David Beckham desperately wants to be awarded and OBE for his contributions to football, or maybe underwear adverts. Paul Gascoigne’s reckless fight with the drinking addiction calls for some kind of recognition. I wonder sometimes though, who’s gonna quit what first: Rooney playing for England, or Gazza drinking. Victoria Beckham for her services to anorexia, Kim Kardashian for making Botox the worldwide phenomenon, Coleen Nolan for winning Big Brother doing in the house less that she does on Loose Women. I’d MBE Mariah Carey for amazing New Year’s Eve mime fail performance, Josie Gibson, whoever she is, for saying: “I’ve had my boobs and my stomach done so there’s nothing else, is there?”. I wouldn’t knight myself though, I would feel bad in such a company.
“Have you seen the ‘La La Land’ yet?” – asked my friend, and my answer was No. For some time I felt really bad about it, like a pop-culture alien, a heartless, unromantic monster or at least a thick ignorant. Then I realised his question itself was a trap – the word Yet was presuming that sooner or later I am indeed gonna watch it, that there’s no other alternative, but to sheepishly go with the blind flow of a cinema lobby propaganda and purchase the ticket (that’s what matters to them). In my pal’s question I’ve encountered the unconscious attack on my freedom – freedom of choice. What if I’m – in your language – a twat and I have no appetite whatsoever to watch that overrated crap? By the way, I think I am the only person on the planet who had balls to call ‘La La Land’ a crap. I’ve seen the trailer and it didn’t wow me. Quite opposite. It’s the trailer’s fault not mine, that it didn’t make me wanna oh / more.
The movie is hugely overrated / overadvertised. 14 Oscar nominations? Is the Academy taking the piss? It is not better than Titanic, no way. It’s like comparing Kim Kardashian to Marylin Monroe, or Kanye West to Barack Obama. Emma Stone lacks “Kate Winslet quality”, and Ryan Gosling’s kiss wouldn’t (and actually didn’t on the screen) turn any frog into a princess. The soundtrack is cool, but it can’t compete with Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On’.
Trump’s nightmare-come-true new America reality, Grandpa Donald, thinking to yourself how fortunate you are living outside The Kingdom of Mighty Pussygrabber. He can ban me from travelling to America, I’m not planning to do so in the next 4 years, for obvious reasons.
British Prime Minister is not perfect neither, but at least she doesn’t grab any man by testicles. Her speeches – on the contrary – are perfectly (ghost-)written though, they make your heart melt in the sunny vision of fraternity, equality and egality she paints. I love to listen to Theresa, not because I believe that she’ll put her words into work (she is a politician – what do you expect, huh?) but her voice and her luscious promises of paradise heal me, make me smile, make me feel delusively happy. Her words are like heroin – they give me a limitless happiness (as heroin, according to addicts, does). Theresa May is a heroin, at least in this context.