Before we begin; an open letter to the recorded music business. Another one. I know I’ve done it before (see Kanye, Kim & The Poor Little Lesbian, The Curious Case of Nikki Minaj and her Skin Colour or; Burn it All, Two Cups of Tea & I’m Still Not a Belieber) but I want to do it again.
Dear The Recorded Music Business,
Where the hell do you get off? Huh? How dare you keep allowing these inconsiderate pricks to release songs? You know the people I’m on about. The ones who don’t care about me, the listener, they just care about releasing whatever is going to make them money next. Some of us are going through a Morrissey-esque I’ve-never-been-loved-and-nobody-wants-me phase and yet you continue to allow songs that invoke real feelings to be played across the airwaves. Where are all the Nikki Minaj’s? Where are all the Little Waynes? Nobody wants to hear songs about real emotions, you fools! There is no demand for it any more. All you’re doing is making people feel and that is not cool. People just want to hear songs about how good someone elses life is compared to their own. I want to hear songs about how many cars someone has or how many women they take home every night or how someone is more talented than “all you other bitches”, etc, etc, not songs about love lost or bridges burnt or the realities of having to live in a materialistic world where we are all consumed by the little things that don’t matter as opposed to the big things that do. You are destroying society. Nobody wants to feel. Feelings are gay. Anyway, rant over. Now on to the good shit. The real shit. The important shit that actually means something.
I saw a man stuck in a clothing donation bin the other day. It was fucking hilarious. I mean, I can only assume it was a guy. all I could see of them was from the waist down as this was all that was sticking out, but he also had a friend with the greatest look of sheer panic on his face trying to pull him out. This is just around the corner from where I though an old man was going to attack me with an umbrella-ella-ella, eh, eh, eh. I was walking to work and this elderly guy was walking towards me with this look in his eye. The kind of look that says “I’ve been wronged so now I’m going to wrong you” and for a moment I was genuinely terrified. I’ve never hit anyone before. Was I really going to have to break that twenty-eight year run with a pensioner? Why was he looking at me like that? Then he raised his umbrella-ella-ella, eh, eh, eh, as if he was going to smash my face in with it and there was a really, really tense moment or two where he was getting closer to me but what happened next was more bizarre than what I could ever have though was going to happen.
You see, he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking through me. What was he looking at, you ask? Well, remember how I said he had a look in his eye as though he had been wronged by someone? Well I’m pretty sure that someone was a pigeon, because there was a pigeon behind me and he just started beating it with his umbrella-ella-ella, eh, eh, eh. Weird, eh? I have no idea what this poor pigeon had done to him. I can only begin to assume that there was some sort of gambling debt, just because it amuses me to think of a pigeon losing loads of money in a seedy basement. It was probably poker or cock-fighting. That’s all I can assume from what I saw. I mean, he’s a pigeon so he probably knows other birds, and it’s not unusual for humans to make other humans fight for money so why should it be so unusual for one kind of foul to force another kind of foul to fight? We live in a sick, sick world. We need to stop this foul-on-foul-forced-cage-fighting-for-profit. It ruins peoples lives. People get hurt. I thought I was going to get smashed up by an old man. Your gambling problems are having a drastic effect on everyday folk you have no ties with. It needs to end now.
I’m going to Scotland Yard. Not to complain about the foul-on-foul-forced-fighting, but to spray-paint Nietzsche quotes on the wall. Because fuck the po-po. Fuck ’em.
I am going to miss all these freaks that London has to offer when I leave though. I hope Canada has the same number of nutters.
The "Wonderful" World of (Spencer) Miles Lloyd 