The Invisible Mind of Richard Hammond, BBC.
Hammond, above, stole the nations's sclerotic heart when he cheated death, escaped by a whisker, miraculously survived some teenage stunt on the ghastly Top Gear programme. He did nothing of the sort of course but his wee spill was milked for all it was worth, all the way to Little Dicky's private hospital suite. Plucky, spirited and all heart, the wee man was up and raring to go, just like the Lord had said, Lazarus - or Richard - pick up thy Porsche and Drive, baby, drive, you ain't dead, just bruised a bit and you can't buy publicity this good, not even in Heaven.
For readers in countries without TV, the Top Gear format consists of middle-aged blokes driving impossibly priced motorcars sideways around corners with smoke pouring from the tyres; brainless eulogies to Ferrari, Bugatti, Mercedes and McLaren and analyses of the driving capabilities of those celebrated for their tits, their singing and playacting or their utter irredeemable cuntishness; these interviews are conducted by the motoring journalists' equivalent of Mr O'Bono, of the Irish beat group, U2 , Mrs Clarkson's fat, wee son, Jerry, and are a reminder of how abject, miserable, humiliated, wretched,
Little Hammond has graduated from doing adverts for Morrison's
Anyone who has ever dropped a fragment of hash on the carpet whilst tripped out of their minds and desperately sought its retrieval will attest to the multi universes of nasty, filthy, little bastards living in the carpet, billions of the fuckers, the damn thing is alive with them and they laugh at Mr Richard Dyson and his infinite succession of miracle vacuum cleaners, each one better than the previous one which was, at launch, unimproveable-on; the domestic arm of GlobaCorp, Dyson and his wheeled dustgobblers are so essential to the nation that he had to shift their manufacture out to wogland, and they don't strike, the little brown and yellow fuckers, should be ashamed of himself, Dyson, shit product, shit ethics, but he's not.
Anyone who ever read about the Dutchman who invented the microscope knows that, in his words, there are more creatures living on one of my teeth thatn there are grains of sand on the beach. That stuff exists in mind-boggling abundance, even though you can't see it, is fairly rudimentary intelligence but Hammond lads it all up , waltzing coolly, eyebrow raised, through slo-mo special effects - they don't make him any bigger - as though he was actually in a rock video.
The programme, a series of micro - nano? - photography studies is visually startling and I guess educational, informative, at least, as it magnifies both the everyday and the esoteric to many thousands of times the naked eye perception and then suggest ways in which the knowledge thus gleaned can enhance our already fairly luxurious lives; close, microscopic observation of, for instance, a lotus leaf, has led to us aping it's micro-forestation of water- and dirt- resistant surface hairs in the manufacture of an entirely water-repellent fabric. If only there was a bullshit one.
Interesting stuff, if ultimately corporate and capitalistic but Oh, Hammond; he can't resist the laddish quip, the As You Do, the There You Go, Top Gear Laddisms, pathetic in that milieu, entirely inappropriate, irritating and just plain fucking stupid in this pseudo-scientific outing. It's not that the Beeb lacks presnters with credentials, its just that it takes such a lowest common denominator approach to popular science, thinking, rather like Morrisonss, that just because its Hammond folk will buy it, watch it, love it- even though he spoils it completely; this is Ruin writ large, this is like the Crankies Meets Tomorrow's World, avoid it.
contemptible, base and servile we have become that for entertainment, enraptured, we applaud the Toytown antics of freaks and slappers and junkies and egomaniacs, burning rubber in an environment invisibly encrusted with safety measures, experts and massive insurance cover. And then we deplore the teenage and infant ASBOID carthieves, aping their betters and sometimes dying or killing.
Top Gear is watched by tens, maybe hundreds of millions of people all over the world and its preseners, therefore, can write their own tickets. The Filth-O-Graph's James May fronts other vaguely techie shows, bumbling from Farnborough to NASA in an entirely unengaging amateurish fashion; Clarkson scribbles half-hearted rants for The skymadeupnewsandfilth Times and fills any vacant seat on any of the proliferation of game-quiz-talk shows which don't necessarily star Steven Fag or David Mitchell or Marcus Bogstick but generally do; he's a BBC wheel; shame he doesn't come off, but there, as he would say, you go,
Top Gear is watched by tens, maybe hundreds of millions of people all over the world and its preseners, therefore, can write their own tickets. The Filth-O-Graph's James May fronts other vaguely techie shows, bumbling from Farnborough to NASA in an entirely unengaging amateurish fashion; Clarkson scribbles half-hearted rants for The skymadeupnewsandfilth Times and fills any vacant seat on any of the proliferation of game-quiz-talk shows which don't necessarily star Steven Fag or David Mitchell or Marcus Bogstick but generally do; he's a BBC wheel; shame he doesn't come off, but there, as he would say, you go,
Richard Hammond earns £3m from Top Gear alone not taking into account the sponsorships deals etc etc - please dont fool us into thinking this guy, or his wife or any member of his immediate family has ever set foot inside a supermarket especially Morrisons. You stupid little twat
From the youtube comments
and Teatime Kiddies' ShitScience shows and now presents a flagship blah blah blah ground breaking blah blah blah change your life programme called Richard Hammond's Invisible Mind, sorry, Worlds.Anyone who has ever dropped a fragment of hash on the carpet whilst tripped out of their minds and desperately sought its retrieval will attest to the multi universes of nasty, filthy, little bastards living in the carpet, billions of the fuckers, the damn thing is alive with them and they laugh at Mr Richard Dyson and his infinