LOLLE!
HILAR!
AMAZEBALLS!
WHORE!
It’s that time of the year again when reactionary phrases like these break Twitter. Yes, Britain’s Got Talent is back and this year it has a rival! The Voice UK, or Don’t Look At My Ugly Face! As it’s more commonly known. Along with Take Me Out, Saturday nights have become a three hour long cavalcade of judging twats. No longer do you need to leave your house to experience the dickheads that England has to offer.
It starts with The Voice UK. At first The Voice seems to dissuade you from judging and laughing at its contestants. It’s all about the voice you see, not the HORRIBLE face. The judges - Tom Jones, Jessie J, Will.i.am, and that Irish guy from The Script - have their backs turned from the HIDEOUS faces and as a result they’re never able to hurl the same caustic insults as The X-Factor judges do: “You look like a prick, you dress like a prick and you sing like a prick”.
X-Factor fans may find this disappointing but they should embrace the positivity of The Voice, it’s not some freakish sideshow where we point and laugh at all the DISGUSTING people who can’t sing. Instead we applaud all the REPULSIVE people who can sing. You go girl! Or are you a man? 80 minutes of this is just depressing. There aren’t any bad contestants at all on The Voice, in fact the only ones who don’t go through are already famous or have a moderately interesting tale to tell. Watching 80 minutes of talented singers can leave your self esteem in tatters.
It’s alright though, because they’re SICKENING right? You can’t even look at their faces without wanting to gouge your eyes out. Well no. Most of them are good looking people, while no contestant could be considered downright fuck ugly. Sure that guy is fat and that woman has no hair but at least they haven’t got a foetus growing on the side of their head. Watch The Voice and you’ll feel like you’re the horrible, hideous, disgusting, repulsive, sickening excuse of a human being. There must be something wrong with these people!
And there is. They’re all cunts. The bald woman doesn’t have to be bald, she can wear a wig, Beyonce doesn‘t have real hair! The man who acted like quitting his job at Sainsburys was the biggest sacrifice ever made didn’t have to quit, book the day off you dickhead! The sixteen year old girl who dressed like a slutty crow didn’t have to dress like a slutty crow for a competition where the judges couldn‘t see her!
I started to enjoy The Voice when these idiots showed up but it’s not enough to save such a flawed and contrived show. It’s called The Voice but the judges spend as much time bemoaning how they would have said yes had they seen the contestant as they do finding as many cool ways to push the button. Try your elbow this time Jessie! The whole point of the show was to find the next Susan Boyle yet all they’ve found is a bunch of misshapen camp men.
Britain’s Got Talent is like a circus that comes into town once a year, bringing with it the nation’s biggest freaks and mentalists. The format has stayed the same since its conception and there’s no need to change it. BGT exists so we can point and laugh at the deluded and ugly. Most of us probably are deluded and ugly so it makes a welcome break to crying in the mirror.
It’s a shame that Britain has got some talent because BGT would be a far more entertaining show if it didn’t. If anything the talent gets in the way of the entertainment and it would bring in a much larger audience if it was called Britain’s Got Ugly. We don’t really care about the good auditions unless there’s some sort of odd quirk to them, like the two gay ballroom dancers who showed that ballroom dancing is literally gayer than gay sex.
The night ends with Take Me Out. Just as the world as we know it will. Any girl who thinks ITV is a suitable place to meet a man should have their ovaries confiscated. But that’s the point. To find 30 of the most undesirable women and try to pair them up with a massive cunt so we can all have a good judge and laugh about it. Look at her, she’s a slag. Ooo he’s full of himself. Her arms are too skinny. I bet he’s got Chlamydia. She’s orange. He’s gangly. She’s a bitch. He’s a bastard. I bet she’d suck off a tramp for a fiver. He’s definitely fucked his cousin.
After a terrifying horde of wildebeest stampede into the studio, one fearless wanker enters their pit. As he does his best to prove he’s a bigger prick than Paddy McGuiness (and inevitably fails) the “girls” show why we the audience are true judging connoisseurs. It took liking The Lord of the Rings for every girl to be disgusted by a man who looked like a 1930s paedophile. We’re judging him for looking like that, judging the girls for not judging him and judging Paddy McGuiness for being Paddy McGuiness.
Some people go to the cinema on a Saturday night. Some people go to a club, get drunk, and get herpes. Some people go dogging. But for most people Saturday night is all about judging the nation. Social networking has made the act into an actual event, in fact tweeting about these TV shows is more interactive than dogging. It may only be watching TV, but it’s more therapeutic than an Orwellian two minute hate.
