lets just

band tells Britain’s Got Talent scout to do one

apparently the talent scouts for BGT are worried they are not going to have enough acts for the show and are approaching signed bands that they found on youtube. the benefits? huge exposure.  here’s the scout’s email:

“My name *****  and I am contacting you to discuss the prospect of Sweet Sweet Lies competing in this years biggest and most popular talent competition. Britain’s Got Talent is back for an incredible sixth consecutive series and we are more eager than ever to find real talent in the UK. BGT attracts huge audiences, which reached over 19 million at its peak, and has kick-started the careers of many of the country’s most popular entertainers. We want this year’s show to be bigger and better than ever and to truly reflect the emerging talent coming out of the British live scene. 

With this in mind I came across the band on Youtube and wondered whether the show was something that they had ever considered? I know you will want to talk it over with them first, but if it’s something that they are interested in perusing then I would love to hear your thoughts and I am here to answer any questions you/they may have. You can contact me on this e-mail or by phone on 0207 *** ****, it would be great to speak to you. 

Please feel free to let me know what you think or if would like any more info. 

I very much look forward to hearing from you. 

All the best,”

note the scout doesn’t list other perks to the job, like having the tabloids go through your bins or being slagged off by a panel of halfwits while they bash a buzzer with their ham-fists-

here’s the band’s reply:

Many thanks for listening, i’m glad you like the band. It’s always incredibly flattering when anybody likes us at all, let alone someone who works in television. This is obviously very exciting for us, especially given that most of us grew up in small towns without fancy televisions or radios. It may seem strange to you ****, but the most we could hope for as entertainment when we were young was watching beads of condensation drip down the windows on cold winter mornings, wringing our hands in anticipation that perhaps the beads might collide, splashing our little faces with speckles of cold water and momentarily ending the tedium that came with growing up in the countryside. 

I can tell you ****, we spent many a night just sitting in our bedrooms, (those of us rich enough to afford bedrooms) furiously playing guitar and touching ourselves, dreaming of a day when we would be invited to perform OUR songs that WE wrote, alongside dogs that dance under duress and overweight greek exhibitionists. 

Now that day has come, words have failed me. You see ****, it’s like waiting for Christmas the whole year round, and then suddenly realising that it’s already over. I wish I had savoured this email ****, perhaps reading just a sentence at a time, over ten or twenty years, delecately plucking out your subtle nuances, delighting in every turn of phrase. Of course, by that point Britain’s got Talent will probably be the only thing on television, as programmes that have to pay people to appear on them will be old hat. Good riddance I say! What programme couldn’t be improved by say, the addition of Piers Morgan and a few plate spinners? I for one welcome the overlord of celebrity and the death of culture within our society. 

What is culture anyway ****? A few show offs’ in the arts world making life more difficult by desparately confusing the likes of you and I whenever they get the chance? I approve of your simplified buzzer system very much. Why not employ a buzzer system in galleries? Theatres? Perhaps we should be employing buzzers in our bedrooms to rate the performance of our lovers. And what of love itself? Wouldn’t the often perilous journey of love be made far easier with the help and guidance of Amanda Holden or that girl from N-Dubs?

In short, I thank you for your kind offer ****.

Unfortunately, the band will have to decline on this occassion because they believe you to be either solely responsible for, or at least party to, most of the wickedness that goes on in the world.

this is the band— cant really imagine them among the Boyles of this world? i’ve heard Susan Boyle talking about fucking and drinking and having a martini with some whores but obviously off the record

IM OLD

OK i am not old *BUT* i am old enough to remember when gin n juice came out even though i was bopping along to it in mini dungarees with a bowl cut (age 17 1/2) no jk, more like very young

but

have you fucking heard this

snoop dogg i preferred it when you made people sweat by intimidating them with your crazy c-walk and psychosis inducing amount of weed, to making people sweat by standing uncomfortably close in bars and pulling packets out your jacket whenever a girl turns her back to a drink

when did the trend happeN? the uk charts is full of all this stuff like the little greek guy in a band with his cousin

it was so exciting when i first heard dizzee rascal, like wow, ok, this is a genuine bonafide alternative to “in da club” which is quite interesting

now his wiki says 

associated acts: calvin harris

what is that?

this is a really level entry post that basically mirrors youtube comments thrown at a wall like wet spaghetti but whatever. anyway

bring fruityloops back

a story i wrote about patte’s obsession with snowmen

Once upon a time in a cold country in Scandanavia that doesn’t exist anymore there was a boy named Patte. Patte liked nothing better than to build snowmen, all day, every single day, after he saw that cartoon The Snowman. He loved snowmen so much that he stopped talking to all his real friends and built a little snowman town in his back guarden, that he called Snowtowne his parents were concerned for him but he decided he didn’t need them any more because he’d made snow vesions of his parents which he preferred.

