Preening, chemically enhanced music “supremo” Louis Walsh has spoken out about his decision to step down as Boyzone’s manager, something that we didn’t even know had happened. Walsh, the man responsible for making the skin of young boys everywhere crawl to the point where it attempts to tear itself from the body of its host and choke itself.
Earlier this month, reports emerged that Walsh had ditched the boyband because of disappointing ticket sales, brought about by the death of pop music, something that he is at least partly responsible for. The poor man’s Simon Cowell is said to believe that he missed a trick by refusing to manage Take That because he didn’t fancy Mark Owen enough to take the job.
Add to this lead singer Ronan Keating’s recent revelation that he likes to put his knob about a bit and you have yourself a self-righteous, pompous TV personality trying to get himself some more personality by strategically dropping a relatively unpopular band that are still well-known at the beginning of the downward slope of their singing careers.
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Who ever said that the Daily Mail wasn’t a source of intellectual nourishment? What callous, idiotic fool would say that there’s anything in the Daily Mail that wouldn’t result in a person having a far more positive and enlightened outlook on the world? Surely it’s a well established fact that the Daily Mail is one of the most progressive and forward-thinking publications on the market today.
While you’re pathetically shaking your head with that lefty-liberal burble of “Ooh, well, I don’t quite know about that,” while you drink your skinny macchiato, Richard Littlejohn takes a sip from a blue lagoon and initiates the ‘You Couldn’t Make It Up’ macro on his smashed up Time computer from 1997 which writes entire articles at the touch of a button. Read More >>>
So much for a Boyzone reunion folks.
Stephen Gately is busy working his boyish charms on St Peter while the rest of us bicker over puke, speculative evidence and an oddly-placed Bulgarian.
The Majorca Press recently felt the need to suggest that Steve was smoking ‘cannabis’ the night before he died and ‘knew that was not the cause of his death’. Now there’s a strange breed of paparazzo: ‘I know amigos, let’s take the bastard out of the death-crouch and crucify him, never mind relevance! Por Favor! We’re the Spanish Inquisition, and by the way, we’re trained doctors too.’
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