How D'ya Like Them Apples, Brucie?

So here we are, 2010, resolutions all firmly brushed aside already and sporting a nice new kite. I've got really fed up of reading all of this 'New Year, new beginnings' bullshit that you're force fed at this time of year, so I've decided to take this opportunity to forget about the beginnings and focus more on a particular shambles I would like to see finish: Bruce Forsyth's career.

How this man has lasted so long on our TV screens, talent tank as shallow as piss on concrete, is well and truly beyond me. I'd rather share a bath with Ian Huntley than listen to him coining the SAME catchphrases again and again in that voice which constantly sounds like he's about to sneeze. I think you've got the wrong end of the stick Mr Forsyth, it's definitely not nice to see you, to see you nice. Your endless amount of cringeworthy 'jokes' and pensioner's pin up persona aren't going to wash with me.



Let 2010 be the year when you call it a day on your oh so illustrious career. You should have bowed out gracefully after Play Your Cards Right, but no, here you are slobbering over Tess Daly and prancing around like a fairy at 81 years of age. It would be one hell of a Brucie Bonus if you would just do one. Why can't you just jack it in and play a bit of bingo or dominos like the majority of people your age? Go and talk about the war or how cold it's been recently with Albert and Margaret. How d'ya like them apples, Brucie?

Moving away from the negativity, my new year was actually quite good. Jaunt down at Cosmic Ballroom was class as per usual, and this resulted in many a fine mess at the after party. A special mention needs to be made for a good friend of mine who can only be described as 'pulling the faces of 5 years ago'. Definitely got his £10's worth that lad. Go on son, give us your best Bruce Forsyth impression.

I'm still hammering the hip hop as much as the House music these days. Had the time over Christmas to have a browse through some of my older CD's and had the pleasure of rediscovering Gangstarr. DJ Premier is the best producer in hip hop ever in my opinion, whilst Guru is definitely in my top 3 lyrically. This is just a small sample of their talent:

Dwindling Faith in the Human Race

I've lost track of the whole blog thing over the past week or so through a combination of suspected H1N1, hangovers and mild laziness, but the events over the past week or so have prompted one of those almighty rants that you read over and realise what a miserable bastard you've become. All the same, I genuinely think that most of it is justified, whether it be through arrogance or a general lack of brain cells throughout society....

I'm one of the crowd who didn't learn to drive when I was 17, and here we are, 6 years on, still bound by the shackles of public transport. I dread nothing more than stepping onto the peasant wagon at 8 in the morning, faced with the prospect of speaking to a bus driver with a face like an depressed prune, wallet tactically kept in the back pocket of some overly tight trousers so he can whinge like it's the end of the earth when you pay with a £20 note and he has to get change out. How's that customer service NVQ going for you mate? Work experience with the Nazis going well?

And then just when you think it can't get any worse, you have to get the metro up to town. Every single morning I get stuck next to the ultra-friendly residents of cultural hot spots such as Meadowell, Howdon and Percy Main, praying that they might have discovered soap, or at least some manners. I had the complete and utter misfortune of parking my disgruntled backside beside a right specimen the other day; poppy gaffa-taped to a vintage Reebok jacket, hair like a wire brush and a half smoked tab tucked firmly behind one of the strangest shaped ears I had ever seen. He even kept his phone, wallet, passport and keys in one of those plastic wallets you used to hoy your certificates in from school. Didn't see any certificate in his wallet though. Occasionally I'm even greeted with the stone-faced ticket checking inbreds. You don't need to wear a big bright orange jacket 'mate', I can tell by that overly smug look on your face that you're an absolute throbber. I might not have a ticket, but at least I have prospects.

Finally, we get to the shocking obsession with pop culture. If you want to watch it then fine, but I personally couldn't give a shiny shite whether 'Jedward' mimed the words to some song off the Ghostbusters movie- I'd rather see someone inject rat poison into their vocal chords if I'm being brutally honest. I'd actually have more fun watching a woodlouse struggle around on its back than seeing some 'celebrities' whinge about missing home when they've been living in a jungle for half a day, so please, for the love of God, don't tell me how brave Jimmy White was when he wrestled with a crocodile because quite frankly, I don't care. Keep your conversations about bullshit vampire movies to your poncey little sleepovers, where you can all sit and eat pizzas whilst watching re-runs of the Jonas Brothers concert all night if you like. The day I queue up at 12am to watch a movie in the cinema will be the day I have fuck all left to whinge about.

I could go on all day. Maybe one day I'll even do a full blog about things that I like. For now though, I'll stick a tune on the end like normal and hope for the best. I was a massive fan of J Dilla when he was alive and he's one of the few artists where I saw the posthumous hype as being justified, unlike a lot of other names in hip-hop. I love 'Footsteps in the Dark' by the Isley Brothers, which is probably why this tune sounds cool as fuck to me!

