Excuse me, Mr Dirty, but I feel obliged to inform you that I have the money which I owe you, so please do not worry.

A somewhat over-analytical overview of the classic track Got Your Money, by sadly deceased psychopath Ol' Dirty Bastard.

"

The song is initially dedicated exclusively to the world's population of attractive females, until ODB seems to have pangs of guilt for not including ladies who might be considered 'homely' or 'ugly,' so he decides to include them, with the encouraging words, 'to me, you pretty anyway, baby.' The artist begins the song by expressing his harsh disdain for women whom he meets, who initially appear to be interested in him, yet later express a reversal of opinion. He then transitions into a discussion about how women sometimes imply they are carrying one's child, although the DNA tests may not yet have come back conclusively.

ODB then expresses some confusion with respect to the morality of the situation, but he is able to remedy this by presenting his Cristal brand of champagne, and urging the patrons to disarm themselves, because ODB does not approve of such violence. Continuing, it appears at first that there is some mutual attraction between “Dirty” (ODB) and the female patrons in the establishment; however, it soon becomes apparent to Dirty that the females only wish to use him for a shot at music video stardom. Despite his knowledge of their ulterior motives, ODB’s primary interest remains focused on dancing, and he tries to perpetuate his image as one who should not be taken lightly. He acknowledges a lack of intellectualism, although he claims that this is superseded by his natural charisma.

The females in the establishment start admiring Dirty for his assets, which just causes Dirty to return to the situation at hand: his money. He asks for the females’ assistance in rectifying the situation, and subsequently asks them to expose their nether regions. Dirty finishes off the song with some nonsensical lyrics, that clearly imply his rising anger for the missing money."

The line there near the end which I've highlighted is completely and utterly my favourite moment in a piece of writing full to the brim of outstanding use of the English language. Bravo, Wordsworth.

Here be the song/video to which this clap-trap refers;

BOO-HOOING ALL THE WAY TO THE BANK

"We made a decision simply because he gets terrible abuse here. We don't want to subject him to that"

Oh, boo fucking hoo. So what if a load of empty headed moronic halfwits want to sing songs about how you went out and boffed some slags while your pregnant wife was at home carrying your child? Wayne Rooney must earn like, £100,000 per week. For that money it should be a legal obligation that overweight commoners scream things like "PRICK!" or "CUNT!" or "BASTARD!" at you every time you step outside your 12412-bedroom principality that you call a home. Seriously, for that kind of money I would allow every opposition supporter in the country to kick me in the throat. All Wayne Rooney has to do it take his dick out of a prostitute long enough to play football for 90 minutes and train for a couple of hours a day. Infact, here is a list of tasks that any human being should be legally forced to carry out when earning anything close to £100,000 per week;

* Eat stinging nettles that have been pickled in the ball sweat of overweight sexual deviants.

* Build 4 houses per every paycheck received. This rule is open to interpretation, for example the individual could build 6 small houses like bungalows, or one block of 3-storey apartments.

* Watch every episode of King of Queens. Twice.

* Cheat on you wife/partner. (Whoops, this one seems to already exist!)

* Drink a saucer of buffalo piss.

* Watch this AWFUL movie that is on the TV at the moment. Srsly, it's horrific. I'd do all of the above things just to avoid watching anymore of this garbage.


I feel that none of these things are too much to ask when you are taking home almost half a million a month. But GOD FORBID some strangers call you names. I cannot help but think that the best way to avoid having your feelings hurt with words (which, let's not forget, WILL NEVER HURT YOU! Not like those dastardly sticks and stones, which will break the shit out of your bones) is to not have sex with cheap-ass slappers whose only intention is to take a wad of cash from the N**s of the W***d in return for a series of lurid stories built entirely on puns relating to the victim's profession, for example, if the story is about a Formula One driver, the whore will say something like "Usually he is in pole position, but that night he had me positioned on his pole ALL NIGHT LONG!" like the name of an episode of a pornographic episode of Jerry Springer. It's like, I don't want people to think that I am a rapist or a murderer. So to achieve this, I don't rape or murder people. It's the most effective way in my opinion.

Two Things Pissed Me Off Today

Handsfree Kits-

When did it become so goddamn impossible to put a phone to your ear and speak? It worked pretty well for many decades, so why do so many people insist on fannying around with a handsfree kit? The only people I see actually using a handsfree kit are people WHOSE HANDS ARE FREE. They make perfect sense if you are driving or carrying logs or whatever other activity requires the use of your hands. Ironically enough, I watch the average gaping arsehole who sits on the train with a kit attached, and the only thing he is using his hands for is to endlessly adjust the fucking handsfree kit he is using in order for his hands to be free. It makes no sense! Think about it you moron. The very thing you are using to negate the use of your hands is the very thing that is requiring the use of your hands, renering the whole thing an enormous waste of time! My hatred for these people stems from one specific incident I witnessed about 6 months ago, in which some hideous boneheaded hog sat opposite me on the bus tried to make a phonecall using her handsfree kit. When the person she was bothering answered, she started hollering "CAN YOU 'EAR ME??!?!" over and over like some kind of obese parrot. She then wiggled the wire around a bit, before doing the exact same thing again. This went on for around 90 seconds, by which point I was seriously considering making this dickhead bleed. Eventually, she gave up on her handsfree and put the phone to her ear. She then excitedly hollered something along the lines of "OOOHH, I CAN 'EAR YA NAAAAAHHHHH! 'OLD ON DAHHHLLLINNNNN!" and attempted to reconnect the handsfree kit once more. It was a this point that I was at my stop and was able to escape this utter fool before I lost my shit and choked her to death. Another problem with these things is that it is now markedly more difficult to differentiate between a lazy bastard talking into a wire or a genuine psychopath talking to an invisible fairy. This has made my day something of a minefield, since I live and work in two areas of London with a high concentration of nutters.

Incidentally, my favourite ever handsfree kit was one I saw been used by an old Asian lady recently, who had clipped her phone case to the side of her headscarf. Her hands were free, but whatever. She looked cool as fuck.


Inconsiderate Train Passengers-

Get on a train in London at rush hour, and you are almost guaranteed to have no fucking room to move whatsoever. Every single carriage is filled with about 18,135 more people than they are designed to accomodate. Your feet are planted to the spot. Move an inch in any direction and you are gonna be crushing someone's toes. Got an itch on your face? Tough shit. Your arms are pinned to your sides and there isn't anything you can do about it. And no matter which direction you look in, there will definitely be a damp armit in close proximity to your nostrils. Basically, there is no fucking room to do anything. But that isn't to say there isn't people who will try. Far from it. For some reason I cannot fathom, every single one of these journeys will feature some inconsiderate tit with a pathological desire to read a news paper right there, right then. This idiot will stand there with the paper about 1/100000th of an inch from his face, reading away like a twat. The problems begin when he begins the complex task of turning the page. In such close proximity to other people, this usually descends into a festival of tuts and sighs as this paper-reading cunt elbows everyone within a 12 inch radius repeatedly.

NO ALBUM ARTWORK

Most people sleep when they are tired. Not me though. Rather than go to bed like any rational tired person, I instead tend to find myself wading through the vast trough of sewage that is the world wide web, looking at nothing in particular and cursing the fact that I'm going to wake up the following morning for work feeling like shit. BUT NOT TODAY. For you see, two great things have happened on this Friday night. ONE, no work tomorrow. and TWO, I've found a website which basically exists to bring together the most ridiculous album covers ever unleashed on the general public. Here are some of my favourites.






Put yourself in the photographer's position for a second. You're readying the camera, making sure everything is just so, but something isn't quite right. This scene, of Millie Jackson, a middle aged woman on the toilet with her panties around her ankles, is just a little too harsh. The solution? A nice vase with some fresh flowers in. It's just a very nice touch. Also, what is Millie Jackson forcing from her bowels that requires the removal of a shoe?



Simple concept here. All of Freddie Gage's friends are, as the large type suggests, dead. So this is conveyed by having Freddie squat in front of a tombstone looking morose, holding what looks like a bible. I like Freddie's shoes/shirt co-ordination, proving that grief need not impact upon your fashion sense. The design of the cover is unfortunate, with the vast swathes of sky blue with a small picture in the centre giving the impression that the picture was shot through a bathroom window.



What is he building, a dungeon to molest children in?



I cannot say anything to justify how amazing this one is, but I will say that such a simple idea has never been executed so perfectly.



I bet being a pop star got this dude tons of girlfriends.



....And you, and you, and you! But not you, you laughed at her face.




So what, is Julie his daughter or his jailbait? Either way, she ain't Sixteen.

Finally, here is the worst cover OF ALL TIME. Srsly, die already.

The most hateful things about the 'Three Lions'.....

• Steven Gerrard made his professional debut in 1998. Before that he played in many youth teams from an early age. Since then he has played in hundreds of football matches and must have watched hundreds more. In thee 12 years since he made his professional debut he has had the benefit of playing alongside many great players and has been schooled by many great coaches. So why is it that he still thinks that the only option available to him when he recieves the ball 25-40 yards of goal is to punt the ball towards goal? Does he realise the men wearing the same clothes as him, running around on the same pitch as him, are team mates that he is by all means permitted to pass to? After all, giving the ball to said team mates may present an opportunity for someone else to put the ball in the back of the net from a more feasible distance that 40 yards away. Its always welcome to see someone leather it into the top corner at 90 mph, but my God I wish 'Stevie G' would occasionally take a second to look around and assess the situation around him before harumphing the ball into row Z like a fucking glory-hunting cretin.

• Adrian Chiles needs to get the fuck off of my TV, like, right now. I'm sick of this hideous freak staring down the camera like a drunk trying to rouse himself from a deep coma. What the fuck is up with his face anyway? He looks like Quasimodo via an unfortunate in-womb trauma. What was wrong with Des Lynam or Steve Rider? Yeah, they didn't gurn down the lens like a moron or try to act like they wanted to be your best friend, but they had dignity and warmth and bought a sense of calm and realism to proceedings. Chiles, on the other hand, seems intent of painting a scene of utter depression and abject disaster. In the 15 minutes half-time analysis although with this being ITV, it was more like 13 minutes of adverts and 3 minutes of intelectually-challenged hyperbole) not once was the more than decent performance of Algeria mentioned.

• Clive Tyldsley (wrong spelling probably, I don't give a shit), the ITV commentator, is a fucking moron. After (along with all of the English media) years of acclaiming Fabio Capello's strict rules regarding disipline in the squad, crediting it as the reason England have played so well in the lead-up to this World Cup, this reactionary brainless fucktard is now blaming England's bad performance on..... Fabio Capello's strict rules regarding disipline in the squad. Apparently, not having slaggy mahogany-coloured bitches in South Africa with them and not allowing the players to video themselves porking a page three models has created "bad harmony within the squad." I'm unsure what evidence Mr Tyldystyyeldedly has of this being the root of England's problems in this one game, but I reckon it has something to do with being more interested in sound-bitey, sensationalist bullshit that actual tactical analysis.
  

• Emile Heskey should be thoroughly ashamed of himself. He must be brain damaged. He must be. What does he do????? He is just SO FUCKING AWFUL. I can genuinely say I have never seen a professional footballer so inept at everything he does. He can't pass, he can't shoot, he can't hold up the ball, he can't run, he can't control the ball, he can't head the ball, he can't cross, he can't do anything. Except fall over his own clown feet. Or take up a spot in the team for footballers who can actually run and control a football simeltaneously. A minute ago, he recieved the ball. He stood still which gave the defender time to advance towards him. He then attempted a stepover which richoched off his own calf and shin. He then shanked the ball out of play while attempting to cross the ball into the box. It's just Emile Heskey personified, in one passage of play. Where is the evidence that Heskey's prescence helps Wayne Rooney play? When have they linked up in this match? Rooney is having just as bad a game as any of the other imbeciles in white tonight.

• I don't usually agree with booing your own team, but I feel like this gaggle of gaping arseholes deserve it on the back of this utterly pathetic showing.
  

What did Missy Elliott ever do to you?

I've developed a slight obsession with an album on Spotify. It's a Missy Elliott album, in a way. Have you ever walked into a £1 shop and heard the music they tend to play? It's well known music, but re-recorded by some tone-deaf cretin for tedious copyright reasons. Well, this Missy album is basically just that. 'A Tribute to Missy Elliott' is the name, and although it is intended as a tribute it's difficult not to think that Missy has somehow wronged these people and this butchering of her finest musical moments is their unintentionally hilarious form of petty revenge.

The performers on show give the impression that they had no idea about what rap music actually is and are trying to pick it up as they go along. Seemingly, they've taken the assumption that rapping is basically just talking in an accent, which is obviously not the case. Speaking of accents, there are some utterly bamboozling dialects on show here, such as on the reimagining of Missy classic Gossip Folks, with a majority of the verses being delivered in a bizarre sort of Jamaican patois/Home Counties hybrid. Or on The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly), when on the line "Beep Beep! Who's got the keys to the jeep? VROOOOOMMMMM", the VROOOOMMMMM being delivered with all the gusto of a narcoleptic trapped in a pyramid scheme seminar. The rap in One Minute Man, originally performed by Ludacris, sounds like the kind of thing that might be churned out on some sort of documentary where a white, middle class MP visits a group of black youths in Hackney or New Cross in which he makes toe-curling attempts to be 'down wit da yoof' by trying his hand at being an MC. My absolute favourite moment occurs on Work It, arguably Missy's finest moment and arguably the finest moment of this so-called tribute. Those familiar with this song will remember the moment in the chorus where Missy promises to "Put my thang down, flip it and reverse it" which is followed by this line repeated in reverse. In the Missy Elliott tribute edition of Work It, the recording budget seemingly did not stretch to playing a 2 second section of the song in reverse, so instead what is heard is a literal interpretation of what it kind of sounds like in reverse. "ISSYOURFLIPANIPPAEVNERMEPPA" is literally what she blurts out, like some kind of demented psychopath.

If this is a tribute, I'd hate to think what would have happened if Missy had actually pissed these people off. Here is a link, in the rare event that anyone reads this/wants to listen to it. [You'll need Spotify on your computer to listen].

Kelis - Flesh Tone

Kelis' latest alum, Flesh Tone, is completely and utterly fantastic. It sees Kelis entering the unfamiliar world of euphoric, poppers o'clock dance music, complete with corny as fuck piano hooks which bring to mind N-Trance's mid-nineties anthem Set You Free and other such shit. As a recent divorcee, one would be forgiven for expecting a new Kelis album to be an endless barage of heart-broken ballads, or perhaps a return to shouty hate-fest Caught Out There, but rather than wallow in divorce-inspired misery Kelis has taken inspiration from the birth of her son. This decision to celebrate rather than comiserate has helped create an album of genuine warmth. Lead single Acapella broods and throbs on a combination of Donna Summer-esque beats and Kelis' breathy vocals and forthcoming single '4th of July (Fireworks)' features a throbbing bass hook which would more than stand its groud on the dancefloor.

Yay for happy Kelis! With the whole of pop music simeltaneously turning to the world of electro house for a sure-fire hit, Kelis and producer Will.I.Am have done extremely well to create an album which stands out so clearly among its peers.