I really shouldn’t give a toss
But the telly is fucking dross
I brace myself, pick up the remote
Land on a soap; generic, inchoate
And immediately my thoughts float,
Like Libyans fleeing on a leaky boat
Switch over to a report on Syria. Pious
Pictures of refugees, suffering, living in tents,
But hey, bet those are affordable rents!
Then I encounter the BBC news’s bias
And their plethora of smug hacks –
Like that speccy Tory chancer
Yeah him, the one who got cancer –
Who love to report opinions as facts,
Take their coverage of this general election,
A blatant exercise in elitist preservation
That to keep things the same
The viewer’s minds must remain lame
So reports contain this message within –
Demonise change and that it can win
So even if the political ideas are tired,
Claim that the public are still inspired
By a photo-op of an MP eating candy floss,
And then allowing them to talk dross
Like – better vote for us or it’ll be chaos.
All of it designed to leave you at a loss
That’s why Farage, that slime, a pantomime
Is always appearing on Question time.
Even Newsnight has taken to this shite,
Wish I could watch Newswipe every night.
But satire and ingenuity have a high cost
Reading an autocue is cheap, so art can get lost
Turn over, “scrounging cunts” on Jeremy Kyle,
Sadly you’re tempted to dwell a while
To naval gaze at their moronic bile
Then one of the guests says with a smile
‘I pay no child support and I’m proud’
The usual trope for a baying crowd,
The kind of cunts who like UKIP out loud
Enough of this, so ahead I ploughed
Into that fucking meerkat ad
Watch it on a loop, make yourself mad
Then, with a patronising glint
An ugly bloke with a squint
Sells you double glazing
Listen! This offer is amazing,
But you’ve already got it
Have you signed up for Sky yet?
Join Betfred and get a free bet.
Gillette – the best a man can get
Enough! Michael Portillo on a train?
Could this engage my brain?
Possibly, but it’s so fucking earnest
Put your cardie on and give your eyes a rest
Fuck, they still don’t play music on MTV anymore?
Over to BBC Four. It should offer more
But there’s too many docs full of talking heads,
Even a doc about The Talking Heads
Would be full to the brim of talking heads.
And yeah, most of them are dickheads
Like they two arrogant tits on Masterchef,
Who make you wish you were deaf
Oh! Foie gras and caramelised leek
It’s the fucking grand final next week!
Which of the finalists will thrive?!
Fuck yeah, what a time to be alive
These new comedies all fucking suck,
Gavin & Stacy – get that tae fuck
Where’s the Thick Of It? Brass Eye?
The Inbetweeners? Or something wry –
Eurotrash? Blackadder? Max Headroom?
Bet the makers of that took a mushroom.
So off I go searching, on the hunt;
All I find are re-runs of Bargain Cunt,
Shows hosted by that Jim Davidson creep
Or fucking Supermarket Sweep.
I’m bidding this shite goodbye
Because the football’s (only) on Sky
Their poxy narrative gets unfurled
That it’s the best league in the world,
While Ray Winstone’s massive head
Sells a culture that’s almost dead,
Then there’s the preview show
Niall Quinn fellating Jose Mourinho,
Gary Neville’s prepubescent tashe
And Jamie Carragher talking balderdash.
After the footie’s over, light entertainment
That exists for product placement,
The cost? Human debasement
Makes me want to torture animals in a basement
X-Factor – the new Nuremburg Rallies,
For proles to behave like wallies
People pretending to have a good time
At the scene of a sociological crime
But they have dreams, so extortion’s fine
When a shot at fifteen minutes is on the line,
Ant & Dec are an ISIS recruitment tool
While Piers Morgan plays the fool
Rotting the brains of every generation
So, what’s left? Cheaper exploitation –
Louis Theroux on transgender kids
As somebody said – I cannae be fucked with this
They’re used and conditioned, like the rest of us
By cynical shows created just to make a fuss,
It explains the circus that is Katie Hopkins
Who’s about as pleasant as Non-Hodgkin’s
But is it us or them that are the problem?
I reckon our nature is prone to boredom,
We wet ourselves seeing folk win twenty grand
Or indulge in schadenfreude, if it’s on hand.
So if we watch, we get what we deserve –
Nothing. But can I, can we, give it the swerve?
No, but I’ll preserve my sanity’s remaining vestige
In recognising the medium is the message,
So let’s be real and get it right,
The telly has always been shite