The utter dregs have been conjured and summoned toward the light to re-vive and remake another struggling show.
Which is of course why 'The NME' have had such a great influence upon the shows new series once more aimed at the mediocre, and brainless, to trounce together clutching more trends, to dispense and deliver to all of the willing BBC 2 'indie-kids'
Step toward and forth the wit-less parade lurking in shadows (because that type of lighting suits their fashionable posings...) being ever-more middle-class than the last, these morons wrapped tightly in NME skinny jeans and Converse fashion (Ah, even saying such abhorrently pathetic proper nouns make me wince...)
Together, Led by a typically, ever-obvious and fat James Corden in a TOPMAN blazer, emblazoned and printed on with a line of red (like his mother has scrawled on him, in menopausal rage for not sticking to his strictest of diet-regimes) to show that he isn’t merely a pretty face, but a person to brandish a new clothing line proving the point 'you don’t have to be a pretty face, to follow fashion, in fact you could be overweight, unfunny and talent less'
All of this vanishes, the lead-singer from yet another band, who have sold by the dirty-wheeled cart full and yet have provided nothing, resembling oven-cleaners constructing and speaking such razor-sharp quips as 'Looks like an Ice-Cream Man, gonna bend over to get ya' a Magnum' from beneath a layer of greased hair covering an even more disastrous and horrifying mixture of hormonal nature, teenage lust and a regretful fumble in the back-seats of a picture-film leading to an unwanted child, who eventually spawns forth into an ugly being, resembling an unwashed and unwanted lumps of disorganised and careless bone-matter and flesh splatterings. Running barefoot around, pleased to have found a free place to rest such feline-like attributes, and gain applause.
The ever-wanted rasp of banalitys applause.
AH.
James would you have risked it for a biscuit?
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