Sunday, 16 October 2011
I know I should just ignore it and not give it any airtime in my own life, but I hate X-Factor so much I just can't help it. Living in a one-bed flat with someone who is addicted to it makes it very difficult to avoid. So, at roughly this time every Sunday until Christmas I'm going to be a rattling flesh sack of putrid rage. I live in rented accommodation, so smashing shit up isn't going to help. As I result, my only release is to write a list of all the things I would enjoy more than an episode of Simon Cowell's bastard brain filth.
1) Instead of having the X-Factor on my screen, I would prefer it if Peter Sutcliffe came to my house, sat on my sofa, continuously filled his pants with an enormous, runny, brown puddle, then proceeded to sling it at my TV like a misbehaving chimpanzee with spoons for hands for three full hours.
2) Instead of watching the X-Factor, I would rather visit a dreadful karaoke bar in a run-down part of town and, after every act has performed, have them vomit powerfully on my chest until the sound of retching gets so loud that my ears fall right off the sides of my stupid head.
3) Instead of being subjected to the annual swinging X-Factor bollock bag, I'd rather have my fingernails punched silly until they turn an awful shade of blue and are so sore that I never, ever stop crying. Ever.
4) I'd rather French kiss a very, very angry polar bear, immediately after bathing in a paddling pool full of freshly clubbed baby seal faces. Yeah, that faces, not faeces.
******woah, woah... I interrupt this broadcast to reveal that I just heard Haddaway's chart-busting pop/dance classic 'What Is Love?' bursting out of my TV. Always a treat. On closer inspection, I discovered it was being used in a Next advert. I definitely did not expect to see that. Lovely to hear it, nonetheless...*******
5) I'd much prefer to order a pizza, eat the entire thing then find out that, in actual fact, I'd accidentally eaten a vast swarm of hornets with military training and loads of special guns.
6) I'd rather watch a clinically obese old man with dangerous skin issues thoroughly talc himself up after a hot bath. And maybe lend a hand.
7) I would rather attempt a backflip in front of a throbbing crowd, only to painfully land directly on my face. On gravel.
8) It would make me much happier if I stubbed my toe with shattering force every single time I took a step, until my feet resembled little more than a spilled pot of jellied eels.
9) I would rather walk to the shop with a hangover on a very hot day, only to be told upon my return that I have to go back because I forgot the flapjacks.
10) I'd prefer an ancient and fiery hot asteroid, roughly the size of a shoe, to fly through lightyears of endless space, punch through Earth's atmosphere, plummet through the sky, crash through my fragile ceiling and impact with the force of twenty charging bison directly into my exposed genital area.
Basically, I don't like it an awful lot. This list is by no means exhaustive. But it is factually correct.