I call upon the sane and rational...

In the Guardian today there is a story about the race for the Christmas number one. Turns out that Alexandra Burke (Winner of TV "talent" contest X-Factor) has released a cover of the Leonard Cohen track Hallelujah despite the fact that the only cover of Hallelujah is by the one and only Jeff Buckley.

In the name of fairness I actually hied myself over to Youtube and listened to Ms Burke's version and what did I find? That it sucks so much there's a chance I may hunt the bitch down and strangle her with piano wire.

And in case you think I'm overreacting I present to you the same choice I have just made.

Firstly (and in order not to make you biased by making you hear the better version first) I give you Alexandra Burke's version.



And here is Jeff Buckleys version.



Light dawns and the choice becomes clear. Alexandra Burke's version makes you want to kick a kitten across the room in an apoplectic rage and Jeff Buckley's version sets your emotions in gear and can easily reduce a grown man to tears.

So I call upon the sane and rational of the world to go out and buy a copy of Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley in order to send a message to the world of music moguls that states categorically "Talent is more important to the people than soulless, ball-less tripe put together in order to make Simon Cowell and the rest of Satan's little horde rich."

And finally to end this little screed I would like to point you in the direction of the guardian story where a spokesman for Sony BMG (who represent Ms Burke, Mr Buckley and the songs original composer Mr Leonard Cohen) said that the company hoped Burke would take the top spot but conceded:

"Obviously it would be brilliant if Jeff got to No 2."

Which goes to prove to me, and probably to you also, that Sony BMG doesn't have any idea about what qualifies as good music and is only interested in stealing money from the pockets of teenagers. What do teenagers know about good music? About as much as the Burkes at Sony BMG do.

It's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht the nicht...

That's the kind of thing that people say to you when they find out that you're Scottish. And quite frankly it pisses me off. To a whole new level of pissedoffedness.

Therefore I have decided that in order to address the whole "Scottish people are all ginger haired, are tight with money and drink too much." situation I'm proposing that Scotland makes the Dropkick Murphys version of Scotland the Brave as the official national anthem in order to scare the living piss out of anyone who even thinks about throwing around any of those stereotypes.

The Dropkick Murphys version of Scotland the Brave is a mix of the old and the new and has the added bonus in that there are no words to learn, which is an advantage for the football fans who are usually too drunk to sing anyway.

So, Ladies, Gentlemen and unknowns... I give you the Dropkick Murphys...

Cadence To Arms/Scotland the Brave.

Babylon AD - A review...

Shite. With a capital S.

If you have an hour and a half of your life to spare this week, or any other week for that matter, I would highly recommend that you do not spend it watching this movie. Starring Vin Diesel (The non-thinking mans Arnold Schwarzenegger) Babylon AD is so awful if I were given the choice of watching it again or sticking hot needles into my eyes I'd plum for the latter option safe in the knowledge that it would be the more productive way to spend my time.

Judging by the first question I'm most often asked...

When standing behind the bar at work, I'd say that the people who frequent the place are more often than not brainless idiots...

It's been about three weeks since I started my new job and without fail whenever a new face (new to me anyway) comes in the most popular question is "What football team do you support?"[1] To me this suggests one of two things. Either A.) They are brain-dead. Or B.) They are mindless idiots who measure a man, not by his deeds or his actions, but by which colour the overpaid Prima Donnas kick an inflated pigs bladder around a field he supports wears.[2]

Both of these things are not good. Not good in the extreme if you ask me. I mean what kind of retard judges a man based solely on the football team he supports? Yes, you got it, the kind that likes to drink heavily, watch football and beats the shit out his girlfriend on a regular basis. In other words, my customers.

Seriously, what is the mindset of someone who will come to a judgement on someone based on whether or not he follows the fortunes of the same football team as he supports? To me that's as moronic as it can possibly get. It's akin to judging someone by the amount of sugar they take in their tea, if they prefer cheese or pickle on their sandwiches or whether they like cheese flavoured Doritos or cool original flavoured.

So what, I hear you ask, is my answer?

Well, I don't support a football team because football is as interesting to me as shoving a cocktail umbrella into the urethra of my penis and seeing if I can open it. In other words, it's not high on my list of things to do. In fact I would say that shoving a cocktail umbrella into my urethra is way above joining the herds of football fans on the planet because I don't want to lower my intelligence to that of a retarded monkey who suffers from down syndrome.

