Posts Tagged ‘arsehole

11
Feb
09

a sneak peek inside bono’s diary (or ‘how to save the world in seven days’)

If world hunger could be solved by relentless self-publicity and rampant egotism, Bono could have single-handedly fed the world and left Africa facing an obesity epidemic years ago.

Admit it, U2 are loathesome. They’re a Nu Labour Dire Straits for people who smoked joss sticks at university because they were too scared to try cannabis. Bono wears stupid glasses. His trousers are too tight.  His anti-drugs stand makes me glad that most rock stars snort coke off hookers’ inner thighs because it means they’re too wasted to start lecturing us about global warming/Aids/third world debt/the donkey sanctuary at Sidmouth.

Talking about debt, have you seen how much it costs to see U2 live? Go and see them more than once in a lifetime and you’ll need Bono to negotiate with your building society to prevent your house being repossessed.

U2 have a new album out. Bono is going to be everywhere, all over again. Banging on. Singing. Both are equally irritating.

Lets make Bono history. And The Edge. And the other two.

Let's make Bono history. And The Edge. And the other two.

A typical week for Bono:

Monday: Summit meetings with Afghan warlords. Lunch/colonic irrigation at Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow’s house. Use Apple Martin’s puppet theatre to recreate historical scenes of abuse from the Abu Ghraib prison to raise her awareness of humanitarian issues.

Tuesday: Crisis talks with Israeli defence ministers over arms sales to India. During coffee break, draft plan on napkin to end all famine before Sunday teatime. Lunch in leprosy colony. E-conference with Beckhams to solve marital problems. Create scale model of Taj Mahal from Lego for son’s pre-school ‘build a house’ project. Send it home on Lear jet.

Wednesday: Meet with Palestinian Authority President at gym. Agree to 15-minute acoustic set at his birthday party if he imposes an immediate moratorium on prisoner executions. Meet The Edge at tapas bar. Write new platinum-selling album: ‘Unchallenging Pop Songs for Morons’.

Thursday: Turn back the tides. Feed the 5,000 with one KFC bargain bucket and a ‘go large’ milkshake.

Friday: Breakfast with authorities in Guatemala to persaude them to incorporate a wider ranging gender perspective into their policy making. Photo call at UN headquarters. Swear (“crikey!”) during live TV interview about the ivory trade. Muffins and cocktails with Elton John.

Saturday: Grant Pope an audience and put forward 30-year plan for Catholic church. Personally intervene when hotel runs out of Champagne with stock from private vineyard. Video conference with family. Note there appears to be a new child, apparently born in 2002.

Sunday: Smoke joss sticks and listen to Dire Straits.

Another reason I hate U2: my first ‘proper’ boyfriend decided, unilaterally, to choose ‘our song’ It was ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’. He claimed not to see the irony. Three years later, he found what he was looking for: my best friend. Five years after that, she found what SHE was looking for: Noel Fielding of The Mighty Boosh (does that mean ANYTHING to you out there in the US? I doubt it. Sorry). Them’s tricks.

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08
Feb
09

Why women love bastards – and how you can be one

Another of my friends has become enamoured with an arsehole – and science has provided her with the perfect excuse to keep putting up with his bastardry.

It’s been a confusing few months for women – on the one hand we have new research that women are hard-wired to find ruthless, unpleasant bastards attractive, on the other Harriet Harman announced a new Equality Bill that will force firms to reveal the salary gap between their male and female staff.

On the plus side, this means that some of the callous, self-obsessed and deceitful men that have been underpaying us for years will get their come-uppance, on the minus side we’ll probably end up sleeping with them for their troubles.

According to scientist Peter Jonason, women’s attraction to bad boys is the work of ‘the dark triad’ which is, before you get even more excited, a set of three unpleasant personality traits and not a really awesome kung-fu gang that operate at night.

Hold on to your petticoats, ladies, its the Dark Triad!

Hold on to your petticoats, ladies, it's the Dark Triad!

Apparently, it’s self-obsession, callousness and deceitfulness that really get women’s pulses racing because we equate men behaving like arses with masculinity and the ability to father healthy children.

The key for men who want to knock up as many women as possible before doing an early runner is to have the right amount of dark triad traits – too many and you’re a social outcast, just enough and you’re every lady’s favourite swordsman. Frankly, I’m not sure who comes out of this looking worse – the men who worship both Satan and the mirror or the gullible women who put up with them.

Jonason went on to give James Bond as the ultimate example of the kind of man that women find irresistible, telling New Scientist: “He’s clearly disagreeable, very extroverted and likes trying new things – killing people, new women…” Well, everyone’s got to have a hobby or two.

A bed-hopping psychopath with commitment issues - dreamy!

James Bond: A bed-hopping, crotch grabbing psychopath with commitment issues - dreamy!

Now I’ve met plenty of self-obsessed, callous, deceitful men (and, in the spirit of Harriet Harman’s Equality Bill, lots of self-obsessed, callous and deceitful women, too) but not one of them could have been compared to James Bond. For a start, not many international playboys are in the habit of living with their parents, driving a Mini Metro or being sick in my lap after one too many lagers.

James Bond may employ the dark triad in order to get women into bed, but in fairness, there are several mitigating factors that would probably make a one-night stand with him seem slightly less regrettable than normal the next morning. For example:

(a) James Bond is eye-wateringly attractive.

(b) James Bond is exceptionally, ridiculously rich.

(c) James Bond has a single digit sonic agitator unit on his ring finger. Imagine how that could liven up a dull evening.

(d) James Bond drives an Aston Martin that’s worth more than your house.

(e) James Bond may sleep with lots of women, but at least he’s choosy: all his bedfellows are required by law to have a name like Christmas Jones, Holly Goodhead, Harlot Bignips or Vixen Lovepocket.

(f) James Bond is unlikely to say: “If you’re looking for somewhere to sit, love, you can always try my face.”

(g) James Bond’s stories about his day at work are genuinely interesting.

(h) James Bond does not wear a t-shirt that says ‘Let’s Play Hide the Sausage’ or ‘If Found, Return to The Pub’.

(i) James Bond does not get involved in tawdry street fights, rather he harpoons his enemies to trees, or cuts them in half with a laser or a hovering killer tea tray.

(j) James Bond never pretends he’s going to call you. He’s James Bond. Simply being alive the next morning is bonus enough.

In a nutshell, being seduced by James Bond – even if he is partial to other women and killing people – is probably more fulfilling than spending the night with a more run-of-the-mill womaniser who can’t bring any spy gadgets, helicopters or speedboats to the party.

Jonason also believes that the dark triad traits may be genetic, meaning that some men are literally unable to stop behaving badly because they’re following an obscure evolutionary strategy developed specifically to impregnate/annoy women. If this is evolution, I think I may have to start believing in God.

There is light at the end of the tunnel, however (for women, at least), because the seduction techniques of the dark triads are only a short-term strategy for making babies. Women tend to settle down with nice men rather than one-man population explosions who pretend they’ve been in the SAS, continually rabbit on about their muscles and then make you sleep in the wet patch.

This leaves nice men picking up the pieces from their partner’s last relationship with a womanising cad who they will always suspect their girlfriend fancied more than them and a host of ancient dark triad merchants propping up bars across the land muttering about how they used to be ‘a player’ and trying to seduce your Nan.

Interestingly, the same research discovered that women aren’t considered irresistible if they’re callous, self-obsessed and deceitful, although if we get Harriet Harman on the case, we might be able to make it law on the grounds of equal rights before the next election.

PS J, if you’re reading, A is a twat.




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