You know, a few years ago - I can't recall exactly when, but back when Sharon Osborne simply stuck to what she did best - being on the Osborne TV show, and doing the Oz Fest - she was pretty entertaining, and came across as a vibrant, spunky woman with a real passion for life, and quirkiness as well: characteristics that clearly made her endearing to Joe Pub(l)ic at large, of which of course I count myself, dear reader.
And then she got into the X Factor shit. OK, so she was fine to begin with, but then clearly the fame of that, combined with the glory and fame already achieved, went to her head to such a terrifying, monstrous degree, that she completely changed.
Her personality went from one of being charming and colourful, to that of a totally arrogant arsewipe. Suddenly, All Hail Sharon Syndrome was clearly pounding her brain and soul to the point where she just couldn't see the woods for the trees, or a reality check for her elevated status; she couldn't cope anymore with being simply human in light of such adoration, and she relented.
She became the b*tch fest from hell - snearing (she should get an Oscar for it, but then her head would truly explode, and she'd still think, is that it?); shouting, remonstrating and talking over others - and always making out it was the others who were doing so - always believing herself to be right; throwing water over that poor village savant to her left (don't get me wrong: he's a genuinely lovely guy and strikes me as being seriously sweet - but to the point where you want to pop him into your jacket pocket, and pat him on the head from time to time).
The first profound signal of her Change was the transformation of her lovely hair to the nazi b*tch princess hairdo that landed on her head one episode, and has stuck with her relentlessly ever since, regardless of the fact that it looks so ridiculous, so fake, so I'm-a-celeb-and-ain't-I-cute (NO!), with that don't-fcuk-with-me mass of flicked locks and excessive tints (do they glow in the dark; are they supposed to direct traffic?; does she think they look cool and trendy? Yeh, like someone trying to do a Fonz impression in 2007). One of my pet conspiracy theories is that the hairdo is actually an alien lifeform from Planet Nazi B*tch, and took over her mind and hence the transformation.
But anyway, her utterly obnoxious behaviour, her believing herself a true god, rather than realising she'd turned into an utterly foul four-star general (see you next tuesday), didn't end there. Oh, no. She then starts doing a Gala Bingo advertising gig, where she herself is trying to do the numbers to win - all the while, glorying in her wealth. Is that supposed to be funny? Somehow ironic and tongue-in-arsecheek? Ooh, she has such wealth - and look, mum! She's doing fcuking Gala Bingo! Well, fcuk me, Bobbyg, jesus h she is. How funny! What a clever ad and ruse to play on us minging village idiots who are so desperate one-and-all to believe that we'll get to change our lives like Sharon has. After all, if she's doing it, we should as well. Let's buy play Gala Bingo, now. Go, go quickly Bobbyg into the housing estate and sell your fat ass for a ticket. It'll all be fine - I have seen the life and light that is Sharon, and all will be well.
Are we really, truly supposed to fall for this festering turd of an ad, this fecal vomit, this diarrhoetic diatribe against our taste and standards? (The same applies to Billy Connolly's ad for the National Lottery; in fact every motherfcuker who arrogantly and presumptiously thinks they can trade on their fame forever, regardless of what the subject is, to promote something that they think will sell simply because they are the ones promoting it - and regardless of the blatant fact that all the Lotto ads are sh*t, mate. Hello?!)
And does she really, truly think she's funny? Of course she does! But where's the effin evidence? There isn't any! Has she seen herself? 'Course not. It's so desperately sad, when you think how she used to be. It's heartbreaking (if I had a heart, dear reader, instead of which my spleen has grown so huge by witnessing Sharon's antics, that there simply is no room at the inn, and I must vent, to make my gristly love pump return - that's heart, you filthy thing you). I mean, just look at her, flouncing about with your look-at-me-being-funny-aren't-I-cute-and-quirky-and-silly-and-playing-myself-up? NO. No, Sharon, you're just coming across as a very wealthy, stinking rat dropping, who thinks you're so adored, you can do such excrement, and think not only can you get away with it, and get even more money - when you have more than enough to last a thousand lifetimes - but be loved for it at the same time. Just gobsmacking, truly. Get a fcuking life. Stop being such a cretinous turd.
I'm hoping that one of the orbiting satellites circumnavigating the planet-that-is-her-head, will make her realise that, just perhaps, her ego is out of control, and that, just perhaps, it's not normal when your head has started up its own planetary gravitational pull.
I confess I just wish for the old, lovely Sharon, who was and could be charming and for whom you wished well, even when she was wealthy and successful, because you didn't hate her for it - because her personality wasn't based on the splicing of Stalin's mind with a gigantic pair of terrifying p*ss flaps.
There's still time, Sharon. Take a couple of hundred leaves out of your hubby's book. Return to the human fold, ditch the satellites, revert to a less ridiculous and scary hairdo - kill the alien lifeform, kill. Come home to Joe Pub(l)ic's warm and fleshy bosom of love - all will be forgiven .... Otherwise, just p*ss off.
