Enemies of Reason Poundshop potshots at the media moral maze.

Russell Brand: A poor man’s Beadle

One of the most popular (and unpopular) things I've ever written on here was a rather childish (but very satisfying) rant about the shitness of Russell Brand.

As you'll see from the comments whining about my silly attack on a book title, Brand is something of a national treasure in some circles: you can't write something negative about him without incurring the wrath of very indignant folk. Whenever the talent-free cuntwad turns up in Pseuds Corner in Private Eye for yet another over-written piece of pointless thesaurus-raiding bollocks, you can guarantee that a fortnight later a billion bleating bastards will have written in letters slating the Eye for daring to suggest that the long-pointy-shoed tosswipe is anything other than the most fantastic writer in the history of the English language. "You don't understand him," comes the mournful cry from his mercenary army of willing defenders, "That's just how he writes. He can't help it if every sentence is a flowery crock of turgid shite filled with meaningless adverbs - you just don't get him."

I get him, all right. I just think he's shit. I couldn't care less how many women he's fucked who've gone to the News of the Screws afterwards - doesn't make him a good writer. I'd rather drag a rusty cheesegrater over my eyeballs then go apple-bobbing in Domestos than have to read any of the shit he spins out of his arse on a weekly basis. It's a literary doilie. It's pointless decoration without even the fallback of art. It's nothing.

Anyway, the reason why I'm bringing up the Dickensian cockwife is because he's made a 'hilarious' prank call to a police hotline.

Comedian Russell Brand has apologised for making a hoax call on a crime hotline during a performance on stage at a theatre in Northampton.
The star rang the police number in front of a live audience and said he had spotted a man who might be responsible for a series of assaults.

Guffaw!

Look, I don't mind the concept of pranking and so on. It's just that if you're going to do it, at least be funny, won't you? Just ringing up some poor cunt in a call centre isn't big, clever, funny or even dangerous. It's just giggling bullshit that's wasting people's time. Game for a Laugh was funnier than this. Jeremy Beadle was funnier, and better, and more sophisticated, than this.

Anyway, the BBC (who employ Brand to present an execrably bad programme on Radio 2 on Saturday nights - fucking hell, I never thought I'd want Gambacinni back, but please!) say he's sorry. Do we think he's sorry?

"I maintain that through discourse we can illuminate these dark behaviours but that ought not to be at the expense of people's feelings," Brand said in a statement on Wednesday.

Discourse? Do me a favour. Any cunt who ever uses the word discourse ever - unless you're an arts student writing a second-year essay, in which case it's regrettably pretty much compulsory, and believe me I should know - should be tortured and killed immediately. Stand-up comedy isn't discourse. It's fun and it's humour. It's at its funniest, perhaps, when it's dangerous and dark, but this wasn't it.

Brand's just sorry the joke didn't come off. The emperor's new clothes haven't been spotted just yet, but maybe this could be the start. There's still hope that he'll be working in a record shop where he belongs, or being 'that weird bloke who's Streaky Pete's mate' down the pub, which is about his level. In the meantime we're stuck with him.

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