In a totally uninspiring speech this evening at Grosvenor House, self styled and absolutely unfunny local man, Martin Shuttlecock (Who apparently faces a raft of real life issues, such as having false teeth, a drink problem, a wonky knee, homosexual leanings, a turbulent 'spaghetti tossing' relationship, an impenetrable accent, and being a two faced back stabbing bastard who rides a seatless bike and has enemas for kicks, because he's allegedly nudging the pink aspect of life)
Anyway, what it is, right - he declared (Or rather, drunkenly slurred) that the world of satire and satirical comment on day to day events has gone completely down the pan.
"People just don't seem to get it any more," Shuttlecock slurred to a packed, yet wholly disinterested house. "It appears that there are many who want to come home, because the grass that was supposed to be a bit greener on the other side, actually turned out to be an almost neutral shade of yellow. Having fun and writing for pleasure was the mission statement of certain individuals, yet when criticism (How dare you!) reared its ugly head - bang - you're in a band. I'm not quite sure what 'band' means - I just thought it was playing music, and shit," an obviously confused Shuttlecock told delegates as he wrestled a doorman (Probably in a slightly gay way) for another can of the yellow Belgian stuff.
"Oh, banned..." he managed to finally blurt out in one last fatally embarrassing outburst, as he was scooped into a taxi by embarrassed doorstaff. "Sorry, thought you said band!"
"Anyway..." (Apparently he says that a lot, although nobody is quite clear as to why.) "Why am I the big attraction? Have these people got nothing better to do than waste their time scratching out stories about me? It's all pretty dull and mediocre if you ask me. Barrel scraping I call it. Pathetic really...and not even funny. Or remotely amusing. Unless you think I'm amusing. Which apparently two of my Farcebook friends do. Poor deluded fools. I'm starting to sound like Alan Partridge aren't I?"
Answers on a postcard with a lovely view of a Cornish fishing village on it, preferably with a witty caption, and not more crap about exploring Shuttlecock's bottom.
That's just dull and dim witted.
More as we get it.