Ke$ha tries too hard to out-Gaga Lady Gaga — and frankly, I’m annoyed that her bad music and contrived persona has managed to me$merize the general public all over the world.
Yes, I resent that Ke$ha has managed to break Lady Gaga’s airplay and download records and that her debut album crashed the Billboard Top 200 by landing straight at #1.
Do we really care that Ke$ha admitted to being the stalker who threw up in Paris Hilton’s closet, broke into Prince’s house to give him her demo, partied with Diddy, and wears her placenta around her neck? Lots of bold-faced names tick-tocking to me. Don’t get me started on her faux fashion sense, which, to the trained eye, is as unsophisticated as a Hot Tropics sale at your local mall.
Seriously folks, are there really 5 things about Ke$ha that you care to know? I hope not. But then again, ‘Tik Tok’ and its relentless nonsense is probably just the universe telling me that I’m getting old and irrelevant. Like Madonna, right?
By:Madonna I just woke up from a fuzzy dream
You never would believe those things that I had seen
I looked in the mirror and I saw your face
You looked right through me, you were miles away
All my dreams they fade away
I’ll never be the same
If you could see me the way you see yourself
I can’t pretend to be someone else
You always love me more, miles away
I hear it in your voice, we’re miles away
You’re not afraid to tell me, miles away
I guess we’re at our best when we’re miles away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
When no one’s around then I have you here
I begin to see the picture, it becomes so clear
You always have the biggest heart,
When we’re six thousand miles apart
Too much of no sound
Uncomfortable silence can be so loud
Those three words are never enough
When it’s long distance love
You always love me more, miles away
I hear it in your voice, we’re miles away
You’re not afraid to tell me, miles away
I guess we’re at our best when we’re miles away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
I’m alright, don’t be sorry, but it’s true
When I’m gone you’ll realize
That I’m the best thing that happened to you
You always love me more, miles away
I hear it in your voice, we’re miles away
You’re not afraid to tell me, miles away
I guess we’re at our best when we’re miles a-a-away…
You always love me more, miles away
I hear it in your voice, we’re miles away
You’re not afraid to tell me, miles away
I guess we’re at our best when we’re miles away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
So far away
The mood on the set of At First Bite, the much anticipated prequel to the critically acclaimed The Vampire Chronicles, was undoubtedly one of anticipation. After all, filming was to start in just a few short minutes on what cast and crew knew would be a surefire blockbuster. Heck, with the world economy in the crapper, and people’s lives going down the toilet right along with it, who wasn’t in need of a little supernatural escapist fantasy? And what better way to escape than into the arms of a dangerous undead blood sucker? The marketing department often joked that the tagline for the film should be “Recessions Bite, and So Does He.”
Frenetic energy reverberated around the set, as everyone prepared for the film’s pivotal first scene, in which Vampire Lestrange encounters the naïve yet strong-willed heroine, Rebecca. The prop department was busy strategically splattering “blood” (an odorous mixture of tomato paste, chocolate syrup, and lord knows what else) on the walls and floor, while white lab-coat wearing makeup specialists fussed over a highly realistic dismembered plastic corpse. As a cumulative result of these activities, the sound stage bore greater resemblance to an Emergency Room surgery gone horribly awry than the filming locale for a high-budget action/horror flick set during the Victorian era.
The rendezvous between the film’s two leads was to occur just moments after Lestrange, unbeknownst to Rebecca, had turned her sister Mary into a vampire. The only problem was that film’s star, Justin Warlock, was still in his trailer, and no one seemed capable or willing to get him onto the set.
“He’s doing what? You’re kidding right? Oh, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
Kate McElwain paced back and forth in front of the craft services cart, barely able to contain her rage, as her agent tried in vain to prevent her from bodily removing her costar from his trailer. Given her mood, he quickly decided honesty of the non-sugar coated variety would be the best approach.
“Sweetie, you know Justin Warlock has always had a reputation for being a bit . . . How do I say it kindly? Promiscuous. But the boy brings box office, so we just have to bite our tongues.”
“You bite your tongue. I’m going to bite his balls off with those fake vampire fangs!”
