It is a well-known fact that the world’s population is slowly getting bigger and more unbearable. This isn’t totally down to X-Factor, but it would be hard to argue that X-Factor isn&
It is a well-known fact that the world’s population is slowly getting bigger and more unbearable. This isn’t totally down to X-Factor, but it would be hard to argue that X-Factor isn’t the biggest current contributor.
X-Factor is on once a week, the television equivalent of a big, hour long, intestine scarring shit. Often accompanied by little mini splurges of diarrhoea in the form of Xtra Factor. But most sadly of all Twitter, such a wonderful source of news and pieces of terrific commentary from some fantastic journalists, public figures and ordinary members of the public, is becoming one giant, relentless, never ending episode of the programme.
I was innocently browsing through twitter today, glancing at the trends. My withered little soul (which now sports not a single shred of hope for humanity after a long and arduous battle to become immune to trends like ‘I’M PROUD OF BIEBER’ and ‘ONE DIRECTION MAKE MY PUBES GO ON FIRE’), must now deal with a fresh wave of festering manure.
The latest manufactured hormonal tumult comes in the tediously familiar shape of teenage boys in flat peaked baseball caps and curiously large trainers. What do they hide in them? More baseball caps? Do they all just borrow clothes off each other? I don’t really understand what is going on.
Now we have GMD3, Union J, MK1, WD40 (ok I made that one up… or did I?). They’ve all been together and working their arses off for the best part of a couple of weeks now since being told to sing together, the measure of true success. With each new band of merry clones that pout at me from all angles, like walking PR campaigns for the abolition of sight, I have to ask myself who actually cares about all of this? The sad fact is that millions of people care. People who vote in elections, people who drive cars and in some cases probably handle heavy machinery.
My brain is slowly starting to feel like Pearl Harbour – attacked relentlessly with wave after wave of vicious and unforgiving explosions of evil. Where do these kids come from? It is like there is a little conveyer belt trundling out from inside Louis Walsh’s wankbank, straight on to the X-Factor stage.
I don’t watch X-Factor, mainly due to it being a weekly dose of mental torture, which no sane person would give the time of day. But sadly I can’t escape this latest phenomena (less ‘rock and roll’ phenomena and more ‘bubonic plague’ phenomena) because Twitter’s army of ‘Directioners/Beliebers/Patriarchs of the Third Reich/whatever’ simply won’t let me. The only smidgen of enjoyment I can strain from this whole mess is sifting through Twitter and embracing the fact that I soon may well be the only person left on earth who isn’t a totally braindead cruiseship (coincidently the workplace of most of X-Factor’s past finalists (if they’re lucky)), void of a rudder, in a vast sea of absolutely nothing but weird trainers, crap hats and never-ending sadness.