Boyzgone

Another celebrity death and the vultures are circling.

On the afternoon of 10th October 2009, Boyzone member Stephen Gately was found dead at his home in Majorca at the age of 33.

I was never a Boyzone fan, and when Stephen was allowed to help Ronans weirdly affected vocalisations, he just came across as nasal and tuneless to me, but that's not going to alter the way I feel about his death.

I care, but I don't care.

I care in the sense that I needed to find out. He was in the public eye, so It's only right we should be informed if he's passed away, particularly as it was so sudden and unexpected.

I don't care to be updated as the headline news on every channel and newspaper. Ghoulish reporters hanging around airports waiting for the rest of the band to arrive so they can elbow their way into their grief so we can all have a gawp. Looking for any tell tale signs that anyone is not surprised.

That maybe there was some dark secret that we didn't know about, and it's not really a surprise to those who knew him.

But those who did know him (and there are loads on Twitter) all say he was a sweet, charming man, who didn't do drugs, and was no party animal. He was in a happy loving relationship with his long term partner. The police say there are no signs of foul play, yet still, the vultures circle closer and closer....

'He'd spent the evening at a gay club with a Bulgarian man' the media scum inform us, allowing us to fill in the blanks that it was probably some bizarre gay sex game gone wrong.

If they'd just reported that he'd spent the evening in a club with his partner and a friend, it would have been far less scandalous, but equally true. He was found in his pyjamas, not naked wearing a gimp mask.

We really don't need hourly updates as to whether Boyzones private jet has landed yet, or list in The Daily Telegraph of - and I kid you not - '10 other mysterious celebrity deaths'.

What we need to do is give his family and friends the time and privacy to grieve for a young man tragically taken before his time.

The remit of the news should be to inform us of important world events, not pray on the private misery of others because it sells papers and advertising space. If I wanted regular updates, I can get them on line from any number of websites. The 'News' should be just that. News. Not voyeurism.

There will continue to be speculation until the post mortum is carried out and results splashed over every media outlet. Irrespective of what it shows, I don't think we need to know any anymore than it was just too early.

For anyone who would argue that there's no smoke without fire, and people don't 'just die' at 33, it's a sad fact that sometimes they do, just not always people that the fucking media can make a buck out of.

R.I.P. Stephen Gately. 17 March 1976 - 10 October 2009

What would you do?

What would you do with free texts for life?

• Start a revolution?
• Organise a massive pillow fight?
• Do a conga?
• Have massive fights for days?
• Or is it just too mind boggling...

It's mind boggling for me why anyone would even want or need free texts for life (for only £10 a month....), yet this is what T-Mobile are offering an another of their piss poor irritating adverts.

And the suggestions above are what the shitty jobbing actors real people interviewed thought they would do.

Now why on earth would limitless free texts make you want to start a revolution? Maybe the twat in question already has a revolution planned, but lacks the means to co-ordinate it without exceeding his monthly tariff. Now with his massive free allocation for only £10 a month he can text his plans to everyone in the world on his SIM card, which could be either 200 or 500 potential people depending on his phone, but more realistically the 20 people he actually knows the number for, which once you discount his Mum, Takeaway restaurants and Taxi firms, is just three people. All in 160 characters or less..

'OI M8 I HAVE GR8 PLAN 4 REVOLUSHUN. MEET ME @ PUB @8. BRING LOADS OF GUNS&STUFF.L8R. PS ASK YOUR SIS TO CUM COS SHE IS WELL FIT LOLZ!!!'

It's probably why the peasants revolt failed in 1381. No mobile phones. 'RICHARD OF WALLINGFORD IS A LYING CNUT. WAT TYLER HAS NOT BEEN KNIGHTED, THEY'VE CUT HIS EFFING HEAD OFF. STORM STEPNEY!!!!'

But now all the fucking peasants have got mobile phones, so surely it's just a matter of time?

Or not.

