I thought Pointless Celebrity couldn’t get any more pointless than it had in the past ten years. Gok Wan, Danny Wallace, Kerry Katona, Lady Victoria Hervey, Preston, Jade Goody, that bloke from the Halifax adverts . . . the list goes on and on until the Pointless Celebrity blurs into one big, vain, nonentity, blowing smoke up its own heinous arse, producing nothing but flash-lit images of itself as it stumbles out of Sugar Tits nightclub slipping over in a puddle of self-tan and showing its crack to the world. I’m used to them. They are part of the landscape now; replacing each other on a regular basis, holding on to their little slice of fame, doing whatever it is they do. I’ve learned to live with them. It can’t get any worse, can it?
Of course it can. The Pointless Celebrity extractor has reached down through the bottom of the barrel, through the rotting wood, and drilled down into the hard dirt. Further and further down through the clay and hard stone it probes, passing IT Girl Tar Pools and Reality TV Gas Reserves and finally settling in a sludgepool of pre-Historic dinosaur shit and pulling up a sample of Alex Reid. And lo, a whole new breed of Pointless Celebrity is produced.
What is Alex Reid? Good question. Unless you are an aficionado of Ultimate Fighting or Mixed Martial Arts or International Caged Cock Swinging or whatever it is they call it this week, you wouldn’t have heard of Reid until a few weeks ago. Then he started schtupping Jordan, and you couldn’t move for his shit-eating grin all over the tabloids. Nothing wrong with that. He’s schtupping Jordan, he’s allowed to look happy. It’s the pinnacle of his life, a dream come true. Each to their own. Then he started ‘marketing’ himself. Bowling around in silly little Tapout t-shirts, Alex’s face began to look like he’d permanently blow himself if he wasn’t so muscle-bound. He even managed to appear in some a low-rent rape movie (are you not familiar with the genre?), and got some press for that by his association with Jordan. Which is why I am banning Ultimate Fighting this week. Or Cage Fighting. Whatever version of this tawdry, childish spectacle Alex Reid has stuck himself to.
We wouldn’t have to suffer Alex’s shit-eating grin if it wasn’t for the absurdity that is Ultimate Fighting. I won’t bore you with the details of how some insecure hard men thought boxing wasn’t skilled enough for them and thought the various martial arts were too soft for them so they all went to Brazil and rubbed oil into each other’s bodies in an octagon shaped ring, before punching and grappling each other until their last brain-cell was gone. They basically took all the discipline that boxing and various martial arts espoused, and all those values of restraint and skill and defence and counter-attack, and chucked them in a bin to create a ridiculous spectacle designed for swaggering thugs and bullies who simply like a brawl. A fighting spectacle for the desensitised, short-attention spanned, bloodthirsty little fucktards who celebrate gang fights and happy slappers. And now we have to stare at Alex Reid’s teeny-weeny self-promoting Tapout t-shirts in the papers every day. Ultimate Fighting shouldn’t be banned because it is circus freak brawling which welcomes the likes of Kimbo Slice (google him and you’ll see what I mean), it should be banned because it spewed up Alex Reid and a new breed of no mark. We can only hope Jordan Taps Out soon, and Reid can crawl back to the octagon and we’ll be free once more.


MORE BLOGS

Bookmark this post with: