Archive for August 18th, 2008

Big Brother

August 18, 2008

A quick look at BB then, if only to get the blog stats back up after I neglected WWM for a week, sitting about at home watching The Wire in my pants.

As usual, Big Brother is utter rubbish. At this stage of the game, as is usual, those who are tuning in are only doing so to vent at the Alpha Nob. 2008’s winner of that prize this time round is an unpalatable little cock called Rex.

This weird little Popeye-like grunt was apparently born to a nouveau-riche father who owns a restaurant or two. As a result, Rex has found himself in a position to lead one of Pappy’s ventures – and has been very vocal about the fact that his only reason for being in the imbecile-bungalow complex is to promote the eatery he’ll be running when he’s freed.

The problem there is that promotion usually involves charming folk to get them to turn up, rather than having people turn away in droves because the head honcho’s a grade ‘A’ arsehole.

A quick look at Rex’s embarassments:

A campaign of bragging about anything that comes to mind:
‘We own three restaurants’. ‘I’ve cooked for a million people’. ‘These stupid silver shoes cost this much’. ‘That manky white hoodie that looks like I found it in the bins outside New Look cost that much’. The twat never stops bragging. Which is weird, because looking at him, you don’t feel anything close to jealousy. You just burst out laughing at his face, clothes and haircut.

Picking on a blind bloke:
If you want a couple of million people (that’s probably what viewing figures have dwindled to) to think you’re a complete tool, pick on the blind bloke. And do it despite the fact the blind bloke’s proved he’s got the measure of you and beats you in every argument. Furthermore, why not stick your tongue out at him while losing an argument? He can’t see after all! You nob.

Having hair that’s more ridiculous than Donald Trump’s:
Is his barber having a laugh? Look at the fucking shape of it! Rex himself said that this cut is a mohican ‘but it’s just brushed to the side’. It doesn’t look like that to me. It’s more like an orange whelk-shell precariously balanced on top of his pointy skull. It makes him look like his brow is continually sliding down towards his mouth. The fucking cock. Even his girlfriend calls him a ‘conehead’. Speaking of which…

His girlfriend:
Rex’s girlfriend entered the BB house a couple of weeks ago. Before she turned up, Rex referred to her as his ‘princess’ and whined about how he was missing her. The night she arrived, you could see in his beady eyes that all his nightmares had come true. Not only was he going to get found out (that their relationship was a mess of childish bickering), but also the world would see that she wasn’t quite the beauty he was making out, and more a sort of budget Paris Hilton with pebbles for teeth. And a voice that could strip paint.

Possibly her greatest moment was refusing to help (blind) Mikey sort out some burning sausages because she was having her hair done. It ought to be noted that her hair is a mess of singed extensions and the only way to get it ‘done’ would be to grade zero the entire bloody bush. Other finest moments occur every time Rex wants her attention. Instead of calling her name, he shouts ‘OI’. What a gent.

Never-ending witless jabbering:
Every claim that’s made, any anecdote that’s told, Rex has done it, done it better, done it more obnoxiously, done it for free. Which is all very lovely for him, but doesn’t stop the fact that he’s a completely noxious bell-end.

If you’re one of the strange breed that turns up for the evictions, don’t boo the smug little twat. Just boot him. Seriously – kick him up the arse. It’d make bloody great TV.

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The Monday Question: Favourite Detectives

August 18, 2008

The world is a dark and dangerous place. We all know this, and while vigilantism shouldn’t be encouraged in real life, there seems to be a host of amateur sleuths in our televisual history who have brought justice to the most sophisticated of murdering parties.

So I put this to you; you’re having a social occasion with a small illuminati of friends when suddenly the lights flicker off. A moment later and they come back on, but in the middle of the room lays the noted psychologist Baron Wilderness – a knife in his back. Screams are heard, suspicion is pointed and chaos chokes the room when suddenly an unexpected guest enters the fray…

So who would want to be your amateur sleuth de la maison? Dr Mark Sloan, perhaps, or maybe Jessica Fletcher or Father Dowling. Was Ironside your preferred choice or do you have leftfield peculiarities for Rosemary and Thyme? Maybe Baywatch was more your style, or at the other end of the spectrum Hetty Wainthrope?

Pick your best, but remember they have to be amateur – anyone whose job is classified as police officer or detective isn’t allowed. I’m also disallowing myself so as keep this question fair.