Our Tune .....Simon Bates is a Turd
Quick Links: Rant in Our Forums - So last night I was whiling away some more brain cells "dahn the Boozer", when the conversation took a lively turn to the Subject of former Radio 1 Dick Jockey Simon Bates. I'm sure those that remember his woeful show have never escaped the image of him as a smarmy, condescending, blustering fuckwit. Inevitably the broadcasting hate crime that was "our tune" was discussed., Who can forget the Maudlin tawdry tales of ordinary folk read by the simpering unctuous Shitbag all to the backing of the theme music that would send grown men into a state of Catatonic moroseness and make HGV drivers pull over to the lay-by and weep into there flasks. Entire factories used to grind to a halt, heavy machinery was switched off, breaks were taken as men sat a listened to a hard luck story from some moron in Yeovil whose Wife Linda had fucked off with the bloke from the Gym. Well I used to laugh....that's right Laugh, what a bastard I am eh? No , not really, I have never ever understood or had any sympathy for idiots who want to make there personal suffering into a public display of whining. It's the same with people who post increasingly insane letters to the problem pages. "Dear Miriam, I am a 24 year old sales assistant from Wetherby, recently I accidentally ripped my hand off whilst pottering around the Garden, I managed to cauterise the wound myself but recently I have noticed it is blackening and appears to be rotting, I'm so frightened I might lose my entire arm. What should I do "Dear Gangrenous from Wetherby....I suggest you try dabbing some cold cream on the irritated sections to attempt to reduce the swelling, failing this pop in and see your local chemist for a antiseptic wash, however as always if symptoms persist you should make an appointment with your GP. For further information on severed limbs and how to cope ring my Hotline to listen to a patronising recorded message at £8 a minute." It’s absolute madness. Dear Miriam...my Wife has recently died of a drug overdose, can you suggest how best I keep the body from reeking?" Oh fuck off. ------------------ So "our Tune" was full of this kind of incessant annoying bleating, Bates blathering on all so they can play "lady in Red" or "every fucking thing I do , I do it for you" for the 750th time that month. Yeah, your Wife is going to come hurtling back from her new life with a millionaire international playboy because you got some patronising twat in a hairpiece and big glasses to dedicate Chicago to her , and expose your personal life to an audience of 10 million factory floor workers. I googled Simon Bates and apparently he is "an international Broadcaster and Voice over Artist". Really, is that so. A voice over artist...now that is a skill to be envied. Do you have a bland , vaguely irritating and totally insincere voice?, can you read an Autocue......congratulations the High Powered and exciting career of Voice over twat could be ideal for you. --------------------- How little Charisma can you put into the following Phrases. "Lynn....John Would just like you to know he still loves you, but understands your reasons for running away with his best friend and changing all the locks on the house, though burning all his clothes was a bit over the top, He will never forget you and wishes you all the best in the future , this is the Cars" "Must End Bank Holiday Monday...at Thorpe arch, Darley dale, Goole, Matlock and Hull" "the small defenceless kittens play gleefully on the plains learning valuable lessons in Hunting....however unknown to them their biggest predator is lurking not three yards away , feral , famished and with row after row of Razor sharp needle teeth, it looks like these youngsters will be sadly torn to pieces before your very eyes" "How secure is your pension....are you confident that you will retire into a comfortable lifestyle, or is it ask risk to the vicissitudes of an Unscrupulous and Rapacious piece of financial embezzlement that will leave you Poverty stricken , lying ashen in front of an Inadequate Two bar Fire in an isolated flat, living on a diet of thin ,vaguely cabbage tasting, watery gruel?" "Roof Bastard.....Protects you Roof from the elements you stupid bastard...buy it or when you fucking roof caves in I'll be straight round glaring aggressively and saying...tough shit fucko, you should have bought Roof Bastard...it Does exactly what it says on the tin....you know what it says on the tin... "Use roof bastard, the only roof covering that will stop your fucking roof caving in and leaving you looking like a gullible twat while an angry , unsettling thug comes around to your house and Gloats" These are excerpts from a genuine Voice over Job interview exercise. Or I made them up....as that Geordie prick of Big Brother says "you decide". ------------------------------------- Anyway...the point, as trite as normal , is that Simon bates was a shithead, in fact all the Radio One DJ's of his time were. Not that they are any better now , more anodyne and vapid, but I rarely listen to it. Back in the Days of Bates and Co...No one listened to anything but radio one. Transit Vans, Building Sites, Canteens , factories and Warehouse were full of people listening to Radio one and trying to guess what year Katrina and The Waves released Walking on sunshine, and it has scarred my formative years. All of them....Blackburn, Bates, Bruno Brookes, Garry "fucking" Davies and the like should not be allowed to try to rescue there careers on reality shows like "I'm a fatuous cocksucker, here's ant and Dec" No fuck 'em, round them up and dump them in a Tenko style POW camp. Let's see how well DLT can do his Snooker Quiz game with bamboo shoots being jammed into his eyeballs and if Garry Davies can do his "Sunday night Love Supreme" show whilst surrounded by groups of Shrieking inscrutable Orientals urging him to play Russian Roulette and slapping him. ----------------------------------- Bring Back Our Tune, but do it right. ------------------------------------ "This is from John, a 32 year old Cost accountant from Reading....John was 16 when he first met Tracey and it was love at first sight, she was pretty, intelligent and massively well developed in the Chest area, They chatted that first night at a party, and though Tracey was already seeing a 23 year old Mechanic and violent offender, called Dave, who had his own car...John remembers he had already decided that one day they would be married. He remembers watching as she vomited down her own skirt and then proceeded to orally pleasure Dave's Mate, Mick, in the front seat of his Capri, while Dave watched and charged others 2 quid to cop a feel. From that day onwards he was like her shadow, faithfully trailing after her throughout school as she slept her way through most of the Rugby Squad and contracted the Clap. John took every opportunity to