His habit and fun hobby got out of control and he became totally obsessed, he built a Snow corner shop with a snow asian man who owned it called Jared Snow, and he built a Snow Parliament and even a Snow printing press where he would publish snowpapers about scandals and rivalries between different snow politicians.

It was a cold night like any other, and Patte had on his favourite garden mittens (they were his favourite because they were blue and they said WICKED on them in yellow writing), when suddenly he heard a strange noise. Patte looked up into the sky and saw about ten purple clouds racing towards him. They lingered above his house and snow town and a man came out of one of the clouds and bellowed, “LITTLE PATTE. THIS IS GOD, I CANT BELIEVE YOU PREFER SNOWMEN TO MY PERFECT CREATIONS. IF YOU LIKE SNOW MEN SO MUCH, WE’LL SEE HOW YOU ARE IN TWENTY FOUR HOURS TIME.”

God checked his CAsio watch and said to Patte, “RIGHT THEN PATTE. 8pm ON SUNDAY, THAT IS WHEN I WILL BE BACK TO CHECK ON YOU” and with that, before Patte had a chance to say anything back to God, lightning struck Patte’s garden and melted all of his snow friends, all of his snow buildings, everything.

Except for one, one of Pattes earlier creations, Colin the Yob of Snowtown.

“Fucks this all about then you little cunt” said Colin.

Patte couldn’t believe his luck! His dreams were coming true - his snowmen were coming to life! 

“Oh golly, oh goodness gracious, you’re really really real! You’re really real!” Patte raced up to Colin and gave him a hug with all his might, Pattes rosey cheeks and beaming face looked up at Colin’s snow stubble and unkindly face.

“Fuck are you, some kind of fuckin POOF?” Colin shouted, then pushed Patte to the floor. “Sorry mate,” Colin said in a calmer voice. “I ain’t got nothing against poofs, I just don’t want them to touch me, alright?”

“What’s a poof?” Patte asked quizically. “Anyway, I’m so excited! Let’s go on an adventure, like in my favourite animated short The Snowman!”

“Yeah alright son. I need some fags anyway.”

And so they set off into the night, or actually more like to the 24 hour Budgens that definitely exists in Scandanavia. Colin swaggered into the shop, pissed up from two cans of K cider he’d had on the way, and spat on a tramp who was resting near the doorway. “Get a fucking job you old cunt!” he snickered. “Alright guv, ten mayfair” he said to the shopkeep.

“Can I see your ID please”

“My fuckin ID mate? i’ll DO YOU” and Colin jumped over the counter and nutted the shop keeper right in the face, pulled out a knife and trimmed the shopkeepers hair. “WHheres your hair, you IDIOT” he said to the shopkeep. Patte was very surprised to notice that the shop keeper hadn’t even noticed that Colin was a snow man! However Patte much preferred snowmen to real people so he was happy that Colin was abusing a person.

It wasn’t long before the police showed up, as another human who Patte HATED had called them. Soon Colin was surrounded and in cuffs, he was spitting and biting toward the police. Patte was taken back home and he never saw Colin again, he cried and cried and cried the whole next day.

Soon, Sunday came around and God rang on the doorbell.

“Sorry God, Patte’s a bit upset right now, I think he wants to be left alone” said Pattes mum.

“SHUT UP i am God” said God and pushed her out of the way. He climbed the stairs and told Patte it was time to man up and make friends with PEOPLE not snowmen. He explained that snowmen are all inherently evil and you can’t even take them inside because they melt too quickly, didn;t he REMEMBER his favourite video?

Patte thanked God for pushing his mum over because she was a bitch anyway and sent God on his way. Patte made real human friends, and consequently grew up to be a serial rapist and child abuser, which he never would have done without God’s advice.

blumpkin

blumpkin