Why Pitbull is the Judas of the Music Industry.

Judas's betrayal of Jesus was part of the prophecy. Just like Pitbull's music is part of the prophecy of pop music. Jesus foresees Judas's betrayal, making betrayal not an act of free will (in my opinion), therefore should not be punishable. So as bad as his music can be, people should back off Pitbull. His music may not be the best, but can we really hate someone who samples A-Ha's "Take On Me"? No.

Without Pitbull, I think we can all agree that we'd feel comfortable watching a post-come back Jennifer Lopez music video. But without him we wouldn't have decently sung verses, choruses or bridges by Christina Aguilera, Ne-Yo, Marc Anthony  or Shakira. We'd just have a creepy bald man who resembles the actual cartoon mole rat from 'Kim Possible', rapping about the club even though he looks like he's in his mid-40's (he's actually 31).

So instead of hating Pitbull, I call for an intervension. We will not praise nor hate the artist with the name Pitbull. We will respect him for collaborating with brilliant popstars who may need a bit of promotional help with future albums (*cough* Christina Aguilera *cough*), because even though his music is below average on my scale of brilliant pop music, the radio plays the shit out of him.

For those of you who would like to respect the modern-day Judas, here is a Spotify playlist I made completely wasted full of Pitbull songs I probably love when I'm drunk.

FASHION REVIEW: BUSTED

I really like talking about celebrity fashion, and by that I mean judging the fuck out of clothes worn by people I will never meet. So I think I'm going to start and do this monthly with a different theme each time. You know, for the shits n' gigs. At the begining of this week, Lindsay Lohan went to court and got sent to rehab, so naturally this months theme is THE LAW! Here are some celebrities going to court and some comments on their clothes. To make this a more riveting experience, here's a playlist of some law/drug/government themed songs. Such fun.

Linsday Lohan turning up to court on Monday. I've never seen so many layers on this bitch before. Her poor vagina must be confused.

It looks like Tulisa either has a small penis, or just did a fanny fart. Either way she looks kinda pretty. Shit hair though.

Why isn't Naomi Campbell a Dame yet? FIERCE.

Oh no Cheryl. Carrie Bradshaw would not approve, and neither would the 2013 Cheryl Cole.

Every time I see a picture of either one of them, I want them to jump off something very high. She looks like a hill-billy Oompa Loompa on stilts and he looks Constipated. (Katie Price and Peter Andre)

HAVE A FUCKING BURGER! (Paris Hilton)

It's only right we finish where we started. Lindsay Lohan channeling her inner Marilyn. Very clASSy.

Girls are not Aloud.

I can't speak french comprehend how saddened I am about Girls Aloud officially splitting up. Soon after their last tour date in Liverpool last night, a tweet appeared on the Girls Aloud twitter saying:

" Dear Alouders, we just want to say from the bottom of our hearts Thank you!! This tour has been an amazing experience and the perfect chance to say thank you for being on this journey with us through a decade. It has far exceeded any of our dreams and we hope we are forever your inspiration and reminder that dreams really do glitter!! Your love and support will stay with us forever but we have now come to the end of our incredible time together . Love you lots."

So I would just like to say on behalf of all the gays, girls and straight men who love pop music. We love you too.  The pop world will be a very upsetting place without you because lets face it, you had some UNTOUCHABLE tunes. I have three words for you. Call. The. Shots.

There's no denying that the girls are going to be fine on their own. They're all fucking minted. Plus all of the girls except Sarah, have released solo music and in my opinion, they should carry on. Some better (Cheryl and Nicola) than others (Nadine and Kimberly). It's time for SOMETHING NEW from the girls (I'm sorry).

Here is a Spotify playlist of my favourite Girls Aloud songs (basically all the singles plus 'On The Metro' twice).

Wankr's on Grindr

Grindr is described as a location-based dating app for gay men, so basically it's a hookup/one night stand/dick pic app. There are over five million users worldwide who spend, on average, ninety minutes of their day browsing through profiles of other gay men who'd like to chat, meet or blow. To most gay men with the app it's a serendipity, but to me it's a nightmare.

Most gays think I'm stupid for hating Grindr, but it's just a glorified orgy. Not to mention it's full of pricks that are so picky in who they want to meet, it makes me want to vomit. Pretentious knobheads using the over-used phrase, 'no fems, no fats, no Asians'. Don't get me wrong, it can be great if you're single and want to find a potential dating partner, and I'm sure a lot of people have found love through the app and whatever. Unfortunately, the majority of people on there are looking for sex, and it creeps me out.