Although touted by Entertainment Weekly as one of the “Top Ten New Faces to Watch in Hollywood This Year,” Kate McElwain, at 22, was already somewhat of an industry veteran. Daughter of long-time soap opera starlet, Marlene McElwain, Kate practically grew up on film and television sets. In fact, her career began when she was just eight months old, and was chosen, along with another baby who looked remarkably similar to her, to play the newborn daughter of her mother’s character on Days of Our Lives.
As Kate got older, she had little trouble landing modeling gigs and commercials, due to her uncanny resemblance to her mother. “It’s almost as if we created a time machine, went back about 25 years, retrieved Marlene from the past and brought her back here to repeat her career,” Marlene’s manager proclaimed about Kate. With her petite frame, strawberry blond hair, pouty pink lips, and deep piercing blue eyes, Kate was the picture of naivety and innocence.
As such, even though Kate was hardly a teenager, she was often cast to play “damsel in distress” types much younger than herself. In fact, her role in At First Bite was no different. Given Kate’s penchant for innocent roles, those who met her in her personal life were often surprised and amused to learn that she had the mouth of a truck driver and a temper to match.
“I mean, seriously, we haven’t even started filming yet, and already he’s missing call times because he’s diddling extras in his trailer?” Kate griped. “Why doesn’t anyone just go get him, for Christ sake?”
“From what I’ve heard, no one interrupts Justin Warlock while he is ‘otherwise engaged,” the agent replied coyly.
Kate had never actually met Justin in person; although, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t familiar with his career and reputation. First discovered by his agent at a shopping mall at the age of 16, 25-year old Justin Warlock made a career out of playing the leading man in romantic comedies and Nicholas Sparks-esque dramas. In addition to being a consistent fixture on People Magazine’s Sexiest Male List, Warlock was also a notorious playboy. In fact, since starring in his first feature film at 18-years old, Justin has been romantically linked with every single one of his costars. However, none of these romantic relationships had been rumored to last long after the movie premiere.
“Screw that!” Kate exclaimed, “Justin Warlock’s no supernatural being. He’s just a dick who can’t keep it in his pants long enough to get to work on time. I don’t see what everyone’s so fucking afraid of!” And with that, she stalked off, leaving her agent to shake his head at his client’s tempestuousness.
Typically, by the time filming commenced, lead actors had already met one another at least a half a dozen times to conduct script read-throughs and navigate press junkets. However, At First Bite’s Director expressly prohibited his on-screen duo from meeting prior to filming the first scene. Rather, he desired their initial reactions to one another to be “fresh and unfettered.” According to the Director, an actor’s and actress’s meeting on the first day of filming should be like a virgin bride’s first encounter with her husband on her wedding night, charged with anxiety and anticipation. Kate thought that idea was a bunch of crap. She was no virgin, and she was quite certain Justin wasn’t one either. But far be it for her to mess with the Director’s “vision.”
Right now, vision or no vision, Kate was ready to have a little chat with El Director about her MIA costar. When Kate approached “the man in charge,” he was hard at work on the Friday edition of the New York Times Crossword puzzle. His tongue cradled his upper lip in concentration, as he struggled over one of the tougher clues. The 40ish gentleman whose salt and pepper hair, olive complexion and finely muscled physique gave him a George Clooney-type appeal, did not seem at all perturbed that his film was not running on schedule. In fact, he seemed the picture of relaxation.
“Umm . . . Leo?”
The Director looked up from his puzzle and offered Kate a winning smile. “Miss McElwain. You look troubled. Please, have a seat,” he said, patting a chair next to his own. “How can I ease your spirits?”
Kate sat gingerly in the chair next to her Director. Although it was going to take all of the inner strength she could muster, the young actress desperately wanted to appear diplomatic, knowing it was far too early in the game to piss off her boss by appearing too pushy.
“Well,” she started, “I am very eager to begin shooting our first scene.”
The Director laughed, a hearty Santa Claus “Ho, Ho, Ho,” which seemed incongruous with his lean-muscled frame. “Ahhh, me too, me too,” chortled the Director, “It’s high time we popped that cherry.”
Ughh, more creepy virgin bride references. Please, just kill me now. Kate thought, but forced herself to remain courteous. “Right . . . so the thing is, I was kind of wondering if you knew whether our ‘star’ would be making an appearance on set any time soon?”
“You think I should go get him, right?” The Director responded, looking at Kate slyly. “Yeah, I guess I should get him,” he rose from his seat and offered Kate his hand to help her out of the chair, “Come with me?”
Kate had no desire to go anywhere near that trailer, but again she recognized she had to be polite. “Sure,” she said and followed the Director toward the trailers. At least something was finally getting done.
As they approached Justin’s trailer, Kate and the Director could hear the distinct sounds of sex coming from inside the doorway. Kate was disgusted, but the Director simply appeared amused. He glanced back at Kate. “On second thought, why don’t you wait outside,” he said, before quickly climbing the steps and rapping on the door. There was a brief pause, a few nervous shrieks and a hustle of activity, before the door opened a crack and the Director escaped inside, abruptly shutting the door behind him.
Kate was seething, as she waited outside the trailer alone, her foot tapping incessantly up and down, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest. After a few moments, the door to the trailer opened. Four women, all rather cheap-looking in Kate’s estimation, climbed out into the daylight, in various states of undress, each with the same lovesick grins on their faces, and dopey looks in their eyes. If Kate hadn’t been too nervous about shooting to eat breakfast that morning, she probably would have puked right then and there.
Then the Director re-emerged, but this time with the man of the hour himself, Justin Warlock. The two seemed to be having an uproariously good time, just yucking it up, which only served to make Kate madder. Simultaneously, they both noticed her glaring at them and, like insolent school boys, guiltily wiped the shit-eating grins from their mugs. “I’ll meet you both back on set,” called the Director. He winked at Kate before briskly walking away, leaving the pair all by themselves. So much for the “wedding night.”
Justin Warlock approached Kate, not with the confident swagger of a guy who just got laid by four women, but rather with the childlike exuberance of an eight-year old chasing after an ice cream truck. With his tussled sun-kissed sandy brown hair, uncommonly long eyelashes, and obnoxiously adorable nose, the actor appeared to be nothing like the nymphomaniacal Adonis Kate had read about in the tabloids. And yet, to the actress’s deep discomfort, Justin’s youthful pretty- boy body definitively smelled of sex. Annoyed, Kate stared at the floor, desperately trying to avoid her costar’s good mood, which was being broadcast like radio waves from his dimpled smile and impossibly straight Crest advertisement white teeth.
“Wow . . . Kate McElwain! I’ve been dying to meet you, since, like, forever,” announced Justin in the slightly-raspy voice Kate had heard so many times in movies. He bowed slightly and held his hand out for Kate to shake. Kate stared at the abhorrent hand as if it was infested with the intermingled juices of cheaply-perfumed floosies (which it probably was), and took a step back. She would not be won over so easily.
The ingénue looked up at her nemesis, hands clenched, ready for battle. Her vitriolic words spilled out of her like bullets shot from a tommy gun. “OK. Let’s get something straight, right off the bat. I get that you’re Mister Sexiest Man Alive, and that you have scripts being thrown at you every day from here to Scandinavia, but some of us actually need this job. So, in the future, if you need to get your cock sucked by one of the members of your bimbo harem, I’d really appreciate it if you did it on your own time.”
Wow, it felt really good to get that off her chest. Kate took a deep breath. Then, she looked up at Justin to gauge his reaction to her outburst. For a moment, he didn’t appear to react at all. Then, shock registered on his face. Clearly, he had never been spoken to like that by anyone before, particularly not a woman. Kate even worried for a second or two that he might hit her. Instead, he did something even more unexpected.
Gently, Justin clasped Kate’s hand, looking deep into her blue eyes with his rounded blinking emerald green ones, which seemed as though they should belong to a boy much younger than the actor himself. “Kate, you are absolutely 100% right . . . about everything. What I did was completely selfish, unreasonably inconsiderate, and just plain stupid. You deserve better, and I promise to be better from now on. I am really . . . truly sorry.”
