What’s On TV Tonight?

There’s a new reality game show
Where members of the public can get rich
If they survive, 6 months inside
A full-size reconstruction of Auschwich

It’s hosted by Anne Robinson
The Gestapo are played by a celebrity cast
The viewers at home, can take part on the phone
Send a text message to vote on who get gassed...

There’s a self-appointed fashion guru
Who visits an unsuspecting couple’s house
Offering derogatory quips, and lifestyle tips
About their garden rockery, choice of crockery and spouse

He slowly remoulds their entire lives
To fit a generic template of mediocrity
Then his make-over team, fulfils their dream
Cue speeded up footage, of plastic surgery...

What’s on the TV tonight?
Are you looking forward to another evening indoors?
Watching other people’s lives,
That are only slightly less dull than yours

There’s a group of famous comedians
Stroke over-exposed television personalities
Telling anecdotes, and sarcastic jokes
About their hundred favourite nostalgic memories

There’s a revealing documentary
That provides a rare glimpse behind the scenes
A warts-and-all, fly-on-the-wall,
Day-in-the-life of a documentary production team

What’s on the TV tonight?
Are you in the mood for some passive consumption?
What’s on the TV tonight?
A one-way conversation based on the assumption
That the TV viewing public,
Is either braindead or just extremely thick...

I wanna see the chairman of ITV
Trading places with an average family
Forced to follow their daily routines
I’d watch it, if the git, had to sit, through the shit, he saw fit, to permit on our screens!

What’s on the TV tonight?
Is there anything that might be slightly worth seeing?
What’s on the TV tonight?
Is there anything that won’t offend my very being?

Social Theory & The Urban Question

Take a stroll down any high street
Anywhere in the U.K.
And I betcha, the architecture
Is as attractive as a lump of concrete
That's been painted grey

It probably took about a week to be erected
And even less time to be planned
But it appears, it's taken years
For the art to be perfected
Of building something so exquisitely bland...

As if...
It was made
With the aid
Of a lego plan
By a man
With no sense of imagination,
And a totalitarian inclination!

It all looks the same, it all looks the same
The ubiqutious homogeneity of every faceless highstreet chain
The pattern of standardisation is permanently engrained upon my brain

To prove a point I befriended
A local town planning adviser
He was speaking, at a meeting
So I spiked his drink when it ended,
With some whale tranquilliser

Afterwards he started getting drunk
At an insipid brand-name bar
I hung about, until he passed out
Then I locked him up in a big trunk
Blindfolded in the boot of my car...

And I...
Drove for days
Along motorways
And I took him for
A sort of mystery tour
Then dumped him at a random location,
In a bush by the car park of a service station!

I watched from afar chuckling in my car
As he came round
He was probably thinking he'd had a heavy night's drinking
As he got off the ground
Cos he went on his way as if it were a normal day
Once he’d had a look around
So I left him there totally unaware
He was in a different town

It's a good job he didn't have any friends or a wife
Because he's still there now carrying on with his life!

It all looks the same, it all looks the same

I went to Ipswich, which was dull, but not as bad as Hull which is dull yearly, yet not nearly as boring as Goring. I went to Brent and Stoke-on-Trent which was a joke, as was Basingstoke. But the worst was Midhurst, only a notch less stale than Rochdale. The train I caught to Stockport stopped in Runcorn, but I thought, 'at least it's not Eastbourne', which made me more forlorn than when I saw Torquay, which bored me stiff, as did Cardiff. I wasn't impressed by Preston, and as for Weston Super Mare, don’t even go there! And Bognor Regis was just tedious. But the drearist region of Britain could well be High Wycombe, then again when I was in Gloucester I lost my will to live. I’d never live in Crewe, nor Luton too. It was a mistake to go to Margate, and there's nothing great about Great Yarmouth. Manchester depressed me, so I went to Grimsby for a while, but it was grim, like Carlisle. They say that Rome wasn't built in a day, but it seems that Milton Keynes might have been.

The Life Of An English Tourist

I booked my tickets on the internet
Got discount fares from Easy-Jet
Changed my money into Euro
Now I’m off to Heathrow

There was an Upper Crust in the waiting room
So I bought a baguette and some Evian
When I got to Paris I had some PG tips
And a bag of fish & chips

I did the sights in under an hour
Went up and down the Eiffel tower
I even went to the Louvre for a bit
Saw some culture - got a postcard to prove it!

But my favourite part was the Hypermarket
Or rather the contents of my basket
No to Europe! We should be free to choose!
From a vast array of cheap booze

Who needs an empire,
When you can hire
A villa and estates, with a group of your mates,
Get tanked up every night,
Lots of foreigners to fight,
And a swimming pool or two, with an excellent view, of an on-going local civil war
Who could ask for more...

It’s the biggest ever pub-crawl in the world!
No need for the union jack to be unfurled
We’ll trawl the lands we used to rule, getting ever more pissed
Oh, the life of an English tourist

Went to Greece for some Island hopping,
Stopping only to do some shopping
And a guided tour of Plato’s cave
Now to Ibiza for a rave

Travelled a 1000 miles for foam and sea
And tunes from a compilation CD
But I was too busy shagging to really enjoy them
With a bird from Croyden

Next stop Indonesia
Where life seems so much easier
At least if you’re a holiday maker
Or a dictator

I bought a relative an ethnic present
Hand-made by an authentic peasant
For less than a pound how could I refuse?
A pair of Nike shoes

Who needs an empire,
when you can buy a
Cheap vacation, in a third-world nation,
You can live like a king,
You can have anything!
From the finest cuisine, to your own hareem, full of young Philippino sex-slaves
It’s almost like the good old days...

But now you can feel smug about yourself
After all you’re distributing wealth
helping out the countries that are poorest
Oh, the life of an English tourist

You don’t need to know, the local lingo
They’ll speak your language everywhere you go
Whether you’re lost in the hills, or paying hotel bills
They’ll jump at the chance to practise their oral skills
In markets and bizzares, in restaurants and bars
You can laugh at their syntax and charming faux-pas
When you’re ordering jellyfish, or a dog-based dish
The only phrase you’ll need to know is: “I’m English”

South Tottenham Job Centre

We’ve replaced the index-card system with touch-screen terminals
It’s called modernisation, it means we don’t even have to speak
Please feel free to do a job search, but just don’t bother us
Even when the national network crashes, which happens every week

The security guard is happy cos he gets to wear a suit
But he doesn’t really have much to do so he just wanders round
He’ll ask you politely if you’d care to take a seat
And if you decline his offer, he’ll physically force you to sit down

In South Tottenham Job Centre
It’s the dullest place on earth
South Tottenham Job Centre
Eroding your sense of self-worth

We know what you’re here for and we resent it utterly
Your payment may well be delayed if you’re a minute late
But if we cancel an appointment or postphone it for 6 hours
Then there’s nothing we can do about it, sorry, you’ll just have to wait

Your personal adviser is stifling her yawns
As she tries to pretend that she is reading your CV
There’s a look of sheer contempt in her eyes as if to say:
"If only you were prepared to work hard, then you could have a job like me..."

In South Tottenham Job Centre
It’s the dullest place on earth
South Tottenham Job Centre
Eroding your sense of self-worth

The whole building’s been designed
To instill boredom in your mind
So even the crappest job will seem appealing

Psychological manipulation
Through interior decoration
Right down to the colour of the carpets and the ceiling

And only the most dejected
Are specially selected
To undertake this monotonous government mission

They’ve all been fully trained
To ensure their clients are drained
Of every last remnant of ambition

So finally we agree,
when they try and send us to, the cleaning agency...

Merchants of Mediocrity

Stumbling through the high street, searching for a place to hide
I make a dash for Woolies to shelter from the rain outside
I find myself bewildered when I start to look around
Cos it looks just like a pound shop - but things cost more than a pound!

