Fasc' Factor: Mike Read's BNP/Nick Minaj Comeback Medley

Funny story written by TM_Dealer

Sunday, 3 May 2015

The thing about the greatest performing artists of all is that they never, EVER gave up.

Regardless of practical setbacks, ridicule and open hostility, figures of the calibre of Ravi Shankar, Beethoven, Mick Jagger, the singers of "Moves like Jagger," Rihanna…

Not to mention respected (sorry, respectable… no I mean, petty-bourgeois) protest guitarist Tony Blair…

These have all consistently disdained to ever throw in the towel.

(OK, at some unclear and undefinable point in that list I started scraping the barrel).

It's still not clear whether, Mike Read, creator of UKIP Calypso, will reach the dizzy heights of Desmond Dekker, Mutaburuka, Burning Spear, UB40…

Or indeed, various knuckle-dragging 80s British National Frontmen, um, "ska frontmen."

But he's made a step in the right direction, by winning the first and only series (or indeed episode) of the prestigious and respected "Fasc' Factor" singing competition.

... Well, more prestigious and respected than "X Factor;" probably not saying much.

Still, I bet jacks-of-one-trade-off like Nick Griffin and Mark Collett wish they were in Mike's spangly shoes right now.

In any case, Mike Read's second ever unquestionable or at least unlistenable aesthetic masterpiece runs as follows:

Hello, everybody. Nice mixed audience, that's what I like to see; appreciate all of you, regardless of background.

No-one coached me to say that in advance, of course, because I always spontaneously know the PC thing to say, without a teleprompter.

I'm singing a nice non-bigoted song for all races of all national characters and backgrounds, whatever their value… I mean values… sorry, taste… tastefulnesses…

And which is based on something by some kind of famous black singer of an artistic extraction of one sort or another...

One who really is actually relatively good and tuneful.
Here we go. Check it!...

(No, please really DO check it, so you know I'm not TECHNICALLY a bigot)...


Em could a gypsy, a poof, a tranny or a queer

But I'm-a-get these foreign bastards outa my-a-my-here…

Haters gonna hate ya! Ya Mike 'n' Nicki told ya!

Aye foreigns gonna foreign, who's gonna roll ya?

Yip-kap-kap! Oof, me gone berserk!

Got fi make-a-chubby-grind, W-T-Earth!

You standin' there hate-on-me, gonna-go-a-home-home

Euros-hatin-on-a-me, go-wan-a-back to Rome-Rome…

I-say-Rome! Nah-nah-nah-nah-Roma!

Nah man play-a-Roma-Roma, me gal nah get nah bonah-bonah.

Uh! Oh! Ayyyeee! Ain't nah-nah-gypsy too ya know!

Bitches nah call Romania, till me got nah ho-ho!

Yah hup! Ass-check, all-them-Czech, G-T-F-ah-all-ma-ways.

Nah-nah-room-for-Dutch-a-queers, nah even like-a-English gays.

Oops! OOF! Wowwwww, Polish brehk my sink!

Gotta chase em' Spaniards too, 'n' all em bloody…

Oh… woops!

Oh.. terribly sorry, love… um, an honest mistake, didn't mean to cause offence...

Um, it's just, I've just realised, TECHNICALLY, my rhyme about Chinese people doesn't work… (hm, TECHNICALLY... that's a great little UKIP, um BNP weasel word)...

Well, because, technically, the country in question is not, strictly speaking, well...

It's not really part of the EU, as such…

Still, Cowell, as you might normally expect, is by no means ambivalent towards this cult classic...

"Well... How about that, ladies and gents! Now, let me tell you, I'm a fairly shy person, and I don't normally express my opinion in anything other than a thoroughly tactful and reticent manner…

"But, I am telling you. That was absolutely incredible. You know, even if there hadn't…

"Sorry, HAD been a couple of other entrants, both of which died in mysterious and entirely unrelated car crashes that I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about, a few hours before the programme…

"Well, I would still have to say this: that was really different. No-one deserves this prize like you. I don't think I'll ever see anything like this again. Make of these fairly equivocal comments what you will.

"No, but seriously, joking aside (not a big fan of humour, me)...

"Well, I am simply overjoyed to give you this prize, and it's literally absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the massive backhanders I was given to appear on this program, and also for awarding you this trophy.

