August 19, 2012 by sshhoobbmmxxbblloogg
another year, another series of the x-factor. yep, simon cowell’s favourite cash cow is back, as bombastically enthusiastic as ever. the nation waited with baited breath to see which permeation of delusional fuckwits, dead mum stories and bizarre gems would be unearthed.
and the great british public were NOT disappointed.
guest judges nicole “pussycat dolls” scherzinger and mel b proved that chalk and cheese really do make for strangebedfellows; pussycat being all doe/dead eyed (a hard trick to pull) and scary being everyone’s least favourite dream killer.
you imagine that for every NO she delivered, she was booting Tulisa in the shins and thinking of innovative ways to mass murder wild fowl.
tulisa contosotoalaldoosoaovolavos was her usual inoffensive yet highly grating self; the Jessie J type people’s fave, though her qualifications for being a talent show judge make Louis “charisma” Walsh seem like a fucking PhD.
St Gary of Barlow was the fine line between kindness and real talk, the only really appropriate judge. he writes all of the take that’s songs, remember? and the queen loves him. so there.
and then there were the contestants……. shit the bed!!!!
the P!nk-a-like who was told to sing pink and then told to stop being pink, but looked like pink and sang like pink, made me wanna punch pink in the womb for inflicting the world with godawful tribute acts. though she did have the series first meltdown launching her microphone at the judges and calling tulisa a CUNT. she gets 2 plus points for saying what we all think.
AND she looked like Ron Perlman playing a transvestite Joker tribute act….. +1020 points.
the interpol alerting germanic gamer who wanted to be freddie mercury so badly, his method act was as dead as the late great showman himself. minus 100000 points for life.
some girl wrote a song, about her dad gramps, everyone cried. i sicked in my mouth at the saccharine comments and realization that she’ll play on deceased septugenarians til she watlzes to the finals.
the irish, well we’ll call him a rapper, i liked his flow, he couldnt pull a loo chain but gotta love a comedy turn.
the only real surprise for me was a young lad called Curtis. he looked like a Madame Tussauds waxwrok left in a parking lot in July, all melt of face but for someone who didnt know the difference between a geek and a nerd, and who clealry had never touched someone intimately, homeboy was a STONE COLD PANTY MELTER the second he started singing. +10000000 points for the shock alone.
all in all, it was the same shit a year later. 8/10
more next week.