Ono's slightly senile idiot ramblings about forgiveness and other nonsense? But on the whole, this week has been just a little bit ordinary you know? I realize the week isn't actually over yet but I'm not expecting anything to...Oh, what's that? Britney Spears has been repeatedly photographed publicly flashing her gibblets about while night clubbing with Paris Hilton? I spoke too soon!

Despite not releasing an album in almost four years and having apparently retired from touring in favour of a career as a baby making machine, seemingly churning out a new sprog on a weekly basis, Britney Spears is in the news quite a lot isn't she? Whether she's being photographed entering public toilets without shoes on or she's dropping one of her babies on its head or just generally being bit a bit more chubby and less attractive than she used to be, newspapers and magazines just never seem to run out of compelling Britney scandals.

Most recently Britney's made headlines by finally divorcing her back up dancer turned god-awful cornrowed white boy rapper husband Kevin Federline after three years of marriage and about a million babies. But if you think the singer who once begged Hit me Baby One More Time is going to deal with her marital breakup by gadding about her apartment for several months in grubby pyjama pants, eating Neapolitan Ice Cream straight from the tub, endlessly re-reading Pride and Prejudice and sobbing hysterically at the end of Maid in Manhattan then you're mistaken. You see, Britney has instead elected to get over K-Fed by hitting some night spots with occasional porn star Paris Hilton and by flappin' her flim flam at anyone with eyes! Or at least a camera.

Yes, Britney's decision to parade her panty-less wee-hole about like a kid showing off his A+ report card to his grandma or something was unfortunately captured by some papparazi. And, sadly, rather than the expected chorus of cheers from sticky fingered adolescents the swift spread of the Britney minge photos across the internet has been met with general widespread disaproval and a surprising level of revulsion considering only a few years ago she was topping "Sexiest Woman Alive" lists.

Even the papparazi who took the photos was appalled by Britney's actions. "I didn't see her like, even try to cover, you know. Some girls would try to hold their skirts down or something," said disgusted "celebrity photographer" Edwin Merino briefly forgetting that he's the one running around taking photos of girls snatches.

What's that? You want pictures? Gross! Get the hell outta here ya perv!

Nah, just kidding. Here's a link.