And then she got into the X Factor shit. OK, so she was fine to begin with, but then clearly the fame of that, combined with the glory and fame already achieved, went to her head to such a terrifying, monstrous degree, that she completely changed.
Her personality went from one of being charming and colourful, to that of a totally arrogant arsewipe. Suddenly, All Hail Sharon Syndrome was clearly pounding her brain and soul to the point where she just couldn't see the woods for the trees, or a reality check for her elevated status; she couldn't cope anymore with being simply human in light of such adoration, and she relented.
She became the b*tch fest from hell - snearing (she should get an Oscar for it, but then her head would truly explode, and she'd still think, is that it?); shouting, remonstrating and talking over others - and always making out it was the others who were doing so - always believing herself to be right; throwing water over that poor village savant to her left (don't get me wrong: he's a genuinely lovely guy and strikes me as being seriously sweet - but to the point where you want to pop him into your jacket pocket, and pat him on the head from time to time).
The first profound signal of her Change was the transformation of her lovely hair to the nazi b*tch princess hairdo that landed on her head one episode, and has stuck with her relentlessly ever since, regardless of the fact that it looks so ridiculous, so fake, so I'm-a-celeb-and-ain't-I-cute (NO!), with that don't-fcuk-with-me mass of flicked locks and excessive tints (do they glow in the dark; are they supposed to direct traffic?; does she think they look cool and trendy? Yeh, like someone trying to do a Fonz impression in 2007). One of my pet conspiracy theories is that the hairdo is actually an alien lifeform from Planet Nazi B*tch, and took over her mind and hence the transformation.
But anyway, her utterly obnoxious behaviour, her believing herself a true god, rather than realising she'd turned into an utterly foul four-star general (see you next tuesday), didn't end there. Oh, no. She then starts doing a Gala Bingo advertising gig, where she herself is trying to do the numbers to win - all the while, glorying in her wealth. Is that supposed to be funny? Somehow ironic and tongue-in-arsecheek? Ooh, she has such wealth - and look, mum! She's doing fcuking Gala Bingo! Well, fcuk me, Bobbyg, jesus h she is. How funny! What a clever ad and ruse to play on us minging village idiots who are so desperate one-and-all to believe that we'll get to change our lives like Sharon has. After all, if she's doing it, we should as well. Let's buy play Gala Bingo, now. Go, go quickly Bobbyg into the housing estate and sell your fat ass for a ticket. It'll all be fine - I have seen the life and light that is Sharon, and all will be well.
Are we really, truly supposed to fall for this festering turd of an ad, this fecal vomit, this diarrhoetic diatribe against our taste and standards? (The same applies to Billy Connolly's ad for the National Lottery; in fact every motherfcuker who arrogantly and presumptiously thinks they can trade on their fame forever, regardless of what the subject is, to promote something that they think will sell simply because they are the ones promoting it - and regardless of the blatant fact that all the Lotto ads are sh*t, mate. Hello?!)
And does she really, truly think she's funny? Of course she does! But where's the effin evidence? There isn't any! Has she seen herself? 'Course not. It's so desperately sad, when you think how she used to be. It's heartbreaking (if I had a heart, dear reader, instead of which my spleen has grown so huge by witnessing Sharon's antics, that there simply is no room at the inn, and I must vent, to make my gristly love pump return - that's heart, you filthy thing you). I mean, just look at her, flouncing about with your look-at-me-being-funny-aren't-I-cute-and-quirky-and-silly-and-playing-myself-up? NO. No, Sharon, you're just coming across as a very wealthy, stinking rat dropping, who thinks you're so adored, you can do such excrement, and think not only can you get away with it, and get even more money - when you have more than enough to last a thousand lifetimes - but be loved for it at the same time. Just gobsmacking, truly. Get a fcuking life. Stop being such a cretinous turd.
I'm hoping that one of the orbiting satellites circumnavigating the planet-that-is-her-head, will make her realise that, just perhaps, her ego is out of control, and that, just perhaps, it's not normal when your head has started up its own planetary gravitational pull.
I confess I just wish for the old, lovely Sharon, who was and could be charming and for whom you wished well, even when she was wealthy and successful, because you didn't hate her for it - because her personality wasn't based on the splicing of Stalin's mind with a gigantic pair of terrifying p*ss flaps.
There's still time, Sharon. Take a couple of hundred leaves out of your hubby's book. Return to the human fold, ditch the satellites, revert to a less ridiculous and scary hairdo - kill the alien lifeform, kill. Come home to Joe Pub(l)ic's warm and fleshy bosom of love - all will be forgiven .... Otherwise, just p*ss off.
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Note re photograph: This scary picture was collected freely from the internet and is believed to be public domain. If you own the copyright to this image, please send an email to perspectiveiskey@yahoo.co.uk and Bobbyg will remove it.
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