Saturday and Sunday saw the conclusion of this year's x-factor. Thank god for that. They managed to milk it for 4 months... 4 months too long, it seems like nothing could lactate as thoroughly, apart from a screaming cow who has had her udders yanked for too long. But to be honest, I know the feeling all too well. (Ex-lovers take note). I lie, I know something that manages to just keep coming back... every time I hear their name announced it's like a punch in the face, "Take That, and that". All I can do is cower behind the couch and just wait for them to go away!
The most entertaining part of the evening was possibly the questionable 'performance' that was undertaken between Matt Cardle (the undeserving winner) and Rihanna (Chris Brown's bitch). With a slit up her leg that could rival even my slutty behavior (which is impressive), she looked hot - emphasized even further with the tacky display of flames in the background. Then the singing began, and the pair steadily got closer and closer, until just how short Matt is was highlighted, all of sudden he was staring at her breasts and what else could he do but get an erection. He's a man, it's understandable. But with 20 million people watching... To some extent couldn't Matt's proposition towards Rihanna seem a bit abusive, I mean, she doesn't even know her own name?
At one point it was a slut-off between Ri-Ri and Christina. Christina won, because last year she was getting married under a chuppah. I'm not sure if Hashem approves of her dancing and singing like that in front of all those men ... even if Louis and Simon are gay.
Then there's Robbie. You know, good ol' Robbie William. He is literally crazy, it's not his fault. It's just when you're raking up lines of coke on the Harry Style's underage cock before you perform it's fair that your singing could be a tiny bit off. However it was kind of cute when one of the One Direction boys exclaimed "let's get hammered" after they found out they still had a chance. My instinctual response: Can I see your ID please? An 11-16 Oyster Card doesn't count.
So after a disappointing Saturday night's 'entertainment' the final final final on Sunday night was even worse. Perhaps it was the way Louis kept saying to Rebecca "finally, Liverpool has a pop star", mmmhmm, and the Beatles were irrelevant, right?
The evening went pretty much as follows: Matt, Rebecca, Take That (featuring others), One Direction, Take That, Take That, Matt, Rebecca, One Direction, stimulated Robbie making a move of Louis, results.
Oh, the results. Well it was such an anti-climax. Perhaps I've been doing too much English Literature coursework but didn't it seem as though the protagonist (Rebecca) was slaughtered by the token enemy (Matt) turning the entire show into a bit of a tragedy. Maybe that wasn't the biggest lost, perhaps it's the fact that in a few years all these people will be forgotten about, or that Matt Cardle literally murdered Biffy Clyro with his girlish screaches. He has the blood of three extremely talented artists on his hands!
No, the disappointing truth is that it will be back next September with the force of four frightening judges and an army of camera crews, with a number of terrible singers holding spears and brandishing their mediocrity in my face. "Take That and that...".
AHHHHH! Cowers behind couch, crying.
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