"Now just go home and think about what you've achieved; and at the same time, literally, how far you've still to go. You know, as always, I really mean that…

"(And just this once, I really DO mean it!)

"Now just f*** off back home and make sure you stay wherever the hell you came from!"

Louis Walsh, just this once, bubbles over with emotion.

"Backhanders, ye say? Ya stupid bastard!" he roars at His-Most-Exalted-Smuggibumness:

"All that bloody stuff they gave us… meant to be a feckin' secret, that! Bejasus!"

Cowell retorts:

"Not getting into stereotyping here, much... (oof! Sorry, Mike)... but, Louis, are you drunk by any chance?"

"No, I bloody well am not! It's all that feckin' cocaine them boys there was for givin' at us; you know I never touch none of the proper hard stuff!

Simon smirks:

"Well, what are the public more likely to believe? That Simon Cowell cynically corrupted the voting process by some dodgy scam solely in order to enrich himself and flatter his massive ego; or that actually, I am the innocent party and YOU'RE trying to swing it!"

Louis screams:

"You smug-as-buggery little prick! See that bloody sky-hitched belt-buckle of yours; you can go and shove it up your bloody arse!"

Somewhat more dismissively™, Cowell says:

"So we have a consensus here. 2 out of 3.

"Still, there is another judge, so just for the sake of the pointless formality...

"I mean, MY opinion on its own would have been enough, never mind Captain Cocaphobe); well, we have a very special guest from a far-off-land."

At this point Mike bursts into tears.

"Oh, what a pity," smirks Our Simon™:

"Waterworks again. You lost a previously unheard of great-great-great-grand-ancestor-ish before the show started, by any chance?...

"Or some ancient, monotonous, uninspiring primary school teacher you no longer give the merest post-vol-au-vent-micro-crap about…

"And probably never did, let's be honest?

"Or more likely, the 86th-cousin-twice-removed of the man who washes the car for the former colleagues of the long-lost sister of the vicar who buried your fellow compatriot's long-distance pen-pal's Spartan time-travel exchanger partner, several dozen sci-fi centuries ago(more or less?)

"Well, how many times have I heard THAT one before? Nice try."

Mike pleads:

"No, Mr Cowell… it's just… just… please, please, please, Mr Cowell… tell him to shut up and go away… he'll end up oppressing and silencing me and not letting me have a voice."

Cowell ploughs on™:

"The token third judge is, to say the least, not very well-known in the music industry, although he has an All-Consuming-Passion-For-Tchaikovsky™ (make of that what you will).

"He's also a highly articulate white man; that one's for you, Nigel.

"And he's a political leader with some rather interesting views on cultural matters™.

"And he shares his first name with one of his compatriots, which latter's name sounded like that of a famous Beatle, before he was poisoned by a famous predecessor of our token third judge himself, with whom the latter is often compared.

"Confused enough? Well, don't you EVER dare say again that I don't spoil you nauseous with inane trivia…

"Although quite frankly, the idiotic and uneducated opinions of The Others are the least of my concerns

"Still… take it away, Vlad…

"Oh, he actually IS taking himself away... Now, what a pity! Oh, HOW ON EARTH will we cope!"

"It's not a pity at all!" shouts Mike:

"Make sure he goes back all the way... across High Dover Street or the Bering Straits or whatever it's called…"

His-Most-Exalted-Bear-Grindingness mutters in fury:

I have been hearing every words your peoples there have said. It is not one wonder that the English, they are slipping into the barbarisms and of the degradations when these sickos, these perverts, in the full clear of my day, they are ever plotting away to fahck each ahther happyways with their belt-bahckles.

You cry, you wail, wondering, praying up to God, for his Blessed Mother and all the Saints, or maybe your beloved BBC and your precious Czar Cameron Blairyevich, pleading, weeping, why you have so many homosexuals in your national homosexual community?...

Well, perhaps this can be the reason.

And I will say to you this one thing more: you are knowing so well of it, how have I been come here so proudly and arrogantly so as to be judging in a fascist singing contest…

NOT to be humiliated, degraded, and to have been made a mockery of in seeing two Western perverts amidst the fahcking each other with their belt-bahckles!

Well, if it's any consolation, it looks like highly articulate political radicals like the Kippers do have something in common with people elsewhere in the world, after all.

The funny story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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