Unprepared for this type of response, Kate was utterly at a loss for words, and could do nothing but stare back into Justin’s eyes. Even as Justin delivered his “heartfelt” apology, Kate knew that she was being played. This guy was totally bullshitting her. He didn’t mean a word of it. And yet, while her mind was saying “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,” on autopilot, her body was responding in another way entirely.
The warmth from Justin’s hand sent tingles up her spine and throughout her body. Immediately, her mouth became dry and her knees nearly buckled. Try as she might, she could not pull herself away from Justin’s entrancing stare and her eyes watered at the unblinking effort. Suddenly, she had this intense impulse to rip off his shirt and run her hands over his muscled abdominals. She imagined herself kissing his thin lips as he nibbled on her neck.
Kate longed to touch the firm bulge in Justin’s designer khakis. Just moments ago, she hated this man, who seemed to stand in the way of her career and was against everything she stood for. Now, she couldn’t bear to let go of his hand, which, to her embarrassment, she was gripping tightly with her recently manicured nails.
And yet, as excited as she was by these feelings, they also frightened her to her very core. After all, Kate wasn’t the type of girl to go gaga over a man as seemingly shallow as Justin Warlock. In fact, Kate wasn’t the type of girl to go gaga over any man at all. You see, Kate McElwain was a lesbian.
I’ve been blogging since early 2006 when I was working at Fusion and decided I needed to get a few things off my chest. It was even more random than it is now and barely anyone saw it. Then people started telling me they read my blog and it kind of blossomed into the monster it is today.
I did give some thought over Christmas about knocking it on the head as sometimes it’s a right ball-ache to write. I may sack it off at some point this year, I don’t know, but while you lot read it and give me feedback, I’ll plough on.
Don’t forget to check out all the latest Pussycats photos in the gallery at www.djwanker.com and at www.telfordnightlife.co.uk which include ones from New Year’s Eve which, by the way, was an absolute corker at Cats.
The big moment of the festive season was, of course, the sad farewell of David Tennant in Dr Who. I know most of you don’t care so skip down a bit but I want to write something for those who have invested time in what has been a brilliant TV programme.
Now I’m not a science fiction geek and some of things which go on in the show pass me by. I’m not interested in the technical aspects, the explosions, the clever words etc – I like the relationships between the characters, the humour, the emotion, the clever writing.
The return of the Master and the Timelords didn’t float my boat particularly but I accept it was a plot device to lead Tennant to his downfall. A few other bits were just nonsensical flim-flam too and Russell T. Davies, the writer, was clearly self-indulgent. I think he should be allowed that after masterminding the return of a terrific show.
The last 20 minutes of the New Year’s Day episode didn’t make me blub like a baby but – and it’s hard to admit this – I had tears in my eyes and the odd drop did trickle. It was sensational.
With a show like Dr Who, you have to embark on a suspension of disbelief as time travel isn’t actually possible. The uber geeks on forums pick holes in plotlines and question what everything means. They forget it’s meant to be a programme for kids and adults alike to make them laugh and cry and sometimes be scared.
For the uber geeks, there HAS to be something to complain about and, trust me, they whinge about the tiniest thing. It’s entertainment, pure and simple. Some of these sci-fi keyboard warriors probably have little else of note going on in their lives.
That said, here I am writing with such passion about a TV show. The highlight of the Tennant farewell was his interaction with Wilfred, played by Bernard Cribbins. If there’s any justice in the world, Cribbins will win every best supporting TV actor award going in 2010.
We knew the Doctor was leaving and we knew the prophecy: “He will knock four times.” The knocking sent a shiver down my spine. It was Wilfred, unintentionally leading the Doctor to his demise. He sacrificed his life (in the current form) to save the sweet, old man. That bit got me going and it didn’t stop until the end.
I found the bit outside the church particularly moving when the Doctor announced he’d gone back in time to borrow money for a wedding present from Donna’s late father. It was a lovely touch from the writer because the actor who played Geoff Noble died in November 2007. Sylvia’s reaction just about set me off.
Then the book signing was emotional; as was the Ood “singing him to sleep” and, of course, the Doctor’s final words. It was a fitting end for Tennant. You’ve also got to credit the musical score which just added to the drama.
