Wednesday 05 October 2011

Harangue the DJ

My ongoing mission to find a breakfast radio show landed on Capital this morning. Capital feature what is known (by youths and marketing experts) as a ‘breakfast crew’. Ostensibly this means there are several people with equal rights (just the same as each other, not the same as 1950s American white people – that black people wanted, but would just have settled for not being lynched for a bit) to speak whenever they want. Hey – that’s real cool man, I dig equality; Although, I immediately rank Rob and Rachel above ‘Wingman’ as his handle (hey if he is going to live by American Air Force vernacular, he is going to die by said same tongue) suggest he is some kind of support to someone else*.

I can’t remember if it was Rob or Wingman – it definitely wasn’t Rachel though, despite their so-called equality Rachel still has the higher-pitched voice associated with the female of the species while Rob and Wingman are equally slaves to convention, having the bassier tones one generally finds falling out of the mouths of males** – but one of the two said something about having an hilarious thing to tell the listeners after the next song. One abridged version of a current pop hit later and whichever one it had said it was true to their word. And he/he said something like this “you’ll never believe who I saw queuing for ticket to the rollover Lottery jackpot in the newsagents yesterday..Dave Spikey!!! Dave Spikey!!! What is he doing buying a lottery ticket for? You don’t expect to see famous people buying lottery tickets do you?”

This led to an entirely rubbish conversation/phone-in. [To be fair in the middle of it one of them made a joke about JLS having a syndicate which I thought was at least 56% funny; so it wasn’t all bad.] But what are they talking about? Had that been Richard Branson or David Beckham then you’d think it was a worthy point. But Dave Spikey? £87 Million?

(1) Who wouldn’t want £87 million? (2) Is Dave Spikey you would think of someone being rich? I mean I think of him being wealthier than me. This, admittedly is not a stretch of my imagination. I imagine him maybe owning his home and not worrying about buying a nice car. But rich? Since Kaye cut him out of the game he is hardly ubiquitous. I sincerely hope he made a wedge out of that rubbish sitcom where he was working at a local paper. At least I hope it was a sitcom and not a ‘Where Are They Now?’ type programme. It was back in the days where ITV paid someone a wedge to do a rubbish sitcom after they had been in a good one on another side. Martin Freeman was in one about a hardware shop which was equally poor.

*Wingman would be a better nickname for someone on a show fronted by overrated DJ (to my mind 95% of DJs are overrated, such is the ego of the average DJ and the propensity of the general public to believe ANYTHING said loud enough by a confident enough man. They are always men.) Pete Mitchell. Because Pete Mitchell, you know Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell of the hit motion picture Top Gun was called Pete Mitchell – and he had a wingman, all the pilots did. That’s where the phrase wingman comes from.

**probably saying something boorish about cars or fannys.

Making Myself Laugh

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like a laugh. I love one. But unless I am having a laugh with people, I’m not a big laugher (out loud) …….ah that’s what LOL stands for. But I don’t. That’s another lie, reading I, Partridge: We Need To Talk About Alan is almost impossible not to laugh (out loud) once every few minutes. That said the absolute, pathetic, shame-face of the whole ruddy thing is that I only really cry with laughter reading something I have written. That’s really sad. Below is an example – a brief exchange on Facebook with my niece, which I found hilarious on reading back.

NB: I have deleted my niece’s name and her pictures to deter paedophiles, they love sex with under-16s (she is nearly 14). To deter them even further I replaced her beautiful face with a picture of Hacksaw Jim Duggan. I did think ‘what is the opposite of something a paedophile would want to see?’ and the obvious answer was a sexy adult woman, but then that seemed even odder; so I thought ‘who would strike the fear of heck in to a paedo(but not be a sexy false image for my niece)?’ Hence Hacksaw Jim. Once on this protective train of thought, another thing became quickly obvious: I should change my image so that heterosexual women, gay men and bi-sexuals of both genders wouldn’t try to adult-paedo me. What tells straight/gay/bi sex pests ‘leave off sexing me’? That’s right: a dog dressed as a hippy.

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