Because I believe texting is a dying fad. A waste of time and money. How often have you got half way through typing something out only to think 'Fuck me, it would be easier to just ring them?'. 'I can't fit everything I want to put on the text any way, and depending on the response, I'll only have to text them back. This could turn a 20 second conversation into a 20 minute one, just trying to establish if a friend is coming to the pub, if so, then which pub, and when..'

Texts are restrictive in length, clog up your phone, and once you delete them to make space, they're gone for ever.

If I need to send a message that can be read (directions, shopping lists, plans for invading France etc..), I'll send an email. All modern phones come with email capability. Sending an email is free, and you can read it on your phone, or any PC. What's more, you never run out of storage space, as it's backed up for life in 'The Cloud'. And you can fill your message planning global domination with links to useful websites on how best to co-ordinate your attacks, and your clothes.

I already have a bundle of texts on my phone contact, and I never get anywhere close to using them, because I nearly always ring, or email.

But if I had free texts for life (for £10/month), what would I do with them?

Probably text T-Mobile every day to call them cunts with the shittiest adverts in the world.

What would you do?

Pull your trousers up

Walking through town yesterday evening Mrsslippy and I had the misfortune of being stuck behind some arsehole who was intent on showing it to us.

He probably thought he looked really cool, but to the 36 year old me, he just looked like a twat.

Having lost a bit of weight recently, I have found myself constantly having to hitch some trousers up. It's fucking annoying, so a belt is called for at all times.

I'm not ashamed of my pants. In fact I've got some great pants that I'd love to show everyone, but could really not be doing spending my entire time preventing them from dropping to my knees by carefully pulling them up, but only by a couple of centimeters so everyone can still see the ferocious Hulk defending my arse crack.

All this whilst walking with some affected tilt of the head, roll of the shoulders, and semi Jamaican patoire that just doesn't sound right from a whitey from Cambridge. It just screams out 'I AM A PRETENTIOUS CUNT' even louder.

I assume twats that wear their jeans like this want to emulate the gangsta style of American rappers, and are vaguely aware that it's history lies in the prison system.

'Yeah' there clothes say. 'I'm dangerous. I've done time, that's why my trousers hang half way down my arse'.

'I've spent time in the big house, and to let my fellow big housemates know that I was up for some big fun, I'd dress like this'.

'Yep, my ringpiece is an open door for anyone who wants to..........oh now just hang on a minute. Is this really what I want to say with my attire?'

Apparently so. There is the alternative camp that says the low slung trousers mean your belt was taken away in prison to stop you killing your self, but the first camp is ...well...,just more camp. Either way, if I can see your pants, it either means you're suicidal, or the local bicycle.

How can we stop arseholes from not covering their arseholes?

Two ways as far as I can tell;

Firstly, you could creep up behind them, shiv them, then violently violate them anally under the assertion that you believed they were sexually available, and therefore gagging for it.

Secondly - and probably more fun, is with chocolate Matchmakers. Any flavour will do, but if you can get hold of the new blackcurrant ones,they will probably work best. When you see a twat with trousers halfway down his buttocks, clean white Calvin Kleins on display, simply take a Matchmaker from the box and slide it down the cleft, between pant and trow, leaving a couple of inches protruding. They should be narrow enough to slip in un-noticed, and within a matter of moments the pristine stick will have transmogrified into a streak of brown sludge.

I have yet to test the melting properties of the blackcurrant ones, but am hopeful that the little crystalline fragments will create some kind of deep red stain amongst the fresh skiddy that would make it oh so more alluring on the eye.

Feel free to try with a finger of fudge, or a Twix, but I don't think the biscuit or caramel will disperse with any degree of speed or satisfaction. A Wispa might melt pretty quickly and efficiently, but could be a bit chunky to slip in without being noticed.

Or if you really want, I suppose you could go for both options, and just anally rape them with a Snickers.

Just make sure its a big one.