Yer dirty Mick!

So - it transpires that the Ginge has had a whole load of minge.




Well done Mick Hucknall. I think we have failed to embrace this man's achievement. I'm aware that his claims of bedding over 1000 women over three years might be total lies - I too dream of topping the Trending topics on Twitter, Mick - but let's assume its all true. *shudder* Let's all take a Motilium and think about it for a moment.

Look at him. Go on, really long hard look. Imagine his sex face. Waking up to that carroty beast of a morning. For those feeling slightly aroused as a result, please seek psychiatric attention. No matter how hard I try, all I can think of is "How drunk would I have to be?", and thus I plan on conducting a scientific study. I'm gonna sit and drink while staring at a picture of Huckers and see how long it takes me to fall foul of his charms. Don't worry, I'll enlist the aid of a paramedic and a stomach pump prior to the experiment.

No matter how seducing his charm and status, I'm still struggling to imagine bumping uglies with the guy. I mean, his music wasn't even good! Except for that Stars one. It reminds me of sitting in a car lot for 2 hours when I was 8 years old. It was the highlight of a rather shit day.

This rate of success surely is testament to his musical success. Simply Red must have been RAKING it in to pay for all the drugs/booze to make those women do the dirty dance with Mick. This is the best argument I've seen against piracy and file sharing robbing artists of money. If I continue "borrowing" my music off t'internet, how on earth with the uglies of the industry get laid? From now on, I shall judge my downloading habits on this theory - hence why I don't feel bad for Rhianna - she probably needs to pay people to keep away from her if anything. And if she comes round, knocks on my door, bitching about the tenner I owe her, I'll sort her out. *Insert bawdy comment here* Its a good thing I don't like Olly Murs, and will hence never feel the need to pay out for his musical dribbles. He looks like he's missing a few chromosomes or summat. Like his face was never unpacked properly. Good thing I'm perfect eh?

Well done Mick. Here's hoping you were sensible, and that you had decent access to wash facilities while on tour. Moreover - congratulations on keeping count, you creep.

Flo Rida

What does he do? Well, he does quite a lot actually. He's much like my Dad - he does odd bits and bobs as they crop up, yet nobody is quite sure what exactly he does. For example, he spent a day in Roundstone, about 50minute drive from home, to pull up plants. In the snow and ice, just in case life wasn't hard enough. I mean my dad, of course, though I'm sure Flo has a price too.
So, wise Oracle (Wikipedia)- what are his musical accomplishments? "Right Round" - with Ke$ha and bits nicked from Dead or Alive. He talked over a bit of Alexandra's (proper) debut single "Bad Boys". I don't know who was supporting who, there. I can only assume some sort of meeting was held:

Agent: "Alexandra, meet Flo Rida - Flo, this is...."
Both: "Um... Hi." *look quizcally upon each other*
Agent: "See these words, Flo? Just say em real quick when Alex here is vandalising all around her. With the vague memory of a nation backing her and your 5 fans and your mum - we'll be unstoppable."

He did some stuff with Nelly Furtado - though who hasn't at this stage. The fact she has a greatest hits is laughable. Is it 2 or 3 sucessful albums you've had? (Actually, its 4. But one of those is in Spanish, and the first one is called "Whoa, Nelly!" which due to its terrible name, makes it automatically null and void).

WAIT - I'm forgetting the classic "Be On You" with Ne-Yo. From the lyrics, I have gathered this is not an Anchorman spoof as I had hoped. Instead, at least I think, its about shagging his short mum.



Anyhoo, the most recent example of Flo's fine work is his addition to the Saturday's 'Higher'. The Saturdays do NOT need tweaking. Had the song been originally recorded and released to contain some of Mr. Rida's babbling - fine. But what bugs me is that the album version of the song has no such input, as is just super without it. Now, upon releasing it as a single, they've crowbarred in an intro and a bridge. Though hearing this well 'ard, well cool rap artiste shouting "una! Molly! Vanessa!" - fairly bog standard names - does make me laugh. (they recorded the video separately too. Another bug bear.)

I do wonder though - does he write these ditties himself? I like to think he has some originality and integrity. Even if it does mean he's tarnishing the lovely Saturdays.

He's got a new album out soon. in case you're interested.

brain power

Its gone 2am, i've been in bed for almost an hour and i have to be up for work in the morning. Yet my brain has other ideas. Its like as soon as i switch off the lights, the simpleton operating the contols in my noggin starts prattling about nowt much in particular.

