The Tombstone’s Weblog

I haven’t posted in a week. Hands up who noticed. *Sees lack of hands, dies a little inside*. Ha ha just joking kids, like a give a fuck what any of you think, eh? Please don’t go, it’s cold and lonely. So you don’t post for a week and then spend your first paragraph talking bollocks, eh? Why not?

Why have I been away? Well a few reasons. The place I work is cracking down on ‘non-business’ Internet use, which is apparently slowing everything down. I won’t tell you which company I work for but let’s just say they could lose a billion pounds and still have far too much money, even in these tough economic times. So the thought of our Internet being comprised of a few wires being held together with chewing gum, waiting for a shit blog, or someone checking the football scores to bring it to its knees and take us all back to the dark ages makes me chuckle. Until I’m fired at least. Anyway I though I’d give them a week’s break, just reading the day’s news, firstly to speed things back up so they give us full access back, and secondly because I imagined that they’d be checking everything and I didn’t want to be dragged away by Germans in trench coats before another drone is hatched out to take my place. Unless they are just lulling me into a false sense of security and are still checking everything a week later in which case - to whoever is reading this, please don’t fire me, Christmas is coming and I have fourteen children to feed. Hell, being a paedophile is expensive work! Another reason is that I got bored writing this crappy blog, I had nothing to say and I’m not interesting in the slightest anyway. I still don’t and I’m still not but why would that stop me, eh?

One thing did make me laugh when I logged on this morning. Yesterday someone found this blog by searching for ‘michelle mccool likes black men’ God bless you sir, you made my day.

Okay, so I was walking through town at the weekend and I realised how good it feels to have no one notice you, look at you or realise who you are. I am a great blender inner, I am anon. I imagine if I ever leave this job that most people who work here will be unaware of the fact that I ever did. It feels good. My friends know who I am, I saw two of them Saturday walking about and a mutual smile and a wave was had. But the strangers, the general public (most of who(m)? I despise pretty much just because they are there) had no idea who I was, and wasn’t particularly interested in finding out. Which brings me to the title of this blog, who the fuck would want to be famous? If you ask little girls what they want to be when they grow up they will normally say one word ‘famous’. Trust me I’ve asked them, before their mothers screamed for help and I got kicked out of the park. Mental note, next time remember to wear trousers. They don’t care how, they don’t care what they have to do. People used to sing because they had a song in their heart, now they have a song artificially created for them so people can notice them in the street. And if you can’t sing then appearing in the papers, in your underwear or with someone else famous is normally enough to do the trick. There is reality television but it’s been proved that to have sustained fame after appearing in a show such as Big Brother is the exception, and not the rule.

So I guess someone like Danielle Lloyd got her wish. People notice her, they don’t particularly like or care about her but they notice her. Most of the male population have seen her naked body and that is the way she likes it. But what about the downside. I’m sure having people shouting ‘get your tits out, love’ must be quite amusing for the first month. I mean people know who she is, she is much more important than regular people. She has hangers on who keep telling her so while the free drinks keep pouring. But what about in a few years? We’ve already seen everything. There is no mystery. I already know what her breasts look like, what else does she have to offer me. If I collapsed in the street would I want a doctor around or would I want a glamour model? Next week in the paper another young tart who is willing to do anything, or anyone, for fame will spring up and Miss Lloyd will be yesterday’s news. And she’s spent all her money on free drinks for people to tell her how important she is. Tell those people to pay for their own drinks and they’ll be off, to leech of the next poor sap who thought they could become a big star with no actual talents. But before she becomes anonymous again, she is still getting noticed. Which means she can’t go anywhere or do anything without people knowing who she is. She can’t go bowling, she can’t get a paper. I bet the time comes for all of these people who used to say what they wanted more than anything was to be ‘noticed’ when this changes to ‘never be noticed again’.

I’ve always seen fame as being the downside of having your talents recognised by the public. I’d love to have my music listened to, and my books read. But the thought everyone knowing who I was would terrify me to my very core. I mean ask Kurt Cobain or Heath Ledger how fun it is being famous.

Which reminds me of the South Park episode in which they send up the public’s obsession with Britney Spears’ self destruction. It did make me laugh, especially as they sacrifice her to get delicious corn, and then plan to do the same to Miley Cyrus but I was a little disappointed by the one sided nature of the argument. Normally South Park can be relied on to present both sides of the coin but in this case they only attacked the public and Britney Spears came across as being blameless. They omitted several key points though. There was no mention of Keven Federline, driving with the baby on her lap, almost dropping her baby, her relentless pursuit of fame from a young age and the fact that she went out drinking all night with tarts like Paris Hilton wearing no underwear and trying to get photographed. That’s right, South Park completely forgot about the fact that the reason that these celebrities are hounded by the press is because they spend the early stage of their careers trying to get hounded by the press. Well I say ‘these celebrities’ but they don’t all do it. There is a reason you don’t see photos of Tom Hanks falling out of nightclubs with no pants on, because he is at home. With his pants on. Where anyone not wanting to be photographed should be.