The Sad Death of the Manic Street Preachers

True story. Before I wrote this rant I tossed a coin to decide whether it was going to be about Oasis or the Manic Street Preachers. Both fucking suck now, and both ruled so, so much if you rewind a medium number of years. You want some evidence, you say? Sixteen years ago, the Manics were like this. Now, they have been reduced to this pathetic excuse for a band.

It would be so, so easy to just shut my trap now and go to bed, but I won't have it. Have it. Have it. Eh. Eh. The Manic Street Preachers are in fact the only band who's relevance is inversely and intrinsically proportional to how old they get. Here's the evidence.

Exhibit A - Generation Terrorists

The best Manics album? I'd almost stretch that far. Is it really 16 years old? It doesn't sound anywhere near that. It sounds like something released yesterday, if they still had to use shitty production for everything. Some bands think it's cool and clever to use old shitty production, but it isn't. This album, recorded today, would be simply amazing. It's the perfect fusion of punk, metal and proper pop song writing. Hows about Motorcycle Emptiness for a standout? Can't really go far wrong, can we. Beyond even that, the lyrics are really, really good, which makes a change from IM JUST A LUV MASHIN FEEDIN MA FANTASEE.

Exhibit B - Gold Against the Soul

I'm not that big a fan of this, so let's just pretend it doesn't exist, because if it did it would mess up my argument.

In fact, that's pussy shit. This album is quite good, just not special like its predecessor or successor. It's more grungy, but with Nevermind kicking around at the same time, is that what you really want? By the way, you're all gay for liking Nevermind. Everyone stupid thinks Nevermind is Nirvanas best album, everyone being a prick thinks that either Bleach or Incesticide is their best album, everyone gay or pussy thinks Unplugged is Nirvanas best album, but everyone cool knows that In Utero pisses on the fish of all their other records. Anyway, weren't we talking about some other band? Oh yeah...

Exhibit C - The Holy Bible

Ah yes, the boss dogg big daddy of their discography. Perhaps the best album ever written by a Welsh band that isn't called the Super Furry Animals? Definitely. The best album ever written by a bunch of taffs? Possibly. Would Richey Edwards beat Gruff Rhys in a fight? Via painful, bloody submission. In fact, that's all the evidence I need to back this album up. Richey Edwards could kick the living shit out of the Super Furry Animals. Thus, this record is better than the rest of the Manics records. Did you notice that all of the records so far have been really, really good? That's funny, because...

Exhibit D - Every Piece of Shit Since

... the band then descended into a bunch of preening cunts chruning out MOR turgid radio friendly shitballs fit only to forcefeed Osama Bin Laden and the quivering corpse of Saddam Hussein. I prefer to ignore the fact that Richey Edwards death left James Dean Bradfield hopelessly out of his depth (aka not knowing what the fuck to do and so sucking off Top of the Pops). When Manchester United sold Cantona they were still Manchester United. JDB should have thought a little harder before he decided to soldier on under the same band name. He even had the cheek to release a solo album, which is fucking shite. The overlong mess that is Know Your Enemy is an insult to Richeys family and anyone who ever bought, listened to, or read The Holy Bible. This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours is some kid of bad dad-rock 365 day long April fools joke. Everything Must Go should do just that. Lifeblood can die. Every copy of Send Away The Tigers should be melted down and fired at the North Koreans in the hope they will fire a nuclear or chemical weapon at the remainder of this band.

But the true insult comes in their cover of Umbrella. It simply defies words.

How can a band go, notwithstanding the death of one of their most inspirational members and the passing of 14 years, can go from pointing out that 'Ifwhiteamericatoldthetruthforonedayit'sworldwouldfallapart' to singing ella ella eh eh?

I feel sick.
Benx

10 Things To Do On Valentines Day If You Suck At Life

I stumbled across this list today. It's a list of things to do if you're single on Valentines Day. I wasn't looking. Honest to God. I don't need relationship advice from anybody about anything, least of all from some words on a screen written by some anonymous freelance dickweed sitting in their mothers basement drinking warm milk. The only person in the world qualified to dish it out is me, so ignore all of the advice in this list. Instead, join me in laughing at its stupidity.

1 - Have A Movie Night - "Now is a great time to catch up on Freddy vs. Jason."

Because I want all of my future girlfriends to think I am some kind of unstable, bipolar psychopath who can't wait to penetrate their skull with an icepick, I will invite them around to drink beer, eat steak with hot sauce and watch movies about serial killers dressed as gimps. Thus, this suggestion makes perfect sense. Why did I ever doubt the veracity of this article or, more pertinently, the authors claims to have lost his virginity? I feel so stupid now. Thanks.

