X Factor (Week 4) - What a Malarkey!

This week the nation was to be subjected to Rock Week. Due to the very nature of the genre, Crusty opted not to use the Ballroom to enjoy this stage of the competition. Naturally, one didn’t want such powerful vibrations rattling though one’s crystal chandeliers. So, instead, one settled oneself in the Drawing Room.

Simon and Louise were – as always – dapperly dressed in black suits with their poppies poignantly placed in their button holes.

Dannnniiiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) opted for a full length gown with an over-locked slit up the side of the skirtal area and a bare shoulder brazenly being displayed. Sadly, she appeared not to have hung her balls in the closet and, as a result, a flutter of moths had stopped off to feast on the glittering fabric; there were holes munched out of the entire area located north of the waistline.

Cheryl – by no means an icon of fashion – chose an utterly ridiculous black mini affair accessorised with a pair of Simon’s thigh length, poly-blend winter socks. The garment was extremely tight and highly inappropriate but – whether by luck or by good management – she managed to find time to stop by a Spanish funeral and pinch two of the lady-mourner’s abanicos (fans) and glue them to her hooters in order to finish the ensemble.

Just as one thought one wouldn’t enjoy an hour and three quarters of ‘Rock’, one’s heart was lifted above the clouds when one’s South Shields Sexpot, Joe McElderry was introduced. One dug one’s fingernails into Chu Me’s arms and screamed until the Royal Worcester collection rattled in its display cabinet. As one saw him gyrating away on one’s 32 incher, he certainly managed to rock one’s box, I can tell you, despite a pair of lead-hoofed dancers flinging themselves around behind him.

Lucie Jones metamorphosised into a vixen from the valleys this week, to give us Guns ‘n’ Roses ‘Sweet Child of Mine’. She stormed around the glitterlicious stage like a true rock princess. Cheryl was certainly impressed and as she gave her comments her voice reached harpy-esque levels only the canine world could hear.

The third rocker of the night was Danyl Johnson (he who has a penchant for man-biscuit as well as lady-trifle). Danyl had a bit of a blow last week (but not in that way) after finding himself in the bottom two. Crusty was outraged, however, that our gorgeous puppy-eyed pop-hopeful had been branded more hated than Hitler by our nation’s media. This is absolute nonsense when there are people like Jan Moir (the manly-shouldered Daily Mail ‘journalist’ with the broad facial expanse of a Bull Mastiff), Peter Peggy-on-a-Sunday Mandelson and Nick Griffin.

Yoda Friedman offered Danyl his support during the week of rehearsals – for what that was worth - and as Danyl took to centre stage it was as if he had walked into the newsagents of music but all his notes were placed on the top shelf and, despite valiant efforts, he was just a little too short to reach them. All in all, he seemed lost. One feels we need a Hi-NRG week: get Danyl to sing an Eartha Kitt number in a pair of sequined black budgie-smugglers and one is quite sure his popularity would be resurrected.

Next we saw Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels sitting centre stage on a golden throne, singing Kate Perry’s ‘I Kissed A Girl’. As he performed it, it seemed his entire epidermal expanse was covered with lipstick kisses and at one point a cheeky little dancing minx appeared to grab his crotchal area. Thankfully the protection of his denimwear protected him and a shocked slip into a high C was avoided.

Danniiiii thought his voice was drowned out by the track and one thought what a shame the track wasn’t playing when she was giving us her opinion. What a boon that would have been!

Dolly Dagenham was contestant number 5; This week Yoda used his creative skills to give Stacey a choreographed routine to satisfy Simon. However, as her glorious voice pierced the aural canals of the audience, we discovered Yoda’s routine comprised of her putting one foot in front of the other … walking, in actual fact!

Jamie Archer wanted to give something a little special and not the normal pub-rocker performance. At the last minute, however, nerves must have got the better of him and it was the latter that he delivered. As he ‘got his rocks off’ in front of the audience, one noticed the return of the table cloth hanging from his buttock pocket and wondered how many more he could possibly have to display from his rectal region.

For some inexplicable reason Dannnniiiiiiiiii decided to bring the tempo down for the delicious Rachel Adedeji this week. A dreadful song choice – U2’s ‘One Love’ – which Rachel managed to salvage with her fabulous vocal interpretation; a soulful sea of sumptuousness, one must say.

Then, one was troubled as one prepared oneself for the next act. One could hear the music but for some reason – as one banged the remote control against one’s bow-legged tall boy – one appeared to be watching David Attenborough’s ‘Life’ and footage of two Giant Pandas. As one wondered where they had hidden their bamboo canes, Chu Me informed me it was, in reality, the Brothers Grime on screen.

As the leather-clad Pop-Pandas stomped around the stage, frantically grasping for a note they could hit, one noticed the arc of flames at the back of the stage and the bursts of fire shooting out from the front. It was then one realised one was in Hell.

During her comments, Danniiiiii revealed she looked forward to seeing the twins each week (try carrying a photo, dear!) and when the delicious Dermott asked how they were coping with the bad press, they told us they just took it on the chin (Chu Me! One’s boxing gloves and a horseshoe, if you please!).

Our final performance of the evening was the broad-shouldered Oily Mares. Yoda had concerns about his timidity, but as he took to the stage, with his muscular, manly shoulders straining against his denim shirt and his legs flapping about in his Marcel Marceau tribute pants, his performance of a Beatles classic was quite superb. Though, one doesn’t know if Oily has the X Factor, when he ripped open his shirt to expose his pectoral plane, he certainly developed the Oooohhh Factor here at Crusty Hall.

The result on the following day surely came as a blow to the entire nation. Chi Chi and Chan Chan got through and it was the lovely Lloyd and raunchy Rachel who were to face the judges decision to eliminate. Lloyd tried his best during the sing-off, despite a sore throat and croaking in the middle of his lines, while Rachel sang sublimely. However, although Simon had the deciding vote and had not been greatly impressed with Lloyd since the start, he put the vote to the public and it was good-bye Rachel!! What on earth is going on?!

One is now of the opinion the whole malarkey is becoming ridiculous and is proving to be only on our screen to generate money for the Cowell empire and not to give Her Majesty’s realm a true talent to proudly hold to its bosom.

This is a talent competition ! We are to find someone who can blow one’s tights off ! Trust Crusty's wisdom when one tells you the Dung Poo Pandas do not fall into that category.

Foof Alert! Mariah Releases New Single

Yesterday afternoon, one had seen to all of one’s important mail and agony questions in one’s Study. Chu Me took the embroidered silk satchel, containing the replies to be posted, and opted for GUSSET 3 to carry him on his quest to the village Post Office.

At a loose end for a short time, one decided to take a turn around the grounds of Crusty Hall with my loving pussy, Crotchet. There was a hint of rain over the village but Señor Sol was determined to try and force his warming rays through the clouds above. Yet one didn’t feel in any sort of predicament as one thought the moisture in the air could do nothing but add youthfulness to one’s complexion.

After several minutes, Crotchet grew bored and padded stealthily through one’s hedge and into the forest beyond. Crusty was now alone.

In the distance, one saw Gardener’s greenhouse and one decided to make one’s way towards it. After a short pause in the centre of the Enchanted Garden, to refill one’s tumbler at the magnificent nude statue of Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr (one quick press of the belly button and a filtered flow of gin cascades from his shrouded man biscuit), one continued one’s sashay to Gardener’s flora factory. Today, he was educating his apprentices.

“Don’t let one interrupt you, dear!” I said, as I entered the glazed erection.

Tilting his hat with his hand, to acknowledge one’s instruction, he and his trainee workforce continued in their work.

As one glided around the enormous expanse of Gardener’s secret place, one began to reflect on the outrage one felt at Week 3 of X Factor’s result; there could surely be nothing worse than the voices of the Brothers Grime, John and Edward (review of week 3 to follow), but evidently Crusty was wrong!

At that very moment, while I was pulling off Basil and Gardener was poking his fingers in peat, a familiar ditty transmitted from Radio 2’s airwaves – Gardener’s favourite – and we all stopped and looked at each other in horror.

Mariah Scarey had decided to release a cover version of a classic song for her next offering; ‘I Want To Know What Love Is’ by Foreigner (One thinks a more fitting question would be, I Want To Know What The Hell This Is !). Poppets will surely remember the spine-tingling gorgeousness of the original and I dare say many of one’s readers – those who have swam in the fondue of love – have spent many an intimate moment undulating to its marvellousness.

One suspects the same will not be experienced with Mariah’s offering.

As one listened to her vocal arrangement one was confused. The first half of her interpretation brought nightmarish visions to one’s mind. She attempts to inject an intonation of passion into the piece however, in truth, it sounded more like a half-hearted orgasm, or as if she was sitting in a luxurious lavatory with a touch of constipation and the echoing strains were ricocheting off the exquisite Spanish tiles surrounding her cubicle. As the piece builds to its climax and the final grab-one-by-the-throat series of high pitched squealings pierce the aural canal, it only made one think that the aforementioned constipation had been conquered and an over-enthusiastic bowel release had been accomplished.

All-in-all, there seems a truly gargantuan lack of effort throughout.

As one thought the latest album cover has three Mariah’s splashed across it (as if one weren’t enough), with the expected attack of bosoms (in triplicate) being smothered under and frantically trying to escape from a sheer white dress; this combined with a rising hem line which verges on a dangerous threat of foof exposure.

Crusty has not witnessed the video for her interpretation, but one suspects it will follow in the same vain.