A vet dressing up kit from ’Animal Hospital’
A home Mcflurry maker, Horse and pony care annual
The game of Wok ‘n’ Roll and ‘Michael Owen’s ‘Socca-Sac’
A matching 3-piece love-heart - mobile-phone accessory gift pack!

MERCHANTS OF MEDIOCRITY
THE RETAIL EQUIVALENT OF MIDDAY TV
MERCHANTS OF MEDIOCRITY
THIS AINT THERAPEUTIC, IT’S RETAIL LOBOTOMY
It’s Woolworths, it’s Woolworths, my dear...

At the back there were some teles on promotional display
With sinister low-budget adverts on repeat all day
Demonstrating the uses of new types of kitchen knife
Highlighting the ways in which Tupperware will improve your life!

An attractive terracotta garden thermometer
A ketchup bottle lava-lamp, self-guiding paint edger
‘Bargain Hunt’ the board game, fast-fit ironing-board cover
A twin-powered car polisher - with random orbital buffer!

MERCHANTS OF MEDIOCRITY
SOMETHING HERE FOR EVERYONE, BUT NO-ONE PARTICULARLY
MERCHANTS OF MEDIOCRITY
MAYBE IT’S A METAPHOR FOR DEMOCRACY?
It’s Woolworths, it’s Woolworths, my dear...

“The Piano Sessions”: ‘Smooth jazz interpretations of today’s contemporary classics’
“Ride Da Riddims 2”: ‘43 blazin dancehall tunes’
“Natural Woman”: ‘40 songs for the life you lead’
“Electric Moods”: ‘An odyssey for the soul’

STOCKISTS OF MONOTONY
ON A LAST MINUTE CHRISTMAS SHOPPING SPREE
YOU CAN BUY SOME CRAP FOR YOUR STOCKING AND TREE
BUT APART FROM THAT I CANNOT SEE
The purpose, of going to, Woolworths...

Games Workshop Stole My Childhood

I bought my first Citadel miniature at the tender age of ten
My life from that point on
Was never quite the same again...

I set off on a quest every Saturday to the local Games workshop store
Where I was seized by a strange disease
As soon as I stepped through that door...

A feverish and inexplicable compulsion to buy
As many little lead figures as I possibly could
Games Workshop stole my childhood!

I soon collected an whole army of Space marines
Badly painted but conforming to official colour schemes
I’d line them all up with their transfers and banners
I had Land Raiders, Mole Mortars and Techmarines with spanners

Then they printed new rules in White Dwarf magazine
About a new character-model with a weapon skill of 14!
With one on your side you’d would win the game every time
And a blister pack would set you back a mere £16.99

So I went out the next day and I bought four of them
Then the rules changed again in a comprehensive compendium
Which I felt obliged to buy just to have it all complete
Then they released a new box-set which made everything obsolete

I would've done it all over again if I could
Games Workshop stole my childhood

I was ruthlessly ridiculed when the rumour went round that I was a roleplayer
The kids at school pretended to be cool
Whereas I preferred to play the part of a troll-slayer...

They soon discovered drugs and drinking, and bragging about getting off their trolley
But the closest I ever got to getting high
Was inadvertently inhaling liquid polly...

I had more experience points than the Bretonian kings
But I never did any of the things that a kid should
Games Workshop stole my childhood!

I thought 80’s thrash metal was good for a while
And that a tied-back ponytail was the only hair style
I was truly convinced the ultimate career path
Would lead to working full-time as part of the Games Workshop staff

It was like an addiction that just wouldn’t go away
I’m still obsessed with lists and statistics to this day
I can argue for hours over the smallest things
Such as where the first millimetre on a tape measure begins

When I was meant to be doing homework I was devising battle plans
Making scale models of hills instead of revising for exams
No one ever said the pen was mightier than the modelling knife
This was not just a hobby: this was a whole way of life!

If only I had understood
Games Workshop stole my childhood!

