Today's date will be burned into my memory as long as I live. After five years doing something I was good at, but didn't enjoy... I am finally free from Office Bollocks. It was a confrontation (not my long suit), but I went in cool and stayed cool throughout. Things have changed for the better, and I'm determined to capitalise on my good fortune. For the first time in my adult life, I can honestly answer the eternal "and what do you do?" question properly. I'm a musician.

If the x-factor were a NON-PROFIT foundation run by professional MUSICIANS trying to break new talent, I'd support it.

If the performers were offered ANYTHING REMOTELY SIMILAR to a FAIR CONTRACT, I'd support it.

If the x-factor was focused on proper singers instead of a freak show that humiliates and rejects innocent people, I'd support it.

If the x-factor encouraged SONGWRITING instead of butchering standards, I'd support it.

If it was about the SINGERS rather than the JUDGES, I'd support it.

If it RAISED money for MUSIC PROGRAMMES IN SCHOOLS, I'd support it.

If the x-factor were run by ANYONE other than the odious, greedy, mean-sprited people who currently run it, I'd support it.

It isn't and it never will be, so I won't. It's a cancer made of one man's hubris. A putrid, infected tumour on the heart of Britain. Until it dies a natural death, I will do everything I can to impede, impugn and besmirch it and its fanbase.

Chapter One: Internet Addiction

It all started with Usenet. I wandered, young and hapless, into a den of Conservative Geeks. We argued about television shows. I was unwanted there, but too stupid to realise it. It did open a door, though, into what an utter fool I can be when cornered. Debating = Jousting w/ people who watch Glenn Beck. Time you can never get back.

Typing lessons.

My wife, wise as ever, thought it was a bad idea to meet any of said geeks.

Later, I started blogging on Livejournal. That led to a dalliance with Metafilter.

Still, she got a bad vibe. It seemed like an eternal argument instead of an easy context-free forum. So, in reality, all of that was a warm-up for Twitter, which has UNLEASHED us upon an unsuspecting world.

Don't get me wrong; we're thankful. That Chrysalis was getting crowded.

Floods are common in the 'hollers'. Always have been. It's the nature of water to come and go. Life clings to rivers and oceans, so it's part of the deal.

In the post-war years, West Virginia was still all about one thing: COAL. During one unfortunate holiday to her aunt's house near Charleston, my Middle-Class mother lived through a flood. This youthful trauma was never forgotten, nor were the dead eels and snakes she saw afterwards. Her Ophidiophobia was evident even when we were very young. My elder brother has never been the type to hold back when given an advantage.

I clearly remember finding a blacksnake. A slightly bad copy of an old memory, perhaps, but a real event seen through the eyes of a toddler. It was cute, and so black that it stole the light from my baby palm. I called out, and my brother soon had it in his awful power. Time has eased some details, but we certainly PLANNED a surprise for our poor mother.

I don't know who ended up taking the hapless reptile next door to our neighbour Chester's house, but I remember the five even sections he cut it into with a hoe.

To this day, my very liberal-minded, intelligent mother cannot bear a snake in a film or TV show.

"Where are you going?" she asked. "Out" my brother said. "Why are you wearing your winter coats?"

"No reason."

We were wearing three layers of clothes underneath the coats, and two pairs of jeans. I wore two pairs of y-fronts under all that as well.

Outside, we found our goggles and guns in the shed. We got on our BMXs and tore ass down the poky country road. We sought the forest below the new house (the one with the unleashed Dobermans that often bit anyone who came walking by their place), known locally as THE BIG WOODS which led to the Mud River (actual name) behind our friend Wayne's house.

There, we met our opponents. Cheap Sears & Roebuck air rifles of various description adorned each arm. One pump was the rule. One pump is a bee-sting. A kiss. Aim for the coat so you can hear it hit. We all hide... theoretically, and then we shoot at one another until one is left, but in practice an argument usually precluded an actual winner. One pump quickly became five pumps. Five pumps from a BB gun will enter soft flesh on a bad day at close range. Ten pumps, surely granted a little sunlight into your epidermis.

I'll give my brother credit; he was a brave motherfucker. We never left until kids started on ten pumps.

When we got on our bikes and rode back, my brother didn't call me a pussy.

I have learned, painfully, that people love The X Factor.

• They love it more than they love their grandmother's apple pie


• They love it more than they love their iPhones


• They love it more than they love JEEBUS


• If people were able to give The X Factor a blowjob, they would let The X Factor cum in their mouth


• People would let The X Factor anally penetrate them for the first time


• With no lube


• Then they would lie and say they enjoyed it

Don't rant about it on Twitter, because people react as if you had just called their mother a cheap old slag who fucks donkeys for money in Tijuana. Seriously. They get their little pants in a massive wad about it. You mustn't complain about this 'musical' phenomenon, lest you be thought of as some sort of serial killer.

INSTEAD,

• Avoid Twitter like the plague when it's on TV


• GET DESTROY TWITTER https://destroytwitter.com/download


• Under PREFERENCES check EXCLUDE THESE USERS


• Under AND THESE KEYWORDS enter #xfactor #x-factor (etc)


• If problems continue, mute anyone who won't use these agreed hashtags


• If necessary, unfollow until the season is over.

This method also works for Big Brother, Strictly Come Dancing, Football or any other thing that people prattle on about endlessly. Feel free to RT.

Imagine, if you will, a fun fair. An 'amusement park'. It plods along for years, growing steadily in both size and reputation. One thing they'd always struggled with was their petting zoo, which led them to employ a zookeeper. He did a good job with the regular petting zoo animals: goats, rabbits, alpaca, donkeys, etc.

After a while, a bigger chain of parks buys the little fun fair, and the new boss calls the zookeeper in for a chat.

"I think we need a giraffe," said the boss.

"OK," replied the zookeeper, who knew full well that his new boss had never seen a giraffe, or any African animals at all, "but we'll need a special paddock, high fencing, and medicines... but mostly we'll need a giraffe house."

"How much will that cost?"

"A lot. Giraffes are very, very tall."

"Don't get technical on me, zookeeper. It's like a horse, right?"

"No, much, much taller. Five metres high, and it weighs 1200 kilograms. It'll need a huge house."

"Impossible. It can just stay in the horse barn with the other horses."

"Sir, that won't work. It'll be a disaster. Let me show you a photograph of a giraffe. It's really impor.."

"Don't start with your jargon and your fancy-pants arguments. Just get the horse barn ready."

(cut to six months later)

"Zookeeper! This is a disaster! That giraffe is MASSIVE. It won't fit in the horse barn, and it's sick! We're getting hundreds of complaints. What the Hell do you plan to do about this?"

"With all due respect, I did warn you about this. We need to start building a giraffe house right away!"

"How much will that cost? Why can't we just alter the horse barn?"

...AND SCENE.

ep 1 http://tr.im/sfyo
ep 2 http://tr.im/sfyr
ep 3 http://tr.im/sfyD
ep 4 http://tr.im/sfyL
ep 5 http://tr.im/sfC0
ep 6 http://tr.im/sfCe
ep 7 http://tr.im/sfCy
ep 8 http://tr.im/sfDS
ep 9 http://tr.im/sfD0
ep 10 http://tr.im/sfEf
ep 11 http://tr.im/sfEv
ep 12 http://tr.im/sfEE
ep 13 http://tr.im/sfEO

TWITTER: in case you haven't figured how to make the jump, these are the right people to start with.