Wordsmoker

For the past two months I’ve relied on the television to distract me from the hideous realities of my life. It sits here, in the corner of the living room, spewing out colours and sound like an electric baby with an over-active arse. And sometimes its liquid, ever-present shit lands on my brain and seeps in, even though I wear my Special Metal Hat. What’s struck me this year is the sheer amount of already-very-rich celebrities who are prepared to lend their face and voices to the sole purpose of selling perfumed water. People who I’ve initially sort-of respected are now off my artistic radar, a radar powered forever by the ghost of the comedian Bill Hicks. And yes – these people are whores, no different and sometimes even more whory than some crack-addict prostitute who’ll blow you for the price of a Happy Meal. They’re already rich beyond nearly everyone’s wildest dreams, respected as artists, lauded and awarded by their peers and yet their greed (and it is greed) detracts from anything else they’ve done that you’ve enjoyed. Them appearing in these incredibly shoddy, art-and-taste-free shitbubbles that pepper your mind during this time of year are an insult to the art they publicly hold so important. Also – fuck them, fuck them all. So – on Facebook, let’s draw up a list of them all, and I’ll load the final post with so much metadata that when anyone searches for them and the word “perfume” or “cologne”, that’ll pop up in the results. I can’t personally call every single one of them to tell them to stop, but maybe, just maybe, just probably not, this will stop lesser mortals (morons) from purchasing what is literally and figuratively their rotten, stinking piss. I’ll also add pictures to spice it up a bit.