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Monday, 16 November 2009

"My rant: The true story"

Keith Richards has an autobiography planned for release in 2010, now that as a statement might seem very unsurprising, one that makes you say ‘Oh right, cool’ but nothing to make you stand up and pay attention like a meteor about to collide with the planet. But, when you look at other autobiographies on the shelves, and the current trend surrounding them, then the fact Keith is releasing his next year is a monumental shock when compared to the current tepid and mostly pointless releases that cram up the shelves. For starters, Keith is a man whose blood system consists of 80% Columbian export, Zeus knows how he’s going to even remember what happened 20 years ago, let alone last Saturday; I won’t be surprised if the book is essentially one page consisting of
“40 years ago I wrote some songs with Mick...I played a Pirate...I think it was a Pirate...yeah, definitely was a Pirate. Then I wrote this...I sure do love drugs, yes I do”
Keith is the sort of person destined to write an autobiography, because he’s essentially bursting at the leathery seams with highly interesting and fascinating anecdotes, although it’s likely he’s got far more brilliant ones that have been lost in the haze of inhaling things other than ‘Vic’. The shelves are currently host to books by reality TV stars and pointless attention whoring morons, and occasionally somebody of note will pop up amidst the ‘Chantelles’ and the ‘Hiltons’, such as Julie Walters or Michel Parkinson, but it’s very rare and far too few, like finding a skittle in a mountain of lard. The fact people honestly read these books is just dumbfounding, I highly doubt that Chantelle from BB had an early life chock full of zany exploits and armchair gripping tension, unless at some point during her teens she was enlisted to fight a war against a subterranean race of Lizard people. They usually consist of 50 pages smeared in generic social trite and scum that most people have either experienced or know somebody who has, such epic page turners along the lines of “OH I HAD A HARD LIFE WITHOUT A BOYFRIEND” “MY JOB AT MCDONALDS WAS AN AUSCWHITZ OF CONSUMERISM”, those old chestnuts, whereas Parkinson has in depth recollections of his friendship with Muhammad Ali, whilst Richards will undoubtedly have some wonderfully revealing stories of some of the best known musicians of the 20th century. It’s as if people read these ‘I actually think people care’ autobiographies to make themselves feel better about their own lives, be it a tedious job or an unfortunate lacklustre social life; by reading books by people such as Jodie Marsh you can at least feel far more intelligent and a better person, simply for guessing how many times she used spell-check on each page alone. It’s like a Victorian gentleman kicking the shins of a shoeshine boy before beating him with his cane, although for a tenner, and it makes you realise that anybody could publish an autobiography and slap ‘MY STORY’ on the end, that’s right even you! GO NOW! WRITE A BOOK! It’ll no doubt enter the top 10 because our current society is nothing more than celebrity hungry amoebas, stripped of any rationality or sanity!
That’s another thing that irks me, the “My Story” tagline, as if we had no idea that a book featuring the punch-worthy mug of Pete from BB would be about him, but we assumed it’d be 200 pages of dirty limericks and a crude retelling of Morgan Freeman’s rise to fame, before descending into wacked out conspiracy theories with titles along the lines of ‘CRACKERS, ALIEN BOG ROLL?’, thanks for patronising us Pete from idiotic lout. Another ‘shocker’ about Keith’s autobiography, alongside Parkinson and a small minority is that they’re releasing them long after middle age has come and gone, Keith will be 66 when his book hits shelves, so that’s pretty much 50+ years of his life in this book, what a damn autobiography should be. Katie Price is 31, and has so far released 3 autobiographies, THREE; she’s pretty much beaten the meaning with a large rod and set it alight. That’s probably one for each boob (The third is Peter Andre. HAW HAW), and at a rate of one every 2 years it’s going to rival Dan Brown for ‘Book that makes my brain physically hurt every couple of years’. Every 2 years, that’s just ridiculous, it’s a BIOGRAPHY OF HER LIFE not a bloody horror franchise, although....
No, easy jokes later. But yes...I’ve sort of lost track of where I was heading toward now, oh bugger. I blame Jordan and all the other self obsessed cesspools of image over talent...
I was going to end this with a predictable joke about me going back to writing my autobiography, but I’ll save that for my second rant about the same damn thing in 2 years.

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