Lee Nelson's Well Good Show

Sometimes it's difficult to tell whether the show you're watching is awful or not. Lee Nelson's Well Good Show is not one of these shows. It is 24 carat bullshit, up there with Coming of Age and other such pathetic 'comic' offerings served up by BBC3. For those of you lucky enough not to have seen it I'll briefly detail the content now.

After a gaudy opening credits sequence in which Lee Nelson (created and portrayed by stand up comic Simon Brodkin) struts around like a cock on legs, Lee then greets his live studio audience, fist bumping, kissing, mocking and of course groping them until he decides it's time to get on with his 'qualiteeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!' show. He introduces his friend Omelette, a man who couldn't look more like Humpty Dumpty if he tried. The cameras occasionally cut to shots of him throughout the show, laughing like a hyena whilst stuffing his face like a coronary depended on it.

The show is a strange mix of live interaction and filmed sketches, the live sections include games such as 'Taken from Behind' and 'How many people have they banged?' and yes, they're just as entertaining as they sound. The sketches are just as upsetting, one section 'Dr Bob' follows the life of a zany doctor (for zany read racially stereotyped) and the patients in his care. It's the type of sketch that makes Little Britain look funny and original. So that's an achievement in itself.

The biggest issue that struck me was that the audience shouldn't be a wide cross section of society as it appears to be. It should only consist of it's target audience, dribbling, gurgling lumps of decaying humanity, willing to watch any old crap because they can't even attempt to change the channel as it may snuff out that last dwindling spark of individuality secreted away inside the remnants of their brain, incidentally the exact same target audience that The Jeremy Kyle Show goes for.

Barbers

Today I did something I haven't done in a few months, I took a leisurely stroll down town to get a hair cut. I usually avoid it like the plague, however the length of my hair was so absurd I kept jolting my head to keep it out of my eyeline. Essentially I looked like cousin It from the Addams family...with epilepsy. So I took the plunge and went down, after waiting for an eternity for the previous customer to stop talking about the merits of various golf and country clubs (apparently Springmoor Club now welcomes black people, so that's only about 60 years late), it was finally my moment.

As soon as I sat in the chair I knew I'd made a mistake, his first question to me was 'So, who do you reckon is gonna win?' The World Cup is something which I have little to no interest in, in fact I'd be happy if no one won, and everyone who took part got one of those packs of mini Haribo, you know, the ones that cost 10p. So here I was, held captive by a scissor wielding maniac being interrogated about the possible outcome of some kind of sporting competition that he probably held in higher regard than any god he may have. Needless to say, I wasn't prepared. So I improvised, I thought of the best answer I could and out it tumbled 'England have got a chance if they pull their socks up'. The barber laughed. He laughed hard, for a full 30 seconds he laughed, like a murderer who really enjoys doing a murder. He then stopped very abruptly, pondered for a second and replied with 'Yes'. 'Yes' is all he said. He proceeded in snipping and hacking at my hair until I looked like a dog that's lost some fur all over. He then held up a mirror and asked what I thought. As I was scared of any further Gestapo-style questioning I said it was fine, promptly paid (£8.50! Fucking hell, don't they know there's a recession on?) and left the shop.

Truth is, my hair looked dreadful and I bet that little shit knew it, on returning home I picked up a pair of scissors and proceeded to chop away at the back blindly until it felt more acceptable and until my neck started bleeding. All this because of the World Cup, what an appalling way to spend a lunchtime. I hate this.

Stavros Flatley.

I'm scared. Very scared. I just signed into facebook, only to be greeted with a suggestion. Apparently 16 of my friends 'like' Stavros Flatley, thus qualifying me as a potential 'liker'. But I won't like them, I don't like them. I didn't think anyone actually liked Stavros Flatley, I thought they were just around and people were aware of them, a bit like lamp-posts or meningitis. Nobody likes Meningitis.

The one unique aspect of Stavros Flatley is that they are Cypriot. That's it. Anyone can fucking river dance, even Heather Mills can river dance. So this tubby twosome have got the river dancing Cypriot market all to themselves, but is it even worth having that? Who wants to watch that? It's not a great spectator sport, it probably falls somewhere between cricket and flea fights (effectively cock-fighting, but with smaller chickens). Stavros Flatley have now carved themselves a nice little career out of this, people queue up to buy tickets for their shows. Has society really fallen to these depths? What happened to theatre, art, opera, TV? Are we seriously living in a country where watching fat blokes dance is the best entertainment we can muster? I hate this world sometimes, it's moments like this that set me off. I become painfully aware of the drooling idiot hole we've collectively dug ourselves, we're now standing right on the edge, precariously balanced in between insanity and eternal damnation. I'd choose Hell every time, mind you, Stavros Flatley are probably touring there in November.

Shia LaBeouf

LaBeouf has established himself as THE hot young actor of the moment in recent years, with films like 'Transformers' and 'Indiana Jones'. He gets paid shed-loads of money and he's only 23. And this all stemmed from his humble beginnings on shows like 'Even Stevens'. Which was shit.