woo her and failing that put his hand up her skirt at discos when she was paralytic, and after 12 months a combination of a beautiful evening, a Dozen Bottles of Diamond White and the total unavailability of anyone else Tracey finally allowed him to take her in the shed. It was the finest night of Young Johns life and even the retching she was struck with halfway through was music to his love struck ears. They both Left School at the same time, John found himself a Job as an Office Junior while Tracey went straight onto the Dole, their tender young love continued for several months, but soon the strain of Working and having to give all his money to Tracey for Booze and Fags took it's toll and they parted. John was Heartbroken, he would see Tracey around the local Pubs and clubs and it would tug on his heart, added to this Tracey told everyone in their town that he had an incredibly small penis and suffered from Premature ejaculation, despite this and the gales of hysterical laughter that greeted him whenever he went anywhere public, John still held a torch for his dear sweet Tracey. Six Months passed until one day there was a knock on the Door, John Opened it and there stood Tracey....she had come back to him and this time bought a priceless gift, she was Four months pregnant and couldn't remember who the father was. John was over the moon, he took her in his arms and promised to raise the child as his own, he had achieved promotion at work , a raise and a company car which had allowed him to obtain a mortgage and purchase a small house. Tracey moved in her things and they were together. At first things were wonderful....John would set off to work each morning full of joy as Tracey settled into a well worn routine of Watching daytime television and smoking. But they did not always get on and Tracey's tendency to smirk and laugh every time she saw John naked was an early sign that all was not well. Eventually later that year Tracey gave birth to a Bouncing beautiful half caste girl they called Kylie, John was at once smitten with the girl and he did not need to think twice in bribing a member of Social services with a substantial figure to ensure that they did not investigate malicious claims that Tracey was an unfit mother who had been turning tricks to earn extra cash. These were the Halcyon years of their relationship, John spent most nights awake tending to Kylie before going to work on as little as an hour’s sleep while Tracey cut loose, 9 months of relative sobriety had sharpened her appetites in almost everyway and she spent many a fun filled evening drunk out of her mind being groped by strangers. Eventually John popped the question and, after speaking with her best mate Karen and realising she could get half of his possessions, she immediately agreed to be Johns wife. They Married in June of that year, it was a Great day, the brawl in the car park of the community centre where the reception was held was the only low point, and it was nothing the four riot vans couldn't handle after deploying the water cannon. The years passed and John treasured his wife and child. But sadly after a while Tracey grew restless again, bound by the tight restraints of Marriage, even Johns rapidly inflating salary package couldn't sate her need for excitement. John was concerned when she first raised the prospect of "swinging", but after several weeks of Psychological and sexual humiliation John agreed to attend the first party. John was Nervous at first, and in hindsight may have had too much to drink but Tracey took to the scene like a duck to water and proved herself to be very popular, John, awakening in a flower bed to the sound of his wife going at it like rabbits with the Pro from the Squash club, was filled with an empty feeling. Despite his protestations and reluctance , Tracey would not be deterred from her new pastime, and many nights John stayed home to look after Kylie as Tracey went out. Their second Child was born a year later and many people remarked how much young Trevor resembled Tracey and also Richard, the Life Guard and Body Builder from the Local Health Centre. Meanwhile John grew despondent....he began to drink, he was laid off from work due to absenteeism and he developed a fetish with torturing small animals to death. Things finally came to ahead earlier this year when Tracey confessed to "having shagged half the town, men and Women" and was planning to leave John to move into a House shared by 6 members of "the naughty boys", a popular local striptease ensemble. In Closing....John would like to say He Still Loves you Tracey, despite your numerous infidelities, too many to begin to count, your squandering of the savings and persistent and never ending sniping and criticising of his personality , character and sexual prowess, even after all this he still loves you as much as the day you met. He would also like to say he is sorry....sorry for losing his temper that day, and he apologises for hitting you with the iron....he is also deeply ashamed of the fact that he then hung you up from the rafters in the cellar and subjected you to weeks of brutal and insane torture using knives and the dentistry tools he had been hiding from you. He is Also full of regret that he painted the words "slag, bitch whore" on the wall with your blood and that taking the photo's of your mangled barely lifeless body and posting them to your parents with the message "she will burn in hell", may have been going a little too far. John would also like to say sorry for caving your head in with a crow bar and cutting your body up and putting the pieces into Bin Liners and dumping them in waste ground over a 50 mile radius. But most of all John would like to say sorry for not believing in the love you shared....failing to remember the good times when your Sexually transmitted diseases meant you couldn't go out and cheat on him, but could spend time at home, watching soap opera's and steadily crushing his self confidence under a demeaning tirade of petty abuse and character assassination. John admits he was wrong....he also admits that smearing his entire body in your viscera and dancing an insane jig may have not been the best way to deal with your marriage difficulties He also admits that trying to understand you by pawing through your crushed brain matter with his hands was , an inelegant solution to your problems. .....John hopes that when the Police have identified your body through dental records they will accept his plea of Diminished responsibility on the grounds of insanity, and in closing he says he hopes your every moment in eternity is spent in excruciating lacerating hellfire. This is for you Tracey. "I just died in your arms tonight....must have been something you said...."
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Our Tune .....Simon Bates is a Turd Comments Disabled till we sort out the spammers - Back Soon!