Can someone please explain why every time I settle down to watch a film I am subjected to several minutes of “entertainment news” about some vacant celebrity gobshite who has apparently “opened up” about their “journey”?
What journey? From the kitchen to the fucking photocopier?
I couldn't care less what some overpaid nobody has been doing, wearing, shagging, launching, endorsing or “creating”. Every day it's the same: “And now, Hollywood star Darren Plop has revealed his exciting new range of scented candles.”
FUCK OFF DARREN.
Then comes the so-called journalist, grinning and nodding like a Labrador that's just been shown a sausage, asking such penetrating questions as, “How does it feel to be you?”
Meanwhile I'm sitting there thinking, “How does it feel to be ME? It feels like I WAS WATCHING A FUCKING FILM.”
These celebrity interviews are basically toddlers shouting “LOOK WHAT I DONE!” except the toddler has £4 million in the bank and some desperate cunt with a microphone crawling up its arsehole.
And what really boils my piss is that they call it “news”.
News is a war. News is a government collapsing. News is a plague of locusts descending upon Sheffield.
“Former reality star Tiffany Bungle has designed a handbag.”
THAT ISN'T NEWS.
That's an object.
And I'd actually prefer the adverts for funeral plans and life insurance that come on afterwards. At least those have the decency to tell me I'm going to die, my children will be fighting over my toaster and some sweating bastard from Croydon will inherit my pension.
Bring back proper television, I say.
Or, failing that, show me a two-hour static picture of a brick.
It would have more personality.