2 - Think - "about how much money you save by not buying flowers, boxers, lingerie, teddy bears and jewelry"

My first concern here is that the author buys boxers for his other half. The author is, I feel, slowly revealing himself to his readership. The first suggestion pigeon-holed him as a brutal murderer, and the second suggestion indicates he's gay too. My second major worry is that the suggestion is then made to spend the money on "half a textboork for next semester". Where the fuck is he buying these solid platinum textbooks? It very much surprises me that a guy who learned everything he knows about women from a .pdf he downloaded from the internet has never heard of, or used, eBay. But on second thoughts, it shouldn't really surprise me at all. Anyone this stupid simply cannot be in any form of education. Thirdly, if you're single on Valentines Day, the last thing you want to do is think. You'll start off innocently enough, deciding what Real Madrids best back four is or something, but you know it's only a matter of time until your mind wanders, you start to get miserable, and you start picturing countless couples sat around tables, split in two by candlelight, moments away from hours of relentless beastmaking.

3 - Listen to some angry music - "Nirvana - Lithium"

This suggestion is passable, but I'll see your Lithium and raise you Silence is Deafening by Napalm Death.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJS76JZbP1s




4 - Call Someone - "Let them know you are still alive"

This suggest is so, so full of fail it actually hurts. The last thing you want to do when your pizza face is sitting at home surrounded by pizza boxes, stinking clothes and The Great BeerBottleWall of China, is to telephone someone and tell them how you have lost the game of life and are now sat at home fiddling with yourself whilst you watch MTV. If this is how your life has become, rather than reminding someone random you're still alive, you're probably better off letting them continue to assume you're dead.

5 - Bake Something - "For people that are baking challenged, there’s always break and bake cookies."

I think I'll leave this one to the women.

6 - Play Some Tackle Football - "Taking someone down is so rejuvenating"

Whilst I agree that taking someone down is, indeed, highly rejuvenating, I'm not sure a game of armoured wankball is the best scenario in which to do so if you're need some violence therapy. I would suggest you don a sexually suggestive mask and sneak down an alley with an icepick, awaiting an innocent passer by, but there may be hot girls reading this. Just in case you were wondering, I'm not that bipolar whatever I was banging on about earlier. Don't be ridiculous. If I wanted to kill my girlfriend I would put a lot of thought in to ensure I did so in the most humane way possible. That would be to use a giant mousetrap. A dead mouse was found at work today in one of the mousetraps. It had been killed instantly and looked so serene. America should take note; when it's worrying about whether lethal injections or the chair cause suffering, they should instead just consider beheading. Jesus, this rant is getting dark, isn't it?

7 - Do Some Craft - "Remember those friendship bracelets? Time to resurrect them!"

You'll have to just trust me on this one, but it really isn't. Leave friendship bracelets to the kind of people who get wrapped up in student politics and CND rallies, and just hope that if we ignore them long enough they will all piss off to communes on Dartmoor, in New Forest or, with luck, the big catered and fully furnished one on Guantanamo Bay.

8 - Do Some Pre-Spring Cleaning - "Your lungs will thank you".

I'm not sure about you, but I personally have no asbestos or anthrax under my bed, so my lungs aren't really in much danger as of now. I can smell a few slightly below-par things; an old yoghurt pot or two, my dead plant, and the Chinese dude cooking fish next door. Nothing that could actually damage my health however. I'm more likely to find a smattering of Tequila bottles, used up prostitutes and hard drugs down the back of my sofa than short change, because my life is the most rock and roll this side of Erdington. Were this the case, the prostitutes and drugs can go out with the trash, but I'm keeping hold of the Tequila, thank you very much. Everyone has their vices. Some take drugs, some womanise. I drink, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Speaking of womanisers, I wonder what happens to them today. Is today the day that the girlfriends all meet each other and hang, draw and quarter the player? Or does the player just save up all year so he can afford four romantic meals and taxis between them? These things I shall never know.

9 - Go And Work Out - "Since many people will be getting a workout of a different kind, the gym will be next to empty"

Sex is an alternative for excersise? Sweet, forget what I said before. Women, apply in writing by Friday 15th February and you could be in my bed that night! There may be a waiting list.

10 - Realize - "That it's ridiculous to worry about being single one day out of the 365"

Did you hear that? That slow... repetitive... tapping... sound... that you can hear is the sound of my head banging off the wall again, and again, and again, and again. The reason I googled for things to do on V Day isn't because I'm taken the other 364 days of the year. It's because I haven't a fucking clue what to do and anyway, I don't call being single for 24 hours a year a hardship. I call it a day off. Before I start to sound too emo, and cry so much my eye-liner dyes my orange juice black, I will suggest what you should do on Valentines Day instead of all this shit.

Go out. All the couples are shacked up somewhere, leaving you nothing but hot, single women to prey on.

Of course, realistically you'll just get a cockfest everywhere you go, but what do you want? Cake that is to eat?

Benx

You Know You're Mint When You Do Shit But Are Still Mint

Today I fucked up. Women can turn their ears off because a football rant is forthcoming. I will, for your benefit, rant about cross stitch, horoscopes and dancing on ice in the coming days. Gentleman can turn their ears off because the coming rant is extremely foul mouthed and not suitable for the blue of blood or any dick over 50. However, those of you thick skinned enough to tolerate several swear words a paragraph, multiple references to violent crime and perhaps the odd invocation of war atrocities can read on in safety.

This story does, however, have a happy ending, because at the end of the day, it's about me, and everything about me ends happily because I'm a ninja mombitch.

In fact, who am I kidding? There is no happy ending. Today I made a prick of myself by punching thin air having drawn attention to myself by shouting "keeper" extraordinarily loud, and allowing some tall prick with silly hair to score a simple header. Thus, I had the second horrific mare of my goalkeeping career.

Those familiar with my Manchester goalkeeping exploits will be aware of the line of fire upon which I danced. The line that divided genius with failure. Success with unmitigated disaster. You will also fondly remember that I never dipped my toe on the wrong side of that line, except for the time I punched that kid in the face and conceded a penalty (which was missed).

Sadly, against Middleton I threw a backpass into the feet of a striker using my knee, allowing that joke team to go 1-0 up. The duck having been broken, I have been living on the edge ever since, until today. Today I fucked up again.

But that's good. It serves two purposes. Firstly, my feet remain on the ground despite my lighter-than-air balloon head exerting upward pressure on my body. This is vital because, with a head my size, you require heavy feet to prevent yourself from floating off into the distance.

Secondly, it reminds other people that even Johan Cruijff-esque attacking midfielders pressed into sterling duty in goal can make mistakes from time to time. Even if they are as awesome as I am. Thus it is good for the morale of the rest of the world, albeit at the expense of one or two people.

So it's true that today I improved the world, despite making mine into a piece of fucking shit, at least until tomorrow.

Benx

Five Reasons Why I Should Be In Fabio Capellos Team

There are countless reasons why I should be at the hub of this England teams flowing attacking moves, knitting together play and scoring occasional wonder goals to snatch 1-1 draws away to Andorra. Here are the five most prescient.

1. I am a model professional when it comes to drinking, partying, eating shit food and trying (failing) to sleep with too many women. Football has too many boring characters now, because they are expected to behave like reasonable human beings in public. This is despite footballers not being reasonable human beings. Far from it. They are cocaine fuelled, fire breathing sex machines with a fetish for beating up members of the Asian community. They are sozzled primadonnas with more money than fashion sense. They have more money than testosterone, though it's a close one, and behead anyone who they feel may be gay. I think we can all agree that these characteristics are neither normal nor boring. However, recently footballers have been raising money for charity, setting good examples to the children of today and treating women with respect. I would bring an immediate end to this, and continue in the great tradition begun by my hero, Robin Friday (I would say ask your dad, but even he probably won't know, so look him up).

2. This cunt gets in instead.

3. I am a genius with the ball, but do not run. I don't care enough about this shitty country anyway. Fabio Capellos new regime seems to totally disregard players who have boundless natural ability buried deep inside them, but that never breaks the surface due to a total lack of desire to try any harder, or to give a shit about you, your team-mates, or your country. Because we can't have an England team without one or more of these players, I think I should be an automatic choice when Frank Lampard is either injured or suspended.

4. My motivational techniques are unparalleled in both their diversity and effect on my team-mates. When I feel a team-mate isn't trying hard enough, I call him a wanker. When I feel my team-mate has made an inexplicable mistake, I scream that he is a wanker. And when I am left out by my manager, I hit him in the face, fire a ball of burning vitriol in the rough direction of him and his backroom staff, and then walk on the pitch anyway, calling everyone who tries to stop me a wanker. When players celebrate goals, I call them wankers. When I score, I shout that everyone who doesn't celebrate with me is a jealous wanker. In short, I inspire my team-mates by reminding them that they are wankers. Thus, I should be from Toxteth and hailed by all as Englands talisman and a future England captain.

5. If we're ever fucked, I can go in goal.

Benx