I can give you three interesting facts about him.
1. He has his own record label.
2. He celebrates Christmas.... and Hanukkah.
3. He has a ridiculous name.

What can we take away from these three facts? We can establish that he has enough money and ambition to set up a business venture. I'm not aware of any acts that are signed to his label, but I have a feeling that they won't be big names, seeing as he has no fucking idea about anything, never mind managing talent.

We can see that he is a greedy shit when it comes to religious festivals. This is a man who decided one day that he would have his cake and eat it too, you can bet he would celebrate Diwali and Ramadan as well, but he thinks there are no other religions.

And we can see that his name is ridiculous.

For these reasons, which I believe are scientific and entirely relevant. I am proposing a mass boycotting of any movies he may appear in for the rest of his career. What's truly terrifying is that he's only 23, we've got decades of this shit still to go.

Matthew McConaughey

What you are about to read is the most compelling argument for re-instating the death penalty you'll ever read.

This Texan twat is responsible for numerous cinematic abominations, none more so than Failure To Launch. I had the unpleasant experience of watching this film whilst on a flight to America a couple of years back, I had never seen any of his movies before so I'd set my expectations quite low so that I could be pleasantly suprised. I didn't set them low enough apparently. This was a car crash of a film, (co-starring Sarah Jessica Parker) that shocked me to the core.

The plot for one thing was absurd it reads like this " 35 year-old Tripp has a job, a passion for sailing, and a great house - trouble is, he lives with his parents. They want him out, so they hire Paula, an "interventionist," who has a formula in these cases. It's worked up to now, but this gets complicated when Tripp thinks she's getting too serious and one of his pals is attracted to Paula's deadpan, semi-alcoholic roommate, who's plagued by a mockingbird. Too many secrets may scrub the launch, and what if Paula really likes him? Who can intervene then?"

Here's a spoiler for you. He moves in with Paula. I've just saved you 90 minutes of contemplating suicide, thank me later.

McConaughey was voted sexiest man in the world by the residents of a mental institution I recall, and helpfully, he has detailed a simple 3 step plan which anyone can implement to achieve this status, "Love your mother, watch Sex and the City and get a dog".

Fuck you McConaughey. Fuck your philosophy. Fuck your movies.

Beth Ditto

Lets make this clear from the off, the major problem I have isn't with her music (although it is some of the most tumescent crap I've had the misfortune of experiencing), it's with her. Her attitude, the way she speaks about her sexuality and weight. The manner in which she has became a role model for the youngsters of today.

In a recent interview with The Times she talked about the new range of clothes she has designed for Evans, "I wanted to do a lot of things you’re always told not to wear if you’re big". This is fine, I can understand why she would want to do this, however, when asked why she chose Evans she replied with this, "You know, I’m a dyke — a crunchy dyke at that — so I had to weigh up whether I wanted to do something so corporate”. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I thought that use of the word 'dyke' was frowned upon these days, and what the fuck is a 'crunchy dyke' anyway? Does anyone know the meaning of this bizarre description?

The aspect of Beth Ditto that confuses and angers me most is the way she refers to fat people as if she isn't one. Here's some examples, “Some fat girl blogger was saying, ‘It’s cool that all these famous designers are making clothes for her, but they’re not going to make them for everyone.’ And the truth is, yes, they’re not going to make them for everyone. They make only a few pieces just to fit me,”, "Fat people should certainly not do cocaine" and “but they [her bosses at Evans] don’t like it when I say fat women. So what am I supposed to say? Hefty hideaways? They’re fat, goddammit.”

It seems as if Beth Ditto hasn't realised that size 28 is rather large, perhaps she sees herself in the same weight bracket as Kate Moss or Bobby Sands. Either way she has a strange perception of her level of health, saying that she doesn't want to die at 38 as a result of drug abuse. She won't, it'll be a clogged artery or a Big Mac lodged in her throat. This is a hero for millions of people?

I think they might be more deluded than her.

Jamie Oliver

A couple of years ago, Jamie Oliver rode into the public's hearts as some kind of knight in shining armour armed only with a few cameras and fuckloads of vegetables. He sorted out the schools by telling kids to eat healthily or they'd die. Nothing gets children motivated like death threats.It seemed as if Jamie Oliver had flipped and now thought he was a messiah, a messiah for all of the people who ever ate a chocolate bar.

this battle to make Britain slim continued into a second series, because there were some pockets of resistance left, those who thought for themselves and refused to be told what to eat by a cheeky, matey, arrogant fuckwit. Personally, I applauded those who wouldn't become lambs to this healthy slaughter. It takes a great deal of will power to stand up to a hypocritical chef who spends his time advertising crap food for Sainsbury's. And to Jamie Oliver I say this, maybe if you just kept quiet and wrote cookbooks like Delia, the world would be a better place.