The X Factor.

People generally learn from their mistakes. When a child touches a hot object, it learns that it must not repeat it, lest it be burnt again. When a child refuses to eat its greens, it learns that it must not repeat it, lest it be put back in "the cage" again. So how, I ask you, can a show as abhorrent as The X Factor be televised for at least 3 whole fucking seasons? Here's a mistake: That Steve twat from the first season. Now learn.

The basic premise of The X Factor, and all its previous takes, is a talent show which ironically contains not a glimpse of talent. The X Factor is around to help out "talent" that can't be recognised by record producers. There's a reason why you're not being recognised, love: You're shit. I mean, every so often there is a contestant with a shred of ability. PSYCHE. It's about deciding which act is the least shit, and then paying excessive amounts of money to keep them and their cancerous egos in the game.

So out come the act, and they squeak out their pitiful music for a painful 5 minutes; it's either a Diana Ross parrot squark or a stomach churning rendition of "Wind Beneath My Wings" or some other wedding-party-slow-dance classic. Then the judges make their decision:

Louis Walsh: That was tremendous! Best act I've ever heard!
Audience: Yaaaaaay!
Louis Walsh: Ho ho, yes- fantastic. I can see you guys going really far!
Audience: Wooooo!
Sharon Osbourne: Faaaaaaaaaaabulous darlin', very juschy! Vogue! etc
Audience: Horraaaaaaaay!
Simon Cowell: Shit. Absolutely fucking awful. The worst thing I've ever heard. I hope you all get AIDS.
Audience: Booooooo!

Oh my god! That Simon Cowell is such a meanie! He's always saying such nasty things about these talentless idiots! No, Simon Cowell is a sycophant; the other judges are just even more sycophantic than him. If it were up to me, I'd just take out a sawn-off shotgun and blast them off the stage before they get to hit that high note in "Lovin' you".

Then you get the novelty acts; the "rockers", the "comedy acts" and the "gays". The rock acts are the worst ones, because it's so horribly fake that it makes me want to vomit thick, curdled blood. If you actually were a "rocker", you'd play at small bars and pubs, work your way up, get an addiction to heroin and die in a pool of your own vomit. People who do McFly-esque rock songs on the X-factor are faux-rock. However you market yourself- however long your hair is- you're still a pop star. It's pitiful. Maybe a chaotic mathcore/metalcore band should audition for The X Factor. That'd tear some shit up.

One of the most painful things about The X Factor is that it strives too hard to be politically correct. Now, I'm a very politically correct person myself, but when they fill the show with so many retards, gays and blacks, it just feels overdone. If you made out some statistics during the original auditions, you'd find that the Mpm (misfits per minute) equals about 36. And they always play that twinkly music over the top. That's the first sign. Any perceptive viewer will recognise when a sob story is coming up from the "emotional" music that starts playing. Here are some good examples of harrowing stories of bravery:

• Exploded by a car bomb.
• Looking after their disabled mother.
• Had arms eaten by a bear.
• Weigh about 30 stone.
  
• Fell down a mineshaft at the age of seven.
• Had their family slaughtered during the apartheid.
• Have a really, really ugly face.
  

It's ridiculous the amount of people who get through because of a disability. Oh, I'm not meant to say someone's disabled; it's "differently abled". Bullshit, you're not differently abled. I can walk, you cannot. It's actually unfair, though, because people who are broken actually get further than people who aren't. Yes, it's nice that everyone gets a fair chance, but when someone with an alright voice and no legs get through, as opposed to someone with a better voice and 1 leg, it's just unfair.

Announcer: "This is Barbara. When Barbara was 6, she was walking to the shops to buy a Twix and a Capri Sun, when she was jumped by a group of angry otters. Barbara tried to fight them off, but they attached their claws and teeth to her nubile skin and gave her third degree otter scratches. She tried to call out for help, but they blocked her mouth and nose with their fuzzy little bodies."
Barbara: "I sing to drown out the memories."