Squad coherency - line of sight
Goblin green - skull white
Double lascannon - on a sponson
Mike McVay - Jervis Johnson

Random encounter - standard bolt gun
Golden Demon - great unclean one
Cardboard chits - marauding skaven
Shadows over - Bogenhaven

Elven longbows - cannon crews
Foam rectangles - plastic sprews
Flock on bases - razor wire
Roll the dice - apply the modifier

Claim To Fame

I think I saw John Nettles at Gatwick airport,
he was with his family waiting for a plane
I’m pretty certain that I saw Harry Enfield,
on a crazy golf course in the south of Spain

When I was doing part-time work in Millets,
I served someone who looked like Donna Summer
You know that cod heavy-metal band The Darkness,
my old flatmate used to go out with their drummer

I recently discovered I’m related to Barbarossa,
I found out when I researched my family tree,
Well, I refuse to believe that for a second,
cos according to my genealogist that’s actually me!

I’ve met one of the Star Trek crew,
My uncle claims he knows someone who,
almost snogged the one that plays Troy...
Robinson Crusoe was loosely based on my neighbour’s grandfather's green-grocer’s ex-rent-boy

What’s your claim to fame? What’s your claim to fame?
What’s your tenuous connection to a household name?
What’s your claim to fame? What’s your claim to fame?
I own all of Roy Castle's old christmas cards

Last year I had an emergency kidney transplant,
and the organ donor was Billy Ocean’s dog
I conceived of a new flavour of Twiglet,
which turned out to be akin to Gazza’s recipe for eggnog

Once when I was potholing in the 70's,
I found Beyonce's corpse in a cave in Japan
Growing on my back there’s hideous praline-like carapace,
that smells a bit like Gloria Estifan

I found the remains of Deborah Harry's miscarriage,
I found it too at the back of my garage,
it looked vaguely like Oliver Stone...
Beneath my grandmother’s mammery glands lives a tiny woman who ardently claims to be the rightful heir to the Polish throne

What’s your claim to fame? What’s your claim to fame?
What’s your pathetic anecdote that makes your life seem less mundane?
What’s your claim to fame? What’s your claim to fame?
When I was camping as a boy scout, I rolled over in the dark in my sleeping bag and accidently touched Samuel Pepys' anus

It was actually me that built stone-henge originally,
on an time-travelling bender that’s not happened yet!
Once when I was directing a midget porn film,
I dialled a wrong number and got through to Roy Orbison’s laundrette!

I knew a tramp who fought at Agincort,
I knew one who thought he was Barney the dinosaur,
AND he couldn’t say the word “lime”...
Mardi gras was invented to celebrate the first moment I ever touched lichen, but it's true meaning has been lost over time

Me and Micheal Aspel drink the same beer
I regurgitated Gweneth Paltrow's ear
In a past life I groomed Hitler's pig
My ancestor made Marco Polo’s wig
I knew a koala that was born without a face
I was the first hermaphrodite in space
I did the voices for Optimus-Prime
I invented time!

My uncle was one of first men to renounce mormonism in favour of worshipping a giraffe-like deity called Hammersmith

Toilet Humour Isn’t Funny

I went to a show awhile ago hoping to see
Some intelligent and witty stand-up comedy
But the audience were laughing like a raucous mob
Cos some bloke told a joke about his enormous knob

The applause continued as he caused more mirth
By bragging about its length and its girth
He picked on me and said I had a tiny dick
He said it’s so small I could use it as a ‘cocktail stick’

The act reached a climax with a rapid flow
Of in-out-in-out-innuendo
By the end the entire room was laughing at me (but I don’t know why)
cos jokes about genitalia just aren’t funny...

I don’t find toilet humour vile
I don’t mind if it’s juvenile
But I fail to see, the jocularity
Of rude words for bodily functions...
I don’t mind if it’s puerile
It’s just that it doesn’t make me smile
To hear you talk, about your pork
truncheon...

