Monday, August 02, 2004


Feelin' prickly. Still angry, I guess.

Maybe it's the fact that I saw on TV last night (so prob. not true, then) that Simon Cowell spends £250,000 a year on promoting himself. He's spent a million on cars (likes Lamborghinis, apparently). Pap photos of him go for 2-5 grand a shot, depending on who he's sat on the beach with. Well, it's a free country and Cowell's entitled to spend his money on whatthefuckhelikes, but it does make me wonder how many babies you could feed with that kinda cash. Wouldn't it be a beautiful thing if all that sugary dreck produced by BMG helped to pay for water-filtration units and antibiotics in North-West Africa...if Robson & Jerome records supplied school-books and internet access, and Westlife helped train opticians and cataract surgeons? That would be pure alchemy: shit transmuted into gold.
Mind's been drifting today: dreaming up Name and Shame scams and twisted revenge fantasies where a million irate bloggers shame Billy Bunter lookalike Elton John into paying part of his royalties for The Lion King to famine relief. Yeah, I know he holds parties for charity: his own AIDs charity...but is it an African AIDs charity? Ouch.
Or maybe The Disney Corp. would part with their cash and finally really do something for the kids of the world if a senior exec. was caught with his dick in a hooker on web-cam. Jacko could make amends too. Put his money where his mouth is.
Or we could boycott The Beckhams. Embarrass Macca. Tar-and-feather Max Clifford.

Yeah, I know I'm being a real wanker about this, but I can't help it. I feel so, I dunno...

I'll be back to normal soon. Promise.