Rewriting history, celebrity-style

I hate revisionism in all walks of life. Let facts be facts and never forget, I say. Whether it be the scurrilous crimes of Holocaust denial or ignoring Gary Glitter as a credible artist. Unfortunately as humans we are particularly fickle in this regard, especially so when applied to celebrity land. But in reality, if someone is an arsehole and dies, they do not become canonised. They are merely a dead arsehole. In the world of the celebrity, death is the ultimate PR boost. And on occasions, death is not even necessary to turn the polls of the proles back in your favour. You can rescue your reputation simply by signing a new contract.

Consider the farrago surrounding Wayne Rooney - footballer, granny botherer, adulterer. The kind of ten-a-penny thug you see in pubs across the land starting fights; he would be a hod-carrier were it not for his natural gift. A gift he seems to be intent on squandering by eating lots of pies and contracting various STI's. Following half a season of injury and rancid form, he threatened to leave Manchester United and park his considerable backside on the treatment table of a bigger, shinier club. Some of the more mentally-challenged Manchester United fans turned up at his mansion to have a right good moan. Poor wee Sir Alex Ferguson made a weepy appeal in a press conference for the loveable little scamp to stay.

Manchester United's quandary was that Rooney has been dreadful for the best part of a year, meaning they had the choice of either letting him go for a fraction of his perceived worth, or paying him lots and lots (and lots) of money. They chose the latter. Not that I have any sympathy for that football club and if they go into administration and end up languishing in the lower echelons of the football league and Fergie ends up destitute and offering handjobs for haggis there will be few people happier than me about it. But I digress - they bit the bullet and paid up, plunging themselves into more debt and making their 'business model' even more laughable. Our plucky England hero 'Wazza' engineered a deal estimated to be worth in excess of 1 million pounds per month, and with a Scotsman at that. Quite some feat.

And what of the angry supporters? Well, the tub-thumping Manyoo morons are suddenly all giddy about him again. The fat waste of space has pulled their collective pants down and given his supporters a right good rogering. Surely the next step is yet another astronomical rise in season ticket prices to pay for Wazza's prostitutes, but all this is now forgotten, as Rooney has somehow displayed his 'loyalty' to the football club by leveraging a 100%+ pay rise and all is forgiven.When Rooneys' career is over (in approximately 2 years) the Manchester United fans will look back on his time with a nostalgic tear in the eye, and few will remember the utter greed the dirty little turncoat bastard displayed during that balmy October in 2010. No wonder the rest of the world hates us when we have little gits like him representing us on the world stage, swearing at the ref or getting sent off.

Moving onto dead people. A controversial topic being that it is considered insensitive to speak ill of the dead. But then people run Hitler down all the time, and he's pretty much dead, unless he's a cyborg who is biding his time in his secret base on the moon. One such example is the Deceased and Disgraced Big Brother 'star' Jade Goody, who went from social pariah to 'princess of hearts' and all she had to do was die. The foul-mouthed, arrogant, idiotic, argumentative bully was finally exposed on Celebrity Big Brother, but in truth she had been vile for years. She can be witnessed bullying contestants on her first stint in Big Brother and some other piece of shit on Channel 5. On the original Big Brother she was public enemy #1 until Channel 4 - so worried by the repercussions that her exit from the house would trigger - started to constructively edit her to be a loveable idiot as opposed to a vile one.

Yes she got cancer and cancer is a terrible thing. A terrible thing that roughly one third of us will have at some point in our lives (normally at the end) so there is nothing at all remarkable about a celebrity having it. Patrick Swayze had it. But then he came across as a decent human being who also had talent and therefore a right to be celebrated and remembered. He also didn't have cameras hovering around him as bits of his hair fell out or go through with a tokenistic wedding ceremony and as far as I know he didn't profit from his illness in any way. He lived his life as a decent man and he died a decent man, with his dignity intact. Jade never possessed dignity - living her life in front of the camera as an ignorant and nasty piece of work, her thin veil of goofiness exposed every time she disagreed with someone. Lest we forget her exploitation of cheap Indian labour to manufacture her pungent perfume twinned with her utter contempt for the inhabitants of the country, laid bare when she repeatedly abused a fellow Celebrity Big Brother contestant, branding her 'Shilpa Poppadum' and 'Shilpa Fuckawalla' amongst a retinue of other witty put-downs.

Somehow, a woman who encompassed all that is wrong with this country was championed. As we slide down the international league tables for standard of living and education, as we continue to recruit from abroad because people here are too bloody thick or bone idle to contribute to our society, as more and more irresponsible people continually procreate and thus perpetuate and grow the cycle of mediocrity, as the people who actually work and contribute to society become increasingly outnumbered by the dull-witted and unemployed, we should remember who we idolise and why we choose to do so. We're supposed to look up to Idols, not down on them. We're supposed to celebrate and nurture talent, diversity, excellence and ingenuity, not the opposite. And death should not redefine who we are or our accomplishments (or lack of them)

The headlines following her death were hilariously hyperbolic, such was the warmness with which she was suddenly regarded. The tabloids who had called for her head several times were fawning in their tributes to this great, great woman, who achieved nothing more than reducing the National average I.Q. There were hordes of fat, low-functioning women pushing their prams on a pilgrimage to Bermondsey to pay their last respects to their fallen hero.The England flags at BNP H.Q. were flown at half-mast. Chip wrappers blew across the road in eerie silence; perhaps a reminder of Jade's favourite dish. Britain was wounded; its heart ripped out by this tragic loss. Saint Jade was born.

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