My boyfriend doesn't like X-Factor. Of course, I watch it and I make him watch it and now he is as addicted as me...I think...maybe.
For the duration of the show I tend to make these remarks quite freely:
'What are they doing?!.'
'UGH, that's so flat.'
'Why is he constipated?'
'Why is he smiling like that?'
'Oh I love her.'
'They're just singing in unison again! Dammit One Direction, why won't you harmonise?!'
And ever since Cher was deemed 'THE FUTURE OF POP MUSIC', I have decided to reconsider all that this world stands for. If that girl is the future, I don't think there is much point in continuing. Will we really be subject to scrawny/verging on ill, chav-esque Cheryl-looky-likeys who are apparently too 'street' to wash their faces and proudly sport heinous treble-clef-side-of-hand gross tattoo transfers...
What I would do to just lend Cher a Simple make-up wipe or two, and while I was at it perhaps mention that if she got a good pair of trousers with a decent crotch she wouldn't have to dance with her knees wide-out and be groin-centric. I'd take her to Gap for some tailored monochrome - see if she can rock that.
Hmm, my prediction for the final is as follows:
Matt, Cher, One Direction. And I reckon Rebecca and Katie will go far.
Perhaps I digress from my initial point. What was it again..?
Anyway, it's quite nice to huddle round the tele all cosy, and with no Generation Game to keep company on the weekend's any more we now set our eyes on the future of all that is to be 'pop'. No more cuddly toys or plate smashing, we get to slag off, scrutinise and criticise everything that's shoved into our little spongey faces. We're wonderfully reassured that it's OK to divulge with others to compare 'our' thoughts and opinions on those poor X-factorites.
I have decided not to get started on Brian Friedman this time around, but my wrath will come very soon. (i.e. just because you are gay does not mean you are exempt from being hideously sexist, inappropriate and downright degrading with your dance routines!)