Give Us Your Fuckin' Money, Now!

It has been reported that Simon Cowell is organising a charity single to raise money for the Haiti Appeal. Stars linked with the event include Rod Stewart, Paul McCartney, Leona Lewis, Robbie Williams, Coldplay and Take That.

Meanwhile, George Clooney is organising a global Telethon headlined by Beyonce and Madonna. Other stars pencilled in to take part in concerts based in London and New York include Jay-Z, Rhianna, U2's Bono, The Edge, Wyclef Jean, Bruce Springsteen Jennifer Hudson, Mary J Blige, Shakira and Sting.

The estimated combined wealth of these stars is approximately £1,727,000,000 ($2,784,750,580). That's nearly TWO BILLION QUID! Now if this handful of so called charitable superstars were to donate just ten percent of their wealth they would raise around £170 million.

For Simon Cowell alone that would mean handing over a measly £11 million, which would still leave him with over a hundred million in the bank. I'm pretty sure his donation would have absolutely no impact on his lifestyle whatsoever and besides, I doubt it would take him long to earn that small amount back. He could just write out a cheque and hand it over or even BACS it. Even if the administration fees were a grand, most of the money would get to its destination.

To organise a star studded appeal with concerts on both sides of the big pond would cost an absolute fortune, probably millions. The production and distribution costs of making a cheesy charity record would eat a big chunk into its value and leave maybe 20 or 30% of the total cost, less administration. I doubt whether a telethon or cheesy record would raise as much as a few mega-wealthy stars could by just dipping into their vulgar bank accounts and handing over what would be fuck all to them.

So they can bollocks. I'd rather send a bag of old clothes, a few tins of beans or a couple of quid to a local appeal than donate a penny to their self important Telethon and I won't be supporting their cheese to make them feel as if they are being the charitable ones. Fuck 'em!

GIZZA JOB!

Tonight I've been for an interview for the part time post of Assistant Youth Worker. I applied for the job with the sole intention of putting a bit of me back into the local community. My creativity, knowledge, experiences and social attributes. That's all I have to offer really.

I went prepared with nothing more than myself. No list of qualifications, youth work experience, skills, training or anything. I did have my passport in my back pocket for I.D. purposes.

When I arrived an interview was already in progress so I just stood and observed a load of kids being kids. A couple of lads sat playing on a computer console while a bunch of girls sat around a table playing scrabble. It seemed quite staid, if I'm to be honest, and it did feel kind of strange really as I haven't been in a kid environment for a few years now, but I instantly felt I could mingle in, become a part of this and give these kids something a little more interesting or imaginative to occupy their minds. It needed a bit of Tiswas, Ant and Dec or Fiddy Cent.

Anyway, the previous interview ended and I was invited in to meet Lorraine and an old guy. Probably my age(ish), but looked older. Can't remember his name. Introductions passed and I was given the opportunity to explain why I felt I would be the ideal candidate for the job, so I told them some history. Sinfinite to the core, done this, done that, been good and bad, expert in kids etc blah blah.

Then the questions....

"How would you assess, evaluate, report and record situations?"

"What are your views on equality?"

"What do you see as problems in youth society?"

"What would you do if...?"

Erm? I'm fucked if I know. I haven't studied, learned or trained about stuff like that, but if a situation arises I'm sure I could work it out. I usually do. Mr Probably my age(ish) made me feel uneasy as he ticked, or more likely crossed, his boxes. Lorraine seemed to comprehend me, but her job is her job and regulations are rules and required.

I did assure them that I would piss a CRB check with an absolute clean sheet because I've never been caught for any wrong doings. I'm not sure it went too well.

In conclusion, it's doubtful that I'm the right person for the job because I probably didn't say 'tick' when 'tick' was the answer. If...if I'm not to the required requirements (qualified enough) there was the suggestion of a possible voluntary position that would give me the opportunity to learn stuff and possibly gain an NVQ (whatever that is). Well, If a NVQ is what is needed then I'm up for it, but I hate being tested.

I left wondering. 

Unfunny Poof!

On the very last day of 2009 I contracted my first fucking cold of the year and found myself tucked up in bed by 9:30 p.m. feeling as rough as a Kerry Katona's nostrils. Perfect end to a shitty year I thought, but no, just to rub salt into the wounds of my wretchedness, I was awoken by the crack of fireworks as midnight struck and a voice on the TV that grates through me like a a plough through sand. Alan Fucking Carr.

What is supposed to be funny about him? I personally can't spot anything that makes me want to guffaw like his disillusioned audience. He can't tell jokes, isn't witty and doesn't seem to have punch-lines to his stories. Alan Carr is nothing more than just camp and to me, simply being camp is not funny. There is and have been some excellent camp comedians from Julian Clary, Larry Grayson, Kenneth Williams, John Inman and not forgetting the greatest of all, Frankie Howerd. They were brilliant because they knew how to be funny, whether it was from telling jokes, stories or just fantastic comedic timing. Alan Carr seems to rely on nothing put mincing about on stage being effeminate and talking shite. He calls himself 'Chatty Man', which in my opinion is all he does. Chat fucking inane unfunny rubbish.

No, I'm not homophobic. I have no problem with gays whatsoever, as long as they don't stick their parts in any of my orifices, and I don't mind camp either, but just being a poof isn't comedy in my eyes. What would make me laugh with Alan Carr though, would be to see him commit the ultimate in self-pleasure and piss off up his own arse.

And he looks like that twat out of the Banana Splits.

Proud to be British?

Anjem Choudary was born and raised on British soil and educated within our system. As a qualified lawyer he has reaped the benefits of our democracy that allows equality and freedom and he has enjoyed it to the full. It is well documented that as a young man he enjoyed the pleasures of alcohol, drugs, gambling and according to friends, indulged in sex with white Christian girls, which under 'his' perception of Sharia law should be punishable by being stoned to death. His beliefs are beyond hypocritical. He lives, reportedly in relative luxury, off the state. The state that he wants to convert to his extremist state where women would be treated no better than dogs.

What the fuck is up with this country and our supposed leaders? The planned protest rally through Wooton Bassett by Choudary and his terrorist movement should never have even made the news. As soon as extremist Choudary announced this disgraceful parade of disrespect towards our nation he should have been bundled into the back of a van by government agents, stuck on a Hercules and dropped into the middle of some middle eastern desert, preferably without a parachute. Nobody would have been any wiser.

Instead, he is allowed to spit on the graves of war heroes. Not just those returning in body bags at Wooton Bassett, but every man woman and child who gave their lives for our so called modern democracy. 

I really don't feel so proud to be British these days.