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Parties > Plant Food > Paranoia

So not for the first time in my life, I went mentally insane on Saturday. There was no looking for security cameras behind the shampoo and conditioner this weekend, no horrible conspiracy code games, no sir! Picture a situation where you're battered from the mother of all sessions; your brother keeps switching the channel and everyone who comes on the screen is rinsing you to bits. Now I can tolerate it when my mates do it, but when Eamonn Holmes is taking the piss out of you for being a chubby bastard, you look past the hypocrisy of the statement and wonder what the hell is going on. Stand up comedians telling you that you're a joke and that you're going to find out something 'verrrry interesting in the morning' is hardly the type of quip that helps your head come around and your heart rate drop below what has now become a constant 230BPM. I slept in the conservatory that night because I thought someone had pumped poison gas into my bedroom. Should have just taken the dog for a walk really.

I'd like to think I'm alright now. Been to work, grafting hard as ever, fetching the Peach Melbas in and sending inappropriate emails. Turns out the ex-employee that I was messaging over Facebook that day (read the last blog post if you have to know) wasn't content with my boss giving me a small ticking off. Oh no, this girl wanted to take it a lot further than that, so she emailed the big boss down in Canary Wharf, London. She has got a point though- I'm sure if I was one of the head honchos down at one of the countries biggest selling tabloid papers, then I'd want to sort out the cheeky little beggars on the shop floor for serenading old members of the workforce as well. Maybe she'd heard that I'm mentally unstable now? We could have been so good together...

I've got to ride the next couple of weeks out without a penny to my name. 'Not a pot to piss in' as old Papa Milne would say. It's ironic that I spent the last of my fortune on some plant food, especially when you consider I've never done the gardening in my life. Probably going to spend the rest of my week writing a list for my boss on why Jade Goody is NOT 'an English rose' as she so unbelievably put it today. Guess we'll have to agree to disagree with that one. I don't think I'll struggle too much, but if all else fails then I could always crack out a few jokes about a wedding dress and a shuttle cock.

I'm just like everyone else when I say that a load of the music I used to listen to when I was a pup was absolute tripe. Strutting round in a flat peak cap and a bandanna wasn't really a good look in a lower-middle class school back in the day, and the name 'Fifty Pence' was rightfully branded at every given opportunity. I guess looking back, I was a total cunt. The music that stood the test of time though is still, in my eyes, at least defensible! Here's something I used to listen to back then...a personal favourite:

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Coming Soon to a Greggs Near You...

I've been threatening to get in on this blog action for quite a while now, so I've finally dragged myself round to doing it tonight. I'm claiming the backseat urination in the Disco Wagon as a mere publicity stunt, you know, get people talking. Insert publicity cliché here. I can assure you all that I was thinking about when unzipping my jeans was how much my stock would rise throughout Newcastle. You don't think of the long term consequences of doing something like that, you just grab the opportunity with both hands (honestly) and run.

I know it's only Monday, but it's been fairly hectic already. Went into town to discuss a new business venture with local tycoon Dan Maguire. My boss had sent me to grab her a steak bake from Greggs, the pastry church of the North East. This somehow led to Dan and myself discussing the possibility of manufacturing low-fat pasties. We've got a couple of fillings in mind- namely the stench of one of our good friend's super strength cheddar breath. Dan also discussed financing the invention by getting a Ferrari on finance and selling it off. There's a good chance the business won't take off as much as we'd hoped.

I was bored at work today, so I thought I'd be a little ringpiece and cyber-bully someone over Facebook. I only started my job last week and it's a hell of a lot better than the mind numbing 12 hour marathon shifts, selling cheap mobile phones to misinformed pensioners that I used to have to tolerate over on the call centre Mecca that is the Cobalt. The girl who had this new job before me pretty much got sacked, so I thought I'd piss her off by messaging her and offering my condolences, before asking if she fancied taking my dog for a walk sometime. She wasn't very forthcoming so I tried to sway her decision by telling her I would pick all of the dog shit up. That didn't seem to work too well either to be honest, but being the trooper that I am, I kept trying my luck. She's now going to email one of the directors of the company because I've been 'harassing' her, so I'm pretty gutted to say the least. I don't even have a dog.

Everyone seems to post music on these things so why break the habit of a lifetime? I grew up listening to hip hop and still love it now...well the older, jazzier stuff anyway. None of that chick-on-my-dick garbage. 'I Used to Love H.E.R' by Common is still one of my favourite tunes now. Personifing hip hop as a woman all the way through the track is some clever shit!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y12YgEIFcAY