Unable to write any music or come up with original material for his fans, Paul McCartney has decided to start relying on 40 year old news stories as a means of gaining the attention of those few people who still care about his existance. Probably this is actually the work of paulmccartney Inc.’s press office, who have given up waiting for the serial leach to actually create something and decided to start recycling old stories one at a time until he finally karks it. This one surfaced on Yahoo! today (Yahoo! on Paul McCartney irrelevance) and describes how the aging, eyebrow-augmenting, saggy-jowled crooner found it hard pretending to be dead – despite being essentially lifeless from the neck up anyway.
I went away for a week to see family in .lt. As is customary in the Yahoo frontpage team, I bought back some goodies from my holiday for us all to share around the office. The pigs’ noses were most popular, whilst the pigs’ ears were found by most to be a tad on the gristly side.
Also in keeping with Y! team customs, my colleagues sabotaged my desk whilst I was away – and turned it into a Paul McCartney shrine. Yeah. I got back on my first day in from a soothing holiday in the Baltics to find that my whole workstation had been transformed into a shrine to that one person on this plant who is probably least worthy of shrinage – Paul McCartney. The desk surface and back wall were emblazend with rasterized images of Paul. My workstation screen had that famous Abbey Road image of the three Beatles musicians and some other hanger-on waking across the road. My seat was covered with inverted paper cups bearing a message about loving Paul McCartney (shudder). I also had a poster of Macca, two Big Issue magazines showing his (s)mug, a signed christmas card from Paul himself – oh, and to top things off, my solar-powered kitten has now had a facelift (see video inset).
So I spent most of the day shredding Paul McCartney’s boat (fun). The mutilated cat, however remains in-place with it’s new mog mug. It’s appropriate, somehow.
I just realised somebody came across this site after doing a Google search for ‘maccartney eyebrows’. I would have thought that’s a pretty strange thing to be searching for – but probably strangest of all, the top result turns out to be my personal website over at spiration, which links straight through to this blog. Does that now make me the world authority on Macca’s caterpillars? Oh hell.
Grafting this over from the spiration site, since it really belongs here.. I could think of a hundred reasons (mostly song titles) not to like Paul McCartney, but add to that his self-love, irritating eyebrows, hey jude, his irritating eyebrows, his love of himself and hey jude, I have decided. I hate Paul McCartney. Check out this reaction to the death of John Lennon – Is that all he could manage?
I guess the most zealous of Paul McCartney haters would drag out the Mull of Kintyre car-crash-of-a-song. They’d be right to do so. I am not willing to accept that he might have been suffering an exotic form of dementia when producing that monstrosity. He was suffering a severe case of pig-eye and just figured that if he could make his song annoying and catchy enough, then some poor cake-brain would buy it.
As for Paul McCartney’s personal relationships, I suspect that many of Heather Mills’ rants were well founded. He treated Dot Rhone like a Labrador – then Jane Asher in the same way. He forgot about Linda in a heartbeat and generally asked for it with Heather.
Sorry all you Paul McCartney fans out there, but I have decided that I hate him. In fact a number of us here in my place of work have decided that he doesn’t warrent anything like the credit which he craftily harvested from the fruits of other people’s genius. Agreed Ringo didn’t do us many favours with his Yellow Submarine atrocity, but I like Ringo. I don’t hate him, so all is cool on that front.
I remember watching some party on TV – I think it was the late Queen Mother’s 100th birthday – they hosted a big musical bash in the gardens of Buckingham Palace and the show was totally dominated by one elevated-eyebrow-catastrophic-egophile who decided that the whole nation wanted to sit through a prolonged rendition of some of the Beatles’ worst ever creations.. Please, oh please don’t ever let that happen again.