* Against my better judgement I decided to watch the Brit Pop Awards, the end result being the feeling I might have been over zealous in slagging off the baby-boomers.
Russel Brand - is there any point to this incredible prat, I understood he was supposed to be a comedian, did anyone laugh at anything he said? The asshole's dialog resembled that of a 12yr old boy who has read his first hardcore porn novel and can't stop repeating all the new words he's learnt. I suppose the cokehead impersonator thinks he's being provocative, the sad f*ck. Well he's provoked me get the sad bastard off the TV, if that's the best he can do, why not drag in some foulmouthed drunk off the street that would be more entertaining.
In addition to sad bastard Brand we had a long series of sad bastards from the pop world who basically were the least appalling of the utter banal unoriginal crap that got nominated. We were encouraged to feel sorry for Robbie Williams whose gone into 'rehab' well dearie me the rich sad bastard can't cope with prescription drugs and has checked into the equivalent of the Dorchester hotel for a bit of very expensive sympathy, oh dear. Going into 'rehab' is all the rage, badge of honour, for a bunch of sad f*ckers who can't hack it. This has been a growing phenomenon amongst the pop fraternity, first everyone had had a drink problem, then a drug problem, then they had been abused, now they're rushing to rehab. Everybody else has to wrap themselves in blankets and sweat out the excess while drinking numerous cups of tea, over two to four days.
So your a sad f*** who can't cope with life, tough shit and f*** off Brand you talentless t**t.