12.05.2010 - 2:23 p.m.

There are some things we don't want to hear at any time of the day, let alone the time when we're in the most fragile of states, the morning. The obvious choices such as screaming babies and animals being tortured i've discounted because they're, well, too obvious. As our global network crashed this morning i thought i better make my foray into tesco while it's still quiet, by sheer chance the only items i was buying were milk and crunchy nut cornflakes, although i resisted the temptation to rip open the pack with my teeth, sit down in the canned goods aisle and pour the milk into the pack, because that would mean i was knowingly conforming to the media stereotypical expectations, and i'm not enough of a hipster knob to be that referentially ironic.

However the bone of contention in my leg joint of wordiness is novelty sport songs, and by this the only people who release novelty sport songs are foot-the-ball enthusiasts, the worst kind of enthusiasts. Playing loudly near the entrance to the store above shelving packed with 'supporters gear' (fleecing of morons) was chirpy, pre-schoolish novelty football songs on a cd, unsurprisingly i took immediate umbrage with this kind of assault on my personal space, i don't stand in the foyer of your shop playing psytrance at full volume and in reciprocation you shouldn't force unrequested ragenoise into my ears.

Every time there's a global or semi-global competition some shit mongers churn out a frightful piece of rancid cock jam which is forced into our ears just because we happen to be in a shop. So far i don't think anyone has felched a new song from their anal repertoire in time for the 2010 all-in amateur mugging contest that will soon play out in Sith Ifricaa, so we're treated instead to novelty tat from years gone by, re-released and re-packaged specifically to extract money from short-sighted cunts who're too lost in the moment to use any kind of oversight on what they're paying for.

From what i can determine, keith allen has been involved in most of the novelty football songs released in the UK to date, as his resume comprises sporadic tv in between extended alcohol benders and churning out slightly talented kids, i guess producing musical shightmares is a steady state job for him.

I give it two years before a member of our 'new and improved' cabinet is caught by the tabloids snorting coke off a rent boys arse (or offering to broker the same to an undercover reporter), same shit, different colour, public school is the only place where you can be properly prepared for a life as a UK politician of any colour. On the subject of flaming hypocrisy, i'm happy see that george rekers (he of the majestic 70's gay moustache) loud homophobe and all round two faced turd bag conservative representative has been caught in flagrante travello with his rent boy returning from a european love trip. He says he's not gay (apart from the moustache, but it's celibate) but did receive 'sexual massages' from a skinny gay man but they didn't actually copulate so that's ok, it is gay to fuck a guy but it's definitely not gay to get repeated naked hot oil genitalia massages from a dude. Coincidentally his job is to straighten out gay people so they don't burn in christian hell, he's only doing it for their eternal souls y'know, definitely not so he's got constant access to confused and vulnerable people with gender/religion issues, which you can be damn sure of he's not taking advantage of for handjobs on the treatment couch. Un-fucking-believable.

Actually not that unbelievable at all, the red flags for hypocrisy are those shouting the loudest about anything, and then trying to cover it up when they're caught, halfwit amateurs.

However the new cabinet got off to a very bad start when all bbc1 scheduled programming was swept aside so we could watch stalkerish video of politicians doing mundane stuff while hearing nick robinson padding indefinitely waiting for someone to actually address the collected media outside number ten. J was extremely pissed off that her medical soap opera was callously ditched, and only moments after the joy of realising she could watch tv on the laptop in bed. Would it have been so hard for the beeb to have made the soap available on demand even though the main channels were only showing rain and pundits, not a rhetorical question in any direction, they should have but didn't, in any event the iplayer crashed so no viewing for anyone, this is not what we pay our licence fee for.

My rising bile, powered solely by the human inability to be uncuntish in every possible situation has begun to stain my prefrontal cortex, with the swift addition of Mindbleach(tm) you can wash away those woes and be left with a zingy, lemon fresh brain, unsullied (everso briefly) by the moronity flying towards you at relativistic speeds from all corners of the globe. Today�s mindbleach is pussy flavoured (there is little better) and communicated by the image below of an truly old-school herculean smackdown caught in mid flight, left hand kitty will not forget this day in a hurry...

"Holden is better than Ford and my eloquent reasoning will soon be clear to you"