There's one time that I recall when I was still at school
With my mates sat at the back of the hall
In an assembly consisting of the usual mix
Of the headmaster's sermons and amateur magic tricks

We were meant to repent in silent prayer if we’d sinned
It was then I felt an urgent urge to pass wind
My chums soon begun to snigger and chortle
As I released the pressure of my rear digestive portal

We all got dentention and a thousand lines
I got the shit kicked out of me several times
But it was their fault for laughing ultimately
Cos gaseous anal emissions just aren’t funny...

I know you’ve no time for satire
however witty, worthy or well-penned
But I find it confusing, that you’d find it more amusing
If I said: “a big throbbing glistening bell-end”

I was chugging on the loo until I blew my plug
Out writhed a turd the size of a giant slug
From my bleeding crack oozed a stream of muddy paste
A swinging pendulum of slimy human waste

And as I surveyed the bowl and the contents therein
Splattered against the smooth porcelain
I flushed away any trace of irony
Cos toilet humour just isn’t funny

Another Day In Worthing

Mrs. Mills does her weekly shop on Wednesdays
She always gets lost in the isles at Safeways
The staff know her by name cos she buys the same old things
A weeks supply of puzzle books and Superkings

She's served at checkout nine by a boy called Paul
Whose on a work-placement from a special-needs school
She knocks over a conveyor-belt divider and starts to make a scene
Accusing Paul of overcharging for her margarine

Paul freaks out until he’s rescued again
By the kind and slightly-dull girl on checkout ten
But Pacifying Mrs. Mills is always hard
Even with the offer of bonus points on her reward card

She claims she’ll take her custom elsewhere,
Even the assistant manager seems not to care,
Cos she’s back within the hour at checkout eight
And this time it’s the tuna and pasta bake
The microwavable tuna and pasta bake...

It’s just another day in Worthing
It’s pointless to ask what it meant
It’s just another day in Worthing
It’s just a meaningless event

Jess runs home from school to avoid the crowd
With her mp3 player turned up loud
But it's hard to run in big chrome boots with spikes and two inch heels
No one truly knows the pain she feels

Jess aint like other kids cos she wears black
Her classmates rip the piss behind her back
Tonight she's got a date with a boy she met through an internet search
They're meeting in the graveyard of a local church

She's into all the same stuff as him
The Cure, The Crow and pallid skin
She pulls her corset extra tight
And slips out the backdoor into the night

She’s spotted by boy-racers at the roundabout,
They wind down their windows and start to shout,
Jess just puts her hood up, and carries on,
And sings a line from her favourite Slipknot song
A pertinent line a Slipknot song...

It’s just another day in Worthing
Its consequence is negligible
It’s just another day in Worthing
It’s probably not worth mentioning at all

Mr. Davenport's highlight of the year
Is the comedy season in the pavilion on the pier
For quite some time he’s been eagerly planning
To see Jim Davidson and Bernard Manning

Tonight he’s quoting Bernard down the pub
With a group of mates from the Conservative club
Arguing about which players he would have picked
While just outside his car is being nicked

He told the police he saw a suspicious black kid
But when it went to court his statement was retracted
You see Mr. Davenport moved here when he retired in ’93
Cos he’d heard there was an extremely small ethnic minority

Just off the high street it's getting dark
On the third floor of a multistorey car park
Shaz and Charmange are waiting sat on the stairwell
Drinking Lambrini and re-applying their hair-gel

They’ve both got orange faces and bleached hair
There’s a smell of fake tan lotion in the air
Unflattering track-suit trousers and oversized ear rings
Slagging off some girl at school who mings

Their boyfriends said they’d be back at 9 o’clock
They just went for a spin around the block
It’s now gone ten, and the girls don’t know why
Their text-messages still get no reply

They assume there’s truth to the rumours they’ve heard
That their boyfriends are shagging other birds
But really they’re down the police station sat in a que
After mowing down an old woman in a stolen BMW...

It’s just another day in Worthing
It’s much the same as all the rest
It’s just another day in Worthing
It’s of minor interest at best

It’s just another day in Worthing
It’s an incidental incident
It’s just another day in Worthing
It’s not particularly significant...