Those of you who like the show will understand all that and those who don’t probably won’t have a clue what I’m on about but it’s my blog and I can indulge as much as I want! Roll on the Spring and Matt Smith taking over Doctor duties. The Weeping Angels and Daleks are coming back, too!
Right, onwards we go and I’ve had a little look back at the blog over the past 12 months and sifted through some of the momentous events to bring you this recap of 2009:
JANUARY
News: Marks & Spencer announced they were to shed over 1000 jobs. It’s not just redundancy; it’s M&S redundancy.
Bad taste: A man went to a fancy dress party as Madeleine McCann. It was, however, a good interpretation of the missing toddler as his mum and dad were nowhere to be seen…
Barack Obama was inaugurated as president of the United States. Some Americans still confuse Obama with Osama. Slight difference.
Slumdog Millionaire was released and went on to win almost every award going.
Random: Iceland’s banking system collapsed and the country installed a lesbian as prime minister. Sadly, she’s not fit.
FEBRUARY
Went to Tenerife with a friend for a few days. Warm and lovely without being serious suntan weather, the pool area was full of ugly, foreign coffin-dodgers. During our nights out, we bumped into footballer Titus Bramble. The highlight was the evening ‘walk of shame’ and my friend’s drunken piano playing. I was crowned pool champion and a female Gok Wan lookalike served us food in the restaurant.
The same friend this month also bashed his face up courtesy of a lot of alcohol and an icy footpath.
Someone messaged me on Facebook and accused me of being no better than ‘a rude Redcoat from Butlins.’
A friend of mine split with his size 20 girlfriend because she objected to the card he gave her on Valentine’s Day. Well it was a gym membership card.
MARCH
Moved into ‘the crib’ in St George’s to give me a weekend base and cut down on the driving from Leicester to Telford. Was told that the policy was “bro’s before hoes” when it came to women. Let’s just say I kept my side of the bargain.
Nearly had a fight with a Derby County supporter at a football match I was covering.
Received a demand from the Inland Revenue for not getting my tax return in on time. They sent me a bill for £0.00. Didn’t hear from them again on the matter.
A survey this month revealed that men who live in Reykjavik have the biggest penises in the world. So that’s why mum’s go to Iceland.
Someone on Facebook said: “DJ Wanker is a completely shit DJ. I hate this bastard and hope he dies.”
Not a vintage month for my best mate Phil. Dumped via a text message and then filled his diesel car with petrol.
John Bishop: “Pouring petrol into a diesel car is like pouring gin into a woman. You know that at some point during the evening she’s going to break down.”
Jade Goody died and thousands of people who didn’t know her set up Facebook pages to say how much they would miss her. One person called Andrea wrote: “You made a difference to the world.” A sad loss so young, yes, but a bit of perspective please.
APRIL
Celebrated my 36th birthday which reminded me of when I bought a girlfriend a vibrator as a present for her birthday. All she did was moan, moan, moan….
The lesbians next door gave me a Rolex for my birthday – although I think they misunderstood when I said I wanna watch.
Tim Westwood came to Pussycats and rocked the place. He wrote on his twitter feed: “DJ Wanker is cool. I liked him. He made me laugh. Big up DJ Wanker.” Westwood, the Big Dawg, genuinely wrote that. Nope – I couldn’t believe it either. But it was true.
A man came into Pussycats saying he wanted to fly me to India to DJ at a gig in Goa. They would pay for flights and hotel plus £2000 for my set. Needless to say I didn’t hear from him again as I expected.
Went to a after-club house party in Lawley where the owner fed their pet Rottweiler raw meat and alcohol… and then suggested I give it a big hug. “He’s an absolute sweetie,” the owner said. Face-to-face with a salivating, drunk beast, I felt like Kerry Katona’s husband and my anus was quivering like a jelly.
Leicester City were promoted as champions in their only season in League One. A bittersweet thing – happiness at the success but gutted we were there in the first place.
Madonna fell off a horse in April. The medics arrived and said the knackered old beast was not worth saving. The horse was fine though…
Did some bulk buying of bargain-priced high-quality toilet roll. Phil walked in and said: “Have you got the shits, Geoff?”
