An X-Factor source has claimed that wierd smug square-headed svengali and purveyor of idiot-entrancing soporific pap Simon Cowell called fellow X-Factor judge Cheryl Cole a witch at the recent auditions for the moronic, exploitative, cynical exercise in manipulation of the UK's never-diminishing army of simpletons, writes Garry Goebbels, Entertainment Fascism Correspondent.
The 2010 X-Factor auditions were held at the Royal Pump Rooms, Leamington Spa and the Winter Gardens, Heckmondwike, West Yorkshire. The latter was the inspired choice of X-Factor Guest Consultant, Timmy Mallett. Mallett, a professional pantomime dame as famous for his collection of 17th century leather fire buckets as he is for being a raving, egotistical, prancing queen, chose the town because Stanley Matthews used to get his boots from there and in honour of the town's Six Lane Ends road junction - still there even though there are only 5 roads left now. "Traditional, a bit mad, and bursting with talent", enthused Mallett. "It's the perfect venue. There's far more to this butch little place than being the home of Craig Harper from Britain's Got Talent 2008 or for being the former curacy of David Hand who went on to become the Archbishop of Papua New Guinea."
However, it was the faded elegance of Leamington's Royal Pump Rooms that saw Herman Munster-headed Cowell direct the Witchfinder-General-style accusations at warbling wank-fodder and gorgeous girl-next-door Cheryl. Our source tantalisingly close to a turtle-necked totalitarian TV meistertwat takes up the torrid tale.
Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf
"We all thought Simon was teasing Cheryl at first. They'd just watched a load of the usual acts. Most weren't even singers. You know, refugees from Britain's Got Talent, lunatic fringe stuff like Indecisive Dennis Amoeba, the Comedy Divided Unicellular Man; Brian Mucus and His Performing Snails; Hetty Cetera the For Instance Girl; Terry Piltdowne and His Dancing Haddock; Oozing Len's Pustule Parade; the Batley Town Criers' Guild reciting Longfellow's Hiawatha; and Dave and Pat Hawksworth - he plasters a wall while his wife sings 'I Loves You Porgy' from Porgy & Bess.
"They were just deciding which of these deluded fools to keep on, you know, to create the illusion of naive opportunity, to make the idiots on their sofas think there's more to the show than a couple of Cowell-factory money-spinning singers shoehorned into the gibbering nutcases who are only there to pad it out into a so-called entertaining freak-fest.
"And then came Granny Demdyke, enacting a scene from obscure musical 'Hang Up Your Broomstick', based on William Harrison Ainsworth's Victorian novel about the 1612 Pendle Witch Trials The Lancashire Witches. Simon was explaining to the old cow that they'd already got enough freaks for the series, when he shot Cheryl a wicked look and said 'and we've already got our own little witch, sitting right here by my side. You're past it - you're even older than that bleeding 100-year old dancing dog off Britain's Got Talent. But Cheryl's one sexy little sorceress I wouldn't mind examining for the Devil's marks.'
"Well, the Pump Rooms were in uproar, especially when Cheryl came right back with 'and who do you think yer are man, yer big get? I'm bloody sick of yer, man. Who do yer think yer are, man, bloody Matthew Hopkins the Witchfinder General, man? Howaay and fuck off, yer turtle-necked bastard. Yer full of shite, man.'"
Our source close to an appalling load of hyped-up shite far worse than 70s crap Opportunity Knocks because it's far more influential, making full use of the power of the 21st century media in order to make money and subdue the massed audiences of Britain by mocking the very concepts of talent, freedom of opportunity and art, - our source close to all of this, I say, said:
"The effect of this exchange was astounding. I mean, nobody expected Cheryl Cole to know who Matthew Hopkins was. But well, if I were to suggest that Cowell and Cole are actually seasoned practitioners of the Dark Arts, who regularly dance naked around a bonfire in places like Salisbury Plain, Hounslow Heath and Studland Heath in Dorset, the haunted landscape used by Thomas Hardy as the basis for the powerfully symbolic wilderness of Egdon Heath in his Wessex novels; if I were to make these suggestions I'd be out of bloody breath but, once I got my breath back, I'd suggest that these are only suggestions suggested by a source I rely upon for my suggestions.
"The very same could be said of the rumour that they have played games where Cowell pretends to sacrifice Cole on prehistoric stone slabs in Cornwall."
And there was more to come. Our source close to a massive bung had a final bombshell to blitz us with.
"The other night, when they were all staying at the self-catering annex of the Archbishop of Papua New Guinea pub, near Six Lane Ends in Heckmondwike, it may well be that Simon Cowell was so utterly caught up with this witchcraft malarky. Maybe he was totally obsessed with what he was going to do to Cheryl the next time they were out on Studland Heath, among Hardy's 'furze-flowers' and 'strange, amber-coloured butterflies' and 'tribes of emerald-green grasshoppers', and she was stretched out naked awaiting the plunge of his sacrificial knife into her heaving bosom.
"Whatever might have been on his mind, there's a strong possibility that, when his ex-girlfriend silly old trout Sinitta was washing up the tea things after their boil-in-the-bag cod supper, and he was supposed to be drying the pots, maybe Simon was busy thinking about the play of the sinister clair de lune over the slender pallor of Cheryl's frail nudity, and also busy reading the copy of the Malleus Maleficarum he had borrowed from Heckmondwike library.
"Too busy to keep his mind on ratty old bat Sinitta. Too macho, probably, to think about drying.
"And so it may have been, that, with his necromantic preoccupations, and daft old bird Sinitta's nagging and moaning about her washed-up career, between them they only went and lost the tea-towel!
"How embarrassed must they have been, when they had to go to the landlord, Vince Pye, and beg for a new teatowel. Knowing Vince (I don't, of course, but I know a man who does), they'd have to pay for the one they'd lost all right!"
Well! I'm sure you'll agree - when we watch our idols on the TV, and we speculate about what might lie beneath the barely-visible tensions simmering there, as they banter with one another, and humiliate the hapless 'performers' before them, we'd never imagine that such suggestions as our source has suggested might ever be suggested.