Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Some unorganized shit I wrote about my hatred of William Hung

Kill Bill

I’ve been fighting this for a while now. Ever since I heard it on the radio for the second time. The first time it was a novelty. The second, an affront to everything I love about our overpopulated, supersaturated pop-culture controlled music scene today. I wrestled with whether this was the pinnacle or antithesis of popular culture. Was this the exception that proved the rule? No, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
The first time I laughed, but not again. No more. This was ridiculous. My hatred for William Hung was semi-immediate. After his comedic remix gained air-play on radio stations making fun of him.

Not to mention those fucking turncoats at FUSE. A station that revels in not becoming what MTV did. The station that has satirical commercials poking at MTV series like “Newlyweds” protests anything but music on a music video channel and yet who produced the music video of this retarded hack and showed the “Making of the Video?” FUSE. Fucking hypocrites.

I would gladly sacrifice any two of my immediate family members to see the death of William Hung in an Iraqi torture camp. I would gladly give up my fertility to see William Hung, and every greedy, senseless, idiot, record executive who has had any association with this “man’s” record deal die a terribly painful and excruciatingly horrible death. I would without hesitation cast my first born into an active volcano for the opportunity to cast everyone who purchased the “Inspiration” album into the fiery depths of Mordor.
If William Hung turned out to be a cult leader and got everyone to drink the punch, I would dance for a year straight. I would not stop celebrating until my heart exploded from happiness and utter exhaustion. Never before have I wanted to kick a “celebrity” in the face more. However, I would hesitate to kick Hung in the face for fear that he would end up looking even the slightest bit closer to normal.
If I ever received a one album deal from a recording label I record tracks that would dream up elaborate ends of this man’s life that would make the 50 Cent sound like 98 Degrees. I would spew venom of my hatred for this man and everyone who has anything to do with his rise to the front and center of the public eye that would make people say out loud, “You know, I don’t think that Tupac/Biggie thing was so bad.” I want to bash William Hung in a way that would make Eminem’s detractors think, “Slim Shady isn’t really so bad. He is after all protected under freedom of speech.”
I would like to go on national television and say things about these morons that would cause Michael Powell to furrow his brow and say “Who?” when the name Howard Stern is mentioned.

If there was ever a reason to stop the juggernaut that is American Idol, Billy Hung is it. He’s got a porn-star name, but I’d rather see him play the lead in a snuff film.

I dream of a William Hung suicide. I can’t fall asleep at night without trying to come up with clever headlines for the announcement of his death. “William Hung Himself” “The Jury is Hung on his Legacy…and so is he” “Ironically in life he was William Hung, in death he’ll be known as William Hare Kari”
I can picture the taped suicide message. “I ty vewy haad but it to much even fo me but my mom want let me go outside wivout my jacket.” Fucking goofy looking bastard.

Of course it will be released with 3 different remixes as B-sides. It will shoot up the charts.

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