Hooligan's Lament: July 2009

Ok, I admit it, when it comes to trendy yoof telly, I’m right up there with Dumbledore when it comes to knowing what tickles the teenage juice muscle.

Yeah, I can laugh along with Harry Hill or Anne Robinson and I can even take the whole X Factor – Britain’s Got Talent thing, especially now, having read Christopher Brookmyre’s ‘Snowball in Hell’ but I simply can’t get any sort of handle on the imported American pish that MTv offers up.

Pimp my ride was bad enough but right now I’m watching some sort of frantic abomination called My Super Sweet 16 (UK).

WHAAAAT THE F4CKKK!!!

I mean, really, what the f4ck is that all about?

Can you actually believe that in the real world we normal folks inhabit, there are so many egotistical, spoilt little f4ckers, who really believe they are something so special that they can spend something close to the entire third world debt on a birthday party?

A 16^th birthday party.

How can this be?

How can these conceited little c@nts think that the world revolves so perfectly around them that this sort of thing is ok?

Even worse, how can their parents think it’s ok?

In one particular scene, some totally spoilt black dude is sitting in the back of a car (presumably a limo on the way to his party) with his mother. Conversation goes like this...

“What’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s...”

I’m not telli...”

“What’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s...”

“I’m not tel...”

“What’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s my present, what’s...”

F4CK ME PINK! Not even sixteen years old and he’s got all the charm and vocal delivery of Adolph F4cking Hitler.

If I’d been the mother (or indeed the father), I’d have smacked him in the pus and kicked his ungrateful, selfish little arse out into the f4cking street.

Cocky wee shite.

In another scene, there’s a brainless blonde bint bubbling inconsolably with a face full of snotters about how “this is the worst day of my life” all because her boyfriend snogged some other blonde slapper. Wake up sweet cakes, perhaps if you didn’t have a face like a cat’s arsehole that’s been set on fire and put out with a golf shoe, you might be able to saddle you stallion for a bit longer.

All the parties with rap stars flown in from America, Pop groups hired specially for the night, video messages from Nicole Kidman...

Enough to make you hurl so it is.

And all that shite about brand new BM Bastardin’ Ws that they can’t even f4cking drive, keys to their own flat that they can’t legally live in, roles in Hollywood movies...

...too late, my lasagne’s just bounced.

The world should be protected from people like this.

Their parents owe the world that much at least but the trouble is they are just as bad, if not worse.

There is only one cure.

Infantile euthanasia.

If we fail in this, the world will be taken over with Paris F4cking Hiltons.

For f4cks sake MTv, this is your fault.

Sure these spoilt tantrum muching little shites already exist but you’re encouraging them.
Stick to playing music like you’re supposed to.

Speaking of which...

The Alarm – Resistance Tour 2002

http://www.sendspace.com/file/8as0a0

Hipsway – Scratch the Surface