I didn't help myself reading my horoscope. Even though every sensible part of me (yes, it does exist somewhere) tell me its poppycock, I still check them. And its opened a horrid can of worms. Tonight my brain has gone with the philosophical dilemna of 'do i actually feel such or such a way, or do i think i feel that way cos i should or cos i want to?' indeed, the total emotional numbing effect of medication the last 9 months has not helped, having decided last week I can no longer be fucked drugging away the symptoms of a much bigger problem. Yeah, screw you HSE, I'm having my own revolution. But seriously, i think maybe going cold turkey from the happy tablets mighn't have been totally wise, given my tears at World's Strictest Parents, sick kitties and Florence's Machine and Pink's saddest songs. Gonna have to kart around a multipack of kleenex at this rate.

Twatting

I don' quite know why, and I do not dare try to understand it, but I have made it my mission this evening to get a celebrity twitter mention. This is what happens when I stay in of a weekend, and don't get so blind drunk that the next day my brain function is limited to utilising the remote control and Facebook and my motivation is fuelled only by greasy food.

Getting my stalk on.

Favourite song of the summer?

Favourite song of the summer?

Answer here

Mind Fuck

Did you ever play those silly mind games with yourself? The sort where you challenge fate with silly scenarios such as "if such and such happens before the clock changes, it means one thing or another...". Okay maybe just me, or I'm not doing a great job of explaining it. Most likely the latter, we're all bloody weird.

Well I play it a lot when I have certain issues pressing on my mind, especially when I am otherwise clueless about it. But fate keeps dealing me a rather wonderful set. Just now in fact, though that really took me by surprise. Sure, its hardly concrete scientific evidence of anything, but blimey, it does feel good, warm and fuzzy like a kitten. Its the litle things that make me think maybe life isn't a total bitch.

What a load of twaddle, but I felt like glorifying my joy.

Big Bother

For ten seasons I managed to avoid the summertime lure of Big Brother, with its shiny logos and and rampant nutters and press coverage hogging. Yet, I have fallen at the last hurdle and succumbed to watching the final 11th season. I am hooked. I've even sneaked a few minutes viewing pleasure from the live stream. Seriously, who actually watches that? Other than the poor sods that make it and the person who writes "Rolling News" for The Sun.

I must be going soft, because I think the reason I've kept with it is the blossoming romance between John James and Josie. I don't think I've ever heard myself with such a ridiculously sappy phrase before, I hope this won't become a routine thing for me. But they are so sweet, as sickly sweet as noshing down the entire takings from a successful Trick Or Treating excursion. He is being an utter gentleman, another sentence which rarely enters my head - though not for lack of soppiness, more due to the general lack of it in menfolk. He is a good looking guy, maybe not my cup of tea, but still, he could have his pick of the laydees. What with all the tits-out skinny types floating about, in the early days I figured thats exactly what he'd do. But the bastard has only gone and flung my theory that 99% of men keep their brains in their boxers right out the window. Okay, so maybe I should just include him in the 1% that make my theory a rule and not law, but at the very least he has increased my faith in blokes to reduce the percentage to maybe 95%.

Josie is a champ. Great personality and thats what she uses, she doesn't rely on her looks. I'm not saying its because she can't - by no means is she unattractive - but it is her personality that makes her a genuinely beautiful person. She obviously doesn't think that, she very much doubts it anyway. She keeps referring to her size negatively too, and while she's no size zero, she's hardly morbidly obese!

And so John James falling for Josie has proven that maybe he isn't after one thing. Its proven that maybe looks really don't matter as much to people as I fear, and that maybe whats on the inside really is what matters to people, not double D cup and 0% body fat and having a face thats like summat off d'telly.

I think what I'm trying to get at is that I see myself as being a bit like Josie. Loud mouthed and usually laughing, would talk to the wall and get on well with most people, yet really very insecure about the way I look and really very doubtful of being in any way attractive to someone. So maybe thats why I've gone a wee bit sappy and gooey over them, it is a little bit fairytale. And unlike the Bridget Jones movie, this is real. And gawwd only knows I've had my fair share of Bridget Jones moments. You know, the eating Ben and Jerry's and listening to sad music type moments, not men vying for my affections by wrestling in public sort. Then again I love ice cream and hate confrontations, so its win-win really. But where is my knight in a rather off putting oversized beanie hat? Hmm? Le sigh.

So if he turns around after Big Brother ends and its all a sham, I will start burning men at the stake, or just move into a dingy flat, buy several cats, wear only dressing gowns, and liberally rub myself with cabbage to get that authentic crazy old lady smell and accept my fate. At least I'll stop using hideous phrases like "blossoming romance" - shudder.