Before you run in the direction of the nearest minefield screaming "I want to end it all now!", pray patience. This isn't intended to be some wonderfully ironic post-modern comment on the state of the music industry - because, quite frankly, I have no idea what that sentence means.
Fact is, for the first time in what seems like a million years, I have subjected various senses to the X Factor. And I hate myself for it. The only thing providing any kind of comfort is the knowledge that I can subject you to the same level of hell by reporting my findings on this blog.
From what I can determine so far, this year's key runners and riders can be summarised thus:
- Vanity Project
- Gap Yah
- The Justin Bieber Five
- Four Girls Who'll Hate Each Other By Round Three
- We Fell Out Of The Shoreditch Tree And Hit Every Branch On The Way Down
- Louis Picked Me Because I'm Irish
- Strong Chance Of A Shower
- The Lovable Painter And Decorator Who I Quite Want To Win Because He'd Do A Good Bon Iver Impression.
Personally, I hope they all eat each other (except the painter, he's alright). At the very least, they could have a quick chomp on Louis Walsh's face; I have a theory that there's a vacant space and a very confused vole lurking just beneath the skin.
What's certain is that it's only going to get worse and I will be all the thicker for it come Christmas. So please, sit back and enjoy reading about my rapid mental descent into a condition known medically as: 'Katie Price'.
God help me.
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