[1] Football as in Soccer.
[2] I've come to the conclusion it's a combination of both.

There's nothing like a nice quiet pub...

And my new place of work is nothing like a nice quiet pub...

So, I'm back in the land of the worker after a small sojourn as a government artist (I was, after all, drawing benefits...) and I have come to the conclusion that I need to get the hell out of bar work before I go irreversibly insane.

It's not that I hate working behind a bar, it's more down to the fact that the bar I'm working in makes prostitution look like a viable alternative. Despite the fact I'd earn less money than a one legged, facially disfigured hooker with enough STD's to keep a science lab at work for a few years.

The bar I'm working in, and don't bother asking the name of the place as I have been down that road before and know for sure that I could be sacked for airing my views on here, is populated by the type of people that could appear in Shameless and not seem even slightly out of place.

So what else is there that I can do to earn enough money to live? Well, I could go back to being a fishmonger but, quite frankly, that's my last resort as it's an unpleasant job at the best of times and I have no desire to carry around the permanent smell of fish again. There's only so many times people can make remarks about you smelling of fish before the temptation to whip out a fist becomes overpowering.

As it's Friday night tonight the hordes will be clamouring to fire as much booze down their necks before closing time and will, without a shadow of a doubt, attempt to stay back after hours and ask, several times, if they can have a lock in.

What I'd like to know is this... Why do people think it's perfectly acceptable to hang around after a place has closed for the night just because it's a bar? If I were to turn up at their place of work and demand that they stay behind for no wages and sell me things when all they want to do is go home they would, quite rightly, refuse.

Of course, the lock in nonsense will only emerge at the end of the night. Before then I'll have to put up with... The same song being played on the jukebox at least twenty times... Out of tune singing of made up words which (to them and them alone) have a comedy value that beggars belief... People ordering drinks that they can't pay for and wondering why you get ratty about it when you tell them to leave... Morons who think it's somehow manly to drink five jagermeister bombs (Jagermeister with red bull) and puke their loads in the toilets... And many more offenses to my spirit.

Just thinking about this makes me want to fling my notice in and run away to Canada. I hear it's very nice this time of year and has an annual comedy festival...

Now that I'm off the dole...

I can get back into work mode and let all those poor unfortunate fuckers that are rotting away in A4E how to get the hell out of there and do something more productive.

So, how do you get yourself out of A4E? Simple. Just get up and walk on out the door. That's all there is to it. And how is this possible? Well, allow me to explain. Firstly A4E is not a government program that must be attended in order to get benefits. It's basically a way for the government to fiddle the books on the number of unemployed.

I was sent to A4E by the benefits office (And actually attended several times before I decided that I had had enough of the horseshit that was involved in doing so.) as I had been unemployed for more than six months. And this is where the government fiddle comes into play.

You know all the reports that the government likes to shove in the direction of the news agencies? (I'm assuming you do or you wouldn't be reading this.) Well they're all bullshit. That's right kids, the government lies in order to hide the truth. And how do they do this? They send you and others to places like A4E and adjust the figures to make it appear that you and others are no longer on the dole and drawing unemployment benefits.

Once you are at A4E the pressure upon you to fill out application forms is more direct than it is when you only have to apply for a couple of jobs a week in order to keep the benefits office at bay. (According to your jobseekers agreement that you sign you are required to apply for a minimum of two jobs per week or your benefits may be stopped.) And at A4E they have you as a captive audience where they can monitor you on a tighter basis.

You'll notice after a few days at A4E that there is a lot more pressure to apply for jobs and employers even turn up and interview you at the A4E offices. Fair enough the jobs on offer are not the type of job you either want, or are suitable for, but that's not the point. It's all about getting shot of you so the government can do the old wham bam flim flam on the news agencies and make it look like they are making a difference.

And therein lies the truth about A4E. It's all smoke and mirrors folks. Fuck em and the boat they paddled up shit creek in. Do yourself a favour and get out of there before it's too late. Or stay and end up working as a security guard on minimum wage and struggling to make ends meet while the fucker who set you up in the first place draws in a salary on the other side of £25 large, has a decent pension and drives a BMW to work.

Here endeth the lesson.

*Please note, no responsibility will be taken by me for you having your benefits stopped should you choose to leave A4E. If you want my advice on how to get the dole off your back do this... Get a job that you can bear until you get a job you want. Good luck.