We discovered in April that an odd 47-year-old Scottish woman had an incredible voice but Susan Boyle didn’t win Britain’s Got Talent.
Two dyslexic bank robbers ran into Barclays and shouted: “Air in the hands mother stickers, this is a fuck up.”
MAY
Swine flu hit the headlines. Symptoms included sweating, acting ignorant and rude, excessive body odour and laziness. Judging by that, I thought a lot of people in Telford might be affected…
A psycho woman was dumped by her boyfriend and reacted by chucking a glass in his face causing a massive scar. She defended her behaviour as ‘acceptable’ although I begged to differ. Might have mentioned it once or twice on the blog.
Went on a train journey and asked for a return ticket. The station clerk said: “Where to?” and I said: “Back here of course.”
Pussycats barman Tom thought the Battle of Hastings was in 1966.
Joined a dating site. Put into the search box that I was looking for a woman in Telford aged 18-40 without children. It produced no matches. I tried to use the word ‘penis’ as my password but apparently it wasn’t long enough.
Cheered on Barcelona to victory in the Champions League final, wiping a few smug grins off the faces of plenty of bandwagon-jumping glory-supporting plastic Manchester United fans.
Discovered that printing facts about people doesn’t always go down to well as the truth can be quite hurtful.
Tania Watts messaged me: “It doesn’t matter that some people get offended by what you put in the blog. You just have the balls to say what most people think. People should respect that.”
JUNE
Had my toenails painted pink for a weekend to show support for a dear friend who was diagnosed with breast cancer. Ended up keeping them pink for four months. I loved them!
Pussycats was voted ‘Best Nightclub’ in Shropshire in an online poll. Obviously.
Started my annual summer pilgrimage to Ibiza. Went twice in June and five times in total. The first trip saw my mate get rather drunk, take a tumble and scar his face for the third time in a few months. The alcohol affected his brain because one night he said: “I really love you mate, thanks for being there for me all the time.” He couldn’t remember the next day. A bottle of water in San Antonio superclub Eden raised his temperature. “Eight fucking euros!”
Got mistaken for Judge Jules on a flight to Ibiza and then again in resort.
Michael Jackson died. Even six months on they can’t decide what was to blame… the sunshine? The moonlight. The good times? Okay, you get the idea.
MPs proved how out of touch with reality they were by claiming expenses way beyond the realms of acceptability.
Emma S messaged me: “I’m hooked on your blogs. You are a man of wise words.”
A woman, during an intimate moment, asked me to make her breathless. So I hid her inhaler.
JULY
Jodie Marsh and some blokes from Emmerdale, Shameless and Hollyoaks came to party at Pussycats.
An anonymous email dropped into my inbox: “Congratulations Geoff. You really are a c***.”
Football mourned the loss of Sir Bobby Robson, one of the most wonderful, honest and decent men involved in the game.
Two blokes squared up on a flight to Ibiza as we started our descent into resort. It was like an airborne episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show. The stewards leapt in to keep them apart but it was just about to get very messy.
Felt like a stalker as I drunkenly took loads of photos of Howard Donald from Take That as he was DJ-ing in Eden. Met a lovely girl from Norway with magnificent breasts. Spent 16 euros (about £15) on a single vodka and coke. Kept bumping into the midget from Garlands. He wasn’t happy – so which one of the other six of Snow White’s helpers was he?
Needed expensive surgery on my car. Got pulled over by the Police in Telford while driving a hire car. Wasn’t speeding and hadn’t been drinking. It was a Ford Ka – I probably looked like Mr Bean squashed up in it.
AUGUST
Continued to listen to people who were trying to defend the indefensible. They were still wrong
England’s cricketers beat Australia to regain the Ashes. Real drama and the right result.
Made a bootleg version of ‘Riverside Motherfucker’ which was getting a serious caning in Ibiza. The tune is probably still the most requested in Pussycats five months later.
Was quite amazed that globetrotting superstar DJ Micky Slim knew who I was.
Told a girl she was the double of Cheryl Cole. Didn’t have the heart to say Cheryl was a size 8 and this girl was a 16.
