This week I have been mostly looking: into the cold dead eyes of Kyle Sandilands

Now, loath as I am to dwell on the cultural vacuum of X Factor, which like a year old McDonalds happy meal, refuses to perish. I would like to bring your attention to a disturbing discovery I made while watching it last weekend.
While Altiyan Childs, the scrawny bearded god of rock, was leaving the rest of the distinctly moribund contestants in his wake, my eyes were drawn to the unpleasant blot on the TV screen that is Kyle Sandilands melon.
As he looked on at Altiyan transcend the general malaise of the rest of the show I expected to see at least one or more of the following emotions flicker across his face: envy, admiration, joy, wonder, lust
But no. He just looked on with his cold, dead, expressionless eyes.
When his estranged wife made a guest performance on the show a couple of weeks ago as part of a simply dreadful sub Lady Gaga pop parody duo, I expected to see at least a hint of regret of love lost, or a saucy grin as he remembered the last time he saw her in the nude, but no, he just looked on with his cold dead eyes as the brazen strumpet cavorted on stage with female dancers in a suitably desperate fashion.
And as I looked into those eyes, the eyes of a shark, the eyes of the T1000 from Terminator 2, I thought.....hmmm......he really reminds me of another power hungry scourge of the poor and innocent from times gone by......and then it hit me:

 

Kyle Sandilands is the reincarnation of Henry VIII.
When you think about it the similarities are striking, the syphilis, the crimes against the catholic church, the beheading of wives(sentencing your wife to a short lived career in an insipid pop duo is the equivalent of beheading in my book).

I would wager that of a weekend, Kyle likes nothing more than strutting around his suburban mansion wearing an over sized ornamental codpiece.
After this frankly terrifying mental image we need a pick me up, and what better than a viewing of Altiyan from last week.

While you watch, consider those orgasmic expressions on Ronan Keatings face, the polar opposite of Kyle Sandilands, are they being caused by sheer joy at Altiyan's performance? Or could he possibly be being felated under the desk by some un-named floozy? And what would be the expression on Kyle's face if he found out the shocking news that Mr Keating was having his trumpet blown live on air? Well of course, he'd be looking on expressionless, out of those cold.....dead......eyes.

This week I have been mostly watching: Australian X Factor

Now, you’re obviously aware that X factor is further evidence of the downfall of western civilisation, but the Australian version appears to have thrown up an intriguing character in the form of Altiyan Childs. He’s in the over 25’s section of this overblown karaoke fandango and is so cheesy you could grate him onto your spag bol.

Before I continue with Altiyan though, I’ll give you a quick rundown on the Australian judging panel:

Kyle Sanderlands – this mildly obnoxious misogynist breakfast DJ plays the pantomime bad guy Simon Cowell role and is the ‘mentor’ of the boys, who he menaces convincingly with his well groomed beard.

Guy Sebastian – winner of the inaugural Australian idol, this man ‘mentors’ the groups and is often seen sporting a ridiculous sailors hat for reasons beyond comprehension.

Natalie Imbruglia – she ‘mentors’ the girls and is far more palatable than Danii Minogue.

And finally...... Ronan ‘Life is a Rollercoaster’ Keating, perpetrator of numerous crimes against humanity, he is the mentor of our beloved Altiyan and has tried to trip him up at every turn with his atrocious song selection.

In fact, Australia appears to be the graveyard of these Irish purveyors of turgid ballads and insipid dance pop. For a country famed for its tight border security, it is surprising that they would let in such insidious organisms as Ronan Keating and Brian McFadden who pose such an undoubted danger to the eco system of the country.

But back to Altiyan, he’s an aging rocker who is using X factor as his last throw of the dice and it’s about time that I show you how spectacularly this man can deliver.....just look at that neckerchief for God’s sake.

I'm sure you're dabbing the tears from your eyes after that wind blowing performance, and I sincerely hope the Australian publc continue to support Altiyan so we get to see him sing a Miley Cyrus cover at Christmas.

This week I have been mostly reading: The Tin Drum by Gunter Grass

I thought I'd kick this whole enterprise off by bringing your attention to a book I have been reading this week entitled 'The Tin Drum'. The book is written by a German author called Gunter Grass who received the Nobel Prize for literature for this and his other novels. Now, I haven't read any of his other works but if the only product of his writing career had been this novel then he would've been a worthy recipient of the prize for this alone.
The novel is the fictional memoir of Oskar Matzerath, a severely deformed man who is writing his life story from a mental hospital. It charts the history of his family from the moment his grandmother was impregnated by a Polish arsonist who she was sheltering from the police under her expansive skirts while sat in a potato field, to the events resulting in Oskars incarceration in the mental hospital.
Oskar is born in the free city of Danzig in 1924 with a complete awareness of his surroundings and with mental faculties completely intact. On hearing at his birth that his 'presumptive' father Alfred has plans of making him follow in his footsteps in the family Grocer business, Oskar quickly becomes disillusioned with what the next 60 years on the planet has to offer him and finds the only saving grace appears to be his mothers promise that she will buy him a tin drum on his 3rd birthday.
On receipt of his drum, Oskar, who has no interest in the cruel and pointless grown up world that surrounds him, decides to stop growing completely and live his life as a permanent 3 year old who just simply won't stop drumming.
When his thoroughly drummed out family try to take his drum from him they discover he possesses the novel ability to shatter glass with his piercing screams, which he does when anyone tries to lay a hand on his precious drum.
No-one pays much attention to young Oskar as he drums his way through the not too clandestine affair his mother is having with her cousin Jan (who he also suspects might be his real father) and the rise of Hitler and National Socialism.
The book highlights the cruelty and absurdity of the rise and fall of Nazi Germany through the eyes of Oskar as he undertakes a dizzying array of adventures with a multitude of unforgettable characters including Nazi propaganda specialist Bebra, the circus dwarf, Oskars first love Maria who seduces him with some strategically placed sherbet and Klepp the rotund jazz flutist who forms a band with Oskar after the war.
Oskar isn't the innocent 3 year old through all this mind you, he has a sinister streak and portrays himself as both Satan and Jesus throughout the story.
This book caused some controversy on its release in 1959 and was classed as blasphemous pornography (Oskar does have a surprisingly active sex life) but I would simply class it as a work of genius which portrays the German people who took their part in the atrocities of the war as what they were, just normal everyday people who chose to ignore what they had become a part of, Oskar opted out by deciding to stay 3 foot tall and evoking all his emotions through his drum.
Now there are some scenes in this book I'll probably take with me to my grave, the chapter when Oskar and his family see a longshoreman catching eels using a dismembered horses head is one of them along with the poignant moment when the Jewish shop owner that sells Oskars precious drums commits suicide when the Nazi's ransack his shop. What with the sherbet infused girl on dwarf action as well, you're probably thinking someone should make a film of this. Too late, they already have: