Friday, 11 September 2009

The Kevin Bishop Shoe.

Dear Dad,

I love you. That's the important bit and the thing that you have to remember. No matter what comes after this just remember that I love you. Now, get out of Facebook. Unjoin Facebook immediately. This is not the place for you. It is where I come to swear and embarrass myself but I do that with the understanding that you will never read any of it. A lot of people now depend on my blend of failure and foul language and I will not be able to provide that service if I think you're looking.

I know what you're thinking, Dad. "My son can't tell me what to do. I have every right to join Facebook if I want to". That's fair enough but remember this: I have every right to join the North Down Anglers Association and apply for an allotment next to yours. Just keep that in mind. Now stop reading because I'm about to swear. I mean it. Stop reading.

Love, Michael.

Right. The good news: I've got a new telly. That really is all the good news. I mean, it's quite a nice telly. It's a bit bigger and much flatter than my old one and it's great for playing games on but it's terrible for actually watching telly programmes. It's not the telly's fault. It's the fault of Television itself. Television has given up. It will let any old shit be commissioned and recommissioned without once questioning it's terrible, terrible content.

The Fucking Kevin Fucking Bishop Fucking Show. What a low. I knew his new series would be bad but I at least thought there might have been a trace of him actually trying to be funny. He actively avoids it. The whole programme is an abortion bucket of impressions that need to be pointed at and underlined because they just haven't got any connection to the person they're supposed to be and a bunch of shit where he slightly changes the title of something that was famous two decades ago (eg When Harry Met Salman). If they just knock out any old shit then he can get down to the Groucho Club and fellate sooner. If they just write any old shit really quickly then he'll have more time to get more and more Channel 4 executives crying penises into his sorry, sorry mouth and then that'll be series three green lit (seriously, Dad. Stop reading). How else can this dire shit be deemed acceptable? It is low-brow but only if your brow is on the floor and the floor is in a cellar and the cellar is in hell. The man can't write a joke, tell a joke, act, impersonate or even slightly look a bit like the celebrity that he is bringing down with his witless wit. And his targets are hilarious simply because he doesn't hold a candle to them (mainly because his hands are full of Channel 4 executives crying penises). Gok Wan ("Hello. I'm Gok Wan" and then the words GOK WAN appear on screen), Britney Spears ("Look it's Britney Spears" and then the words BRITNEY SPEARS appear on screen) and Michael McIntyre ("I am Michael Mcintyre" and...well, you get it). For fuck's sake, yes, they're terrible but they are genius' compared to Kevin Fucking Bishop. I would jump in front of a bullet for Michael McIntyre on the off chance that I might catch it in my teeth and spit it in Bishop's pleaseshootmei'msosorryandalone face. And The Doctor's new companion, Karen Gillan is in it. Depressing. At least she's out of it now and by the time series three of this cancer of a show comes round she'll be too famous to be in it. She's in a real show now. Oh, I've just remembered. Richard Curtis is writing an episode of Doctor Who. Poor Karen. Is she ever going to get a break?

People must like this though and that is, of course, the most depressing part. No doubt this arse loves it:

Is there a good comedy on TV at the moment? Thank the Lord for The Inbetweeners. It's so good that I can only imagine it will never get recommissioned. I mean it. It's THAT good.

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