Monday, October 6, 2008

What's The Story, Belligerent Rockstar with Little-to-No Redeeming Features?

Quite apart from his trashing of Jay Z headlining Glastonbury, Noel Gallagher has always been great for a laugh. His complete inability to recognise the talent of anybody else in the music universe ever, and his 'Holy Jesus, I'm such a wasted trash bag, look how many pills I can swallow while drinking this pint' schtick have pissed off many a previously-impartial observer.

Some Irish guy (having just gotten his Canadian citizenship papers) jumped up on stage at a show and kicked fuck out of the poisonous little Mancunian.

While his 'I don't have a drop of English blood in me' bullshit makes me momentarily second-guess my own Celtic pride, I have to give him props for this:

"...I remember my mam would only buy Irish butter and milk."

Word up, Home Slice. My mum used to do stuff like that too. Still does, actually. There's always Irish Breakfast tea at my folks' place.

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