Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of this week’s major label releases.

Another week, another Monday. Another soul-grinding day of pretending to like your colleagues. Even Dave in security, who will tell you all about his weekend’s sexploits despite the whole office knowing he hasn’t seen any ladybits in fifteen years.

Well come ye here, settle down in front of the glowing slavemaster, and bury your face in this week’s Mango…

Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of this week’s major label releases.

There have been many songs written about Monday, but they all seem to use the working week’s start as a metaphor for sadness, despair, and classroom shooting rampages.

Well, no more: your Mango thinks this is a pretty damn fine day, actually (much better than stupid Thursday. More like ‘Turdday’ if you ask us) and we have done a little song of our own to show you how brilliant it is. Come follow us to the post-jump world, where we’ll show it off…

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Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of this week’s major label releases.

Yes, yes, we know you’ve missed us. We are well aware of the weeping, the wailing, and the mass suicides. But quit it already, because we’re back after a brief and unexplainable (without breaking certain injunctions which were secured “in the interests of national security”) holiday.

It’s your Mango!

If you’re old enough to remember when Spit The Dog was the name of a badly-mannered puppet, and not a party game played by Premiership footballers, then here’s some great news for you: the current owners of the Bagpuss rights have announced that the little critter is to return, and haunt forever the dreams of a new generation. Huzzah!

To see the potent effect that Bagpuss had on the minds of millions, check out this true fact: Catherine Zeta-Jones was so entranced as a a child by the adventures of Emily that she took to heart the love that little girl had…

Week 274 of Ameria’s Got Talent, and the ten remaining acts audition again, for your votes.

Well, either your votes, or else the approval of the goat’s entrails which the judges seem to have been relying on these past few weeks to tell them which act gets their discretionary nod.

If you, like us, are getting a little tired of this season’s judges’ decisions – which they apparently make by asking themselves “Which of these acts is worst at delivering the one, simple, specific thing which they claim as their whole reason for being here?” – then take heart! After the jump,…

Let’s not try to pretend it’s making anything approaching sense any more.

The only way that the decision-making on this season of America’s Got Talent could be any screwier is if the producers went into a ward full of pneumonia patients, asked the coughiest one to chub his phlegm up into a paper cup, and then got Paula Abdul to decide which act looked most like the bloody lung-biscuit.

Honestly, any more of this and we’re going to have to consider Plan B: sticking a photograph of Susan Boyle on the end of a lollipop stick and then holding it in front of…

Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of this week’s major label releases.

It’s Monday. We feel your pain.

But as you waddle into work, weighed down by the enormous turdload you have spent the weekend saving so that you may spend an hour of the boss’s time reading a newspaper this morning, do not despair.

Because when you make it back to your desk, feeling like Octomom after she pumped out her kids, there’ll be a nice little surprise waiting for you.

Here’s your Mango!

Tuesday night saw the re-auditioning of some of the season’s losers, per the orders of Godfather Simon Cowell.

Last week, America’s Got Talent brought  a couple hundred of its remaining acts to Las Vegas. More specifically, to a Las Vegas airport hangar. Upon their arrival David Hasselhoff appeared, dressed as a homosexual 18th Century plantation owner, to tell all of the best acts that the whole thing had been a con and they were going straight back home.

The foolishness was halted by an unexpected phonecall from the ultimate boss, Simon Cowell, telling the moronic judges they had to reconsider their choices. So, who…