Curiosity has made me download this app so many times, shortly followed by me deleting it. When I decided to talk about Grindr on here I downloaded it and decided to open it in the heart of London's gay town. It took me sixty seconds to get someone's location to meet and have sexy time with (of course I didn't go). Me and my friend were scrolling through the profiles, sitting in SOHO Coffee Co. and saw taglines saying things like 'twink free zone', 'no fatties' and (my personal favourite) 'If your wrist is broken, don't even bother'. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd much rather go to a club and pull an absolute munter, than be a twat and have sex with a stranger that meets my tastes.

In my opinion, it gives gay men a bad name. Sex obsessed and happy enough to send a picture of their dong to a stranger. Of course I would never judge a person who meets for sex through the app, it's your life, and I know a lot of lovely people who use the app to find dates, or even just to chat. But it's not my cup of tea, although it is currently downloaded on my iPod. I guess it's just a source of entertainment for me. Here are some screenshots of some funny Grindr conversations about blow jobs.

West End Weekend.

My lovely mother came to visit me last week, and when people come to visit me I become this raging tourist. On any other weekend, I would find eating a cheese and pickle sandwich on Piccadilly Circus a bit of a nightmare. But a relative is down, so it is a form of forced fun/torture. We went to see two shows, which were very different. I'm about to express my thoughts on both which I'm sure you'll find highly entertaining, *Sarcastic laughter*.

The first show I went to see was 'Billy Elliot' and it was fucking phenomenal. I went to see it 6 years ago, and it was the musical that got me interested in musical theater. If it wasn't for this musical, I probably would of thought Les Misérables was a bit shit. I am not shamed in saying that I cried a lot during this musical. I'm not sure why, but recently I've become this huge cry baby, or as some might say, a pussy. The show has the same story line as the film, so if you haven't seen the film (shame on you), here is a brief plot summary. The show is about a young gay boy who's not gay, but his friend is, growing up in a mining community in the North East of England during the 1980, when good old Margaret Thatcher (sarcasm) decided to take on the miners' union, and won. Which actually had a huge impact on UK politics, society and culture. The boy's name is Billy, and he wants to be a ballet dancer, but his 'lad dad' (good phrase, isn't it?) isn't happy with this, and needs to come to terms with Billy's talent. I won't go any further as I don't want to ruin it.

The songs in the show are pretty good, but not as good as other musicals like Les Mis or Wicked. It's the plot and the visuals which stood out the most during the performance. The use of contrast in this musical is amazing, with little ballet dancers and protesting miners singing about solidarity will certainly leave you in this goosebump/sobbing state, which will stay with you for at least another week. At one point I ran to the toilet, and came back to a giant effigy of Margaret Thatcher, maybe 20 or 30 feet tall. Underneath all that was about a dozen human-sized Margaret Thatchers. I thought I fell asleep during my piss and wondered into this, what surely had to be, the worst nightmare of my life. But it wasn't. Then it sunk in. I laughed.

Before I move on to the next show, I would just like to say that Billy's grandmother is a fucking legend. Oh, and I highly recommend this show. It's probably my favourite musical that I've seen (and I've seen a fair few).

Right. Oh God. The next show I went to see was Viva Forever. Like many a child of the 90s, my awkward years of being a confused, knob-head of a child were dominated by the Spice Girls, who probably defined my ongoing love affair with pop music. I heard the reviews were mixed by the fans and negative by journalists, but I did not let this get to me. In fact I was so excited about going to see Viva Forever that I had about 6 drinks before curtain-call. I was excited, optimistic and absolutely plastered. This certainly worked to my advantage, because looking back at the show, it was pretty crap, but I had a marvelous time. Never have I ever seen a theater so full of drunk people, that got up to dance at every opportunity possible.


The plot focuses on this girl named Viva who was in a girl band that was forced to split-up during an X-Factor-like show, leaving her on her own, trying to find herself, etc, etc. You can certainly tell that the musical is written by Jennifer Saunders, with a blatant Ab Fab consciousness, and in some ways, this makes the musical a bit better. Anyway I have mixed feelings about this musical and most of them are negative, so I'm going to make a bullet pointed list of what I learnt during this survival camp musical.

• Musicals about being famous are as ridiculous/shit as they sound.
• Props that appear from no-where and revolving things are always cool, but don't make the musical any better.
• 'Headlines' is still shit.
• 'Viva Forever' should never be tampered with, especially when it's a Spanish man with an acoustic guitar that's doing it.
• Thongs are always funny.
• 'Too Much' has always been a song about pubes after all.

That is it! I give Viva Forever a 4 out of 10 stilettos, and wouldn't really recommend it to anyone unless you are the worlds biggest Spice Girls fan and/or are absolutely wasted and want a good night out with your girls.

