The human equivalent of celery, aka eunuch pop star James Blunt, has been pissing and moaning about how hard his life is again.
The You're Beautiful singer says those who run his profession are obsessed with what is "cool", and couldn't care less about creativity.
And you do, Jamesy boy? You care about creativity, do you? Well why not do something about it then? Cut out your larynx and chop off your arms for God’s sake. And, to be honest, the industry can’t be that concerned with what’s "cool", otherwise you would still be getting severe yet justified beatings in the army barracks instead of winging about wise men on a beach with hardons.
You’ve got to understand something, Blunt: life is not fair. Do you really think we want to inflict our ears with your no bollocked voice gibberings? Do you? No. We certainly don’t. But we learn to live with it. Just like we have learned to live in a world with Coldplay and David Cameron. We deal with it. Somehow. We find that alcohol helps. Have a large gin Bacardi Breezer and chill out.
Blunt philosophized further:
"There are greater things in life than being rich and famous. I never set out to be rich and famous, I set out to be happy. I am still looking for the answer to questions like marriage."
That’s deep, man. That is deep. But why not ask yourself further questions, such as “What’s the point of me?” and “Why am I still alive?” Hecklerspray has been trying to figure out these conundrums since the horrible release of your first single.
In the hope of some sort of clarity hecklerspray put forth both of these questions to the respective brilliant minds of Richard Dawkins and Noam Chomsky. If anybody can solve it, it’s Dawkins and Chomsky.
Dawkins decided that the existence of James Blunt was further evidence to suggest that there is indeed no God and would be deleting most of the words in any future editions of The God Delusion and replacing them with pictures of Blunt’s stupid little face.
Chomsky fell to the ground, curled up in the fetal position, stuck his thumb in his mouth and began emitting a high pitched wail not dissimilar to the singing voice of Blunt himself.
Actions really do speak louder than words, readers. So, let us all go forth into our mother's bedrooms, dig deep into the back of the closet, and smash all of their copies of James Blunt's disgusting albums with a massive hammer. They never really wanted them anyway. And if they say otherwise, it's a lie. You must muffle these false protests with an ether dipped cloth and continue with your good work. Do it for hecklerspray. Do it for your country. But, above all, do it for Chomsky.
This Chomsky needs you.
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angel20 says
Just delete my message, i found out that is ironical ment.