Kerry Katona claimed she wasn’t a drug addict. Okay love…
Ethiopia finished higher than Great Britain in the final medals table at the World Athletics Championships. Bob Geldof… are you happy now?
SEPTEMBER
Flew for the first time with Ryanair. It was my fifth Ibiza trip of the summer. Decided not to read a copy of The Sun on the plane from Liverpool as they bear deep-seated grudges up there.
Bumped into two of the lads from JLS in Ibiza (but didn’t actually know who they were – credibility intact) and also chatted with Simon Webbe from Blue.
Got so drunk one night, I couldn’t actually recall getting from the club back to the hotel room. Even gave the chicken baguette man a swerve. Tequila shots with Danny and Ross was probably to blame.
Bought a painting called ‘Orgasm’. Damn thing turned out to be fake.
Students gained record GCSE and A-level results. So proud of these smart, intelligent, clever kids. Decent spelling, however, is clearly not part of any exam.
While she was doing some History homework, Aaleyah asked me if Louis Armstrong was the first man on the moon.
The world’s premier Beatles tribute band announced they were splitting up. Or, as you may know them… Oasis.
Patrick Swayze, considered one of the nicest people in Hollywood, lost his battle against cancer.
Sophie wrote: “I wish you did a daily blog. Puts a smile on my face every time.”
Made to feel uncomfortable in ‘the crib’ by someone who spent more time there than me, didn’t pay a penny towards rent and acted like they owned the place. The under-the-thumb boyfriend clearly forgot about the “bro’s before hoes” thing.
OCTOBER
Club Crush and Vox Bar finally opened in Telford. Wore a suit to the opening night and was told I looked very smart… or had just come from a court appearance.
Got a brief blink-and-you-miss-it mention in the Daily Mirror.
Reached 4,000 friends on Facebook and 2,500 in the DJ Wanker Appreciation Society.
Got ‘poked’ on Facebook by a woman I didn’t know. She sent me a message saying she was a “bored housewife looking for some action.” Eager to please, I sent her my ironing.
Two clowns called Jedward slipped into the public consciousness. They should’ve won X Factor to piss off the viewers and guarantee the next series would be cancelled.
Stephen Gately from Boyzone died. Didn’t get 20% off my concert ticket.
Saw some scary sights in Telford. This was the week BEFORE Hallowe’en.
Nick Griffin appeared on Question Time and showed the BNP for what they really are… vicious, nasty, racist, vile, bigoted scum.
NOVEMBER
The geekiest of all geeky geeks queued up at midnight for the release of a computer game.
Some bloke from Telford was dubbed ‘The Sperminator’ in the News of the World for (allegedly) getting 12 women pregnant after chatting them up on Facebook. The paper also called him a laptop lust hunter.
Aaleyah came out with this classic line: “It’s wrong that animals are killed to make fur which people like Victoria Beckham wear. But I don’t mind animals being killed because I love bacon.”
Celebrity oxygen thief Jordan went on I’m A Celebrity to “get closure” after her split from Peter Andre. The public displayed their wonderful humour by constantly voting for her to face the Bushtucker Trial. I wish she’d stay in Australia forever.
The Euro Millions lottery saw a €90m prize won by people who looked like they probably deserved the the money.
Tiger Woods, a seemingly clean-cut family man, is outed as a naughty boy. The world’s best golfer proves he can find the hole – on and off the course.
DECEMBER
Despite enjoying a better-than-expected start to the season, Leicester City got thrashed 5-1 by Nottingham Forest. We ended the year in the top six of the Championship. Let’s hope we’re still there in May.
A dull nobody won X Factor and released a dull record. A campaign on Facebook led to the song failing to get the Christmas number one.
Poker Face by Lady Gaga was the biggest selling single of the year. Still questions persist about whether the Madonna wannabe has both male and female genitalia. Personally speaking, I couldn’t care less.
Moved out of ‘the crib’ in St George’s and not a moment too soon. It was an interesting eight months which started well but turned sour. Found out what some people are really like. They won’t be missed. Now much happier with the weekend living arrangements elsewhere in Telford.
Got drunk in Leicester with Phil on Christmas Eve and had a real blast with the party at Pussycats on New Year’s Eve. Good times.
And finally…
HOPES FOR 2010 (in no particular order)
Leicester City to win promotion to the Premier League; England to win the World Cup; the Conservatives to win the General Election; another busy year at Pussycats; to meet the woman of my dreams; continued health and happiness for all the important people in my world… I don’t ask for much.
Cheers for now, Geoff / DJ Wanker
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O my gawd madonna!!!
So mtv.com just posted a completely tentative article based on basically nothing but hear-say, but ugh I’m already freaking out.
In this article, Kyle Anderson is speculating on what producers Madge will be teaming up with for her next mess of songs. Apparently she is working with some heavy rock producers, as well as David Guetta!!!
Well, Guetta is a give in because he has successfully remixed a handful of recent Madge tunes, and he is currently awll over the Billboard Top 40.
One name Anderson left off this list is Paul Oakenfold, who remixed her song “Give it to Me” and wrote her smash “Celebration”.
Anywho, here is the article!!! Eat it up.
Six Directions For Madonna’s New Album.
Posted 12/29/09 1:27 pm ET by Kyle Anderson in Music
Madonna is currently at work on a new album, which is expected to be unleashed some time in 2010. She has stayed relevant in the music business by constantly reinventing herself, taking in new genres and musical experiments and making them her own. She is meticulous about how she selects collaborators, because they inform the sound of the albums as much at Madge herself.
One of the confirmed producers working on the still-unnamed work is Brendan O’Brien, who made a name for himself sitting behind the boards for Pearl Jam and has also helmed productions for Bruce Springsteen, Rage Against the Machine, Stone Temple Pilots, AC/DC and Aerosmith. Does that mean that the singer behind “Like a Prayer,” “Ray of Light“ and “Hung Up” is going to dive deep into the rock world and make a guitar-based album?
It’s a possibility, though reports also have A-Trak (a Kanye West collaborator) and David Guetta (of“Sexy Chick“ fame) working on the album as well, which suggests that it’s a combination of roots rock, futuristic hip-hop and whatever Akon makes. With that in mind, here are six directions Madonna could go in.
Rock Opera
Madonna has theater experience (she famously lobbied hard to play Eva Peron in the film version of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical “Evita”) but has never really constructed an album based on a narrative (and the disastrous American Life shouldn’t count). She could bring in Green Day producer Rob Cavallo to beef up her rock chops and flesh out her own version of American Idiot.
Electro-Rap Posse Album
If A-Trak is on board, she should expand her horizons and invite a cavalcade of MCs to throw down with her on a full-on rap album. We’re certain that Lupe Fiasco, Dizzee Rascal, Mos Def, Rhymefest and Kanye would all probably be game to trade verses with Madonna, who is not necessarily a stranger to spitting. Remember her verse on “American Life”?
Metal
Though she’s lorded over some tough dance beats in the past, truly hard music has never been her forte and remains an uncharted territory for the star. O’Brien has produced music for metallers like Mastodon and Incubus, so he’s ready, willing and able to crank Madonna’s sound up to 11 and really let her rip.
Country Rock
Madonna isn’t above aping a current star, and with Taylor Swift cranking out huge hits in big numbers, why wouldn’t she attempt to add country to her repertoire? O’Brien has produced twangy records for Springsteen and Pete Droge, and Madonna herself has toyed with country and dance sounds for “Don’t Tell Me.”
Straight Disco
Maybe all these producers are just there to throw us off the scent, and her plan is to actually crank out an even deeper-diving disco record. After all, her recent single “Celebration” was well-received, and the throwback sounds on 2008’s Hard Candy wowed both the dance and pop worlds. Perhaps she just wants to make ABBA tunes for the rest of her career (which wouldn’t be such a bad thing, really).
No Limit Revival
She could fire everybody, recruit Master P’s Beats by the Pound crew and shout along to some late-’90s New Orleans bounce. That probably won’t happen, but Silkk the Shocker could use the work.
Some more things to quench your thirst; the David Guetta’s “Celebration” remix, and Paul Oakenfold’s “Give it to Me” remix. Lahv lahv lahv.
Oakenfold
Guetta
