Wednesday, December 13, 2006

The Madness of King Barry

Can anyone explain to me what the bejeezus is up with Barry Manilow? He was on the Royal Variety Performance last night thrashing through the most knuckle-bitingly terrible 60s medley ever witnessed while grimacing like someone was pushing hot horseshoe nails under his eyelids.

"Here are sum myor HITS frum the MOEDOWN CATALARGH," he screamed like a man possessed by hatred as the lamest, most tinkly-tonkly version of some hackneyed old crap spooled out around him.

I stood there by the fridge (eating gorgonzola and breadsticks) with a look of sheer horror on my face (I'm guessing here, I mean, I can't be sure, but it felt like horror).

It was truly astonishing. There was a moment during What The World Needs Now Is Love Sweet Love when I thought the brutally tightened skin stretched over his face was going to burst and a vicious, people-eating lizard was going to pop out and devour OUR GRACIOUS QUEEN. But then James Morrison came on so, naturally, I put the cheese away, grabbed some seeds and turned off.

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