GIRLS ALOUD/TEN TOUR: A REVIEW

So I went to see Girls Aloud on Sunday and it was a pretty amazing night. Amelia Lily opened and she was pretty good at warming up the crowd. When she was announced as support act I was very happy, but like every concert I go to, she wasn't the reason I bought the ticket. The girls (ALOUD) opened up with 'Sound of the Underground' and it was absolute perfection. They finished with 'The Promise', which again, was absolute perfection. Here is a bullet pointed list of the other things I found good and what I didn't find so good.

THE ALOUD

•  THE FUCKING ENTRANCE!!!!
• THEY FLEW ACROSS THE AUDIENCE ON A HUGE 'GIRLS ALOUD' BANNER. Amazing.
• Nicola Roberts .
• Two words. Act Three. It included probably everyone's favourite Girls Aloud songs (Sexy! No No No..., Untouchable, On The Metro and Call The Shots).
• UNTOUCHABLE!!!
• Nicola Roberts.
• They covered the much respected, cultural icon that is, Carly Rae Jepsen.
• Something New was fucking mental.
• Doing 'The Promise' choreography with some stranger.
• BIOLOGY!!!
• Nicola Roberts.

 THE NOT SO ALOUD

• Nadine Coyle's accent.

And that's pretty much my experience summed up. Before I go to watch 'The Devil Wears Prada', here are some Instagram pictures I took during the show. You can follow me on Instagram here.

 BYE!

Bikini Bottom of the Love Chain

Moving to London was one of the best decisions of my life, and like most Londoners, I have given serious and generous thought to the state of my flat should I get killed during the day. What if someone pushes me onto the underground tracks? Or if I accidentally blow up? Or if a lady with a pram studs my big toe making me fall in front of a double-decker bus? What then? After I get rushed to hospital and the sheets cover my face. After my funeral and all the cheese and pickle hedgehogs have been demolished. What will happen?

Back in my little room will be an unmade bed with my dishes still unwashed in the kitchen. The day I get shot in the corner shop (buying fags, naturally) will be laundry day with all my clothes on the floor, but I opted to watch 'Modern Family' all day in my onsie instead. I picture, quite frequently, my parents coming down to London to collect my things and clean out my room and they enter a room so disgusting that they'll actually be angry with me, even though I'll be six feet under.

Whilst my parents are discovering my huge collection of gay lifestyle magazines, and finding my giant stash of 54 condoms I took from the university nurse during freshers week. They will also probably come across my mini Spongebob Squarepants figure collection kept in a shoebox under my bed. There are about 8 mini figures that I have collected since my mid-teens. Every time I saw one of those toy vending machines that had a Spongebob inclusion, I wouldn't hesitate to waste a £2 coin, even if it was shiny. The sad thing about the collection is, that the most recent addition to the collection was only three weeks ago, when I saw a vending machine at a M4 services.

I'm not exactly sure how the Spongebob thing happend, but it has happened, and there's no going back now. I was quite a Spongebob fan as a youngster, but not in a way where I would ask my parents for paraphernalia. I guess I just like the fact that they're little and cute. Plus I always thought that if Spongebob was in office he would legalise gay marriage immediately. And thus the Spongebob shoebox came to be.

It's uncomfortable to admit, but I've been given Spongebob figures on two occasions by my past lovers. My ex-boyfriend back when I was in Wales gave me one on Valentines day. I know it seems like a pathetic gift in comparison to chocolate, but we'd only been seeing each other a week before V-Day. Then before Christmas, when someone came back to mine after a night out, he found the Spongebob collection. A week later I had a little gift from the same person, a limited edition, baywatch-esque, mini Spongebob figure. These figures are becoming a symbol that marks the beginning of a relationship. Kinda cute, right? But I was thinking last night, that the whole Spongebob thing is equally as cute as it is creepy. The Spongebob gift is the beginning of a romantic repertoire of private jokes within my relationships (which is how I think all relationships are focused on), and a chance for all my future boyfriends (every member of One Direction) to see how much of a slut I was before them. So I'm not sure what to do with the figures.

What if, these Spongebob figures, if by accident, come to represent the most overtly sentimental parts of my life? Because both relationships that had Spongebob gifts included, have ended, and ended badly. But I couldn't throw them away because I already had a collection before both relationships. They are my odd little secret, if you will.

Unfortunately the creepy overrides the sentimental and whilst writing this, I've put the Spongebob shoebox in the bin, and the bin is almost ready to go outside and into the skip. I created this ideology and now I need to uncreate it. When I fall down a montain, get trampled on by scaffolding or eaten by a Lion that escaped from London zoo, a shoebox will not represent my pathetic love life. The real proof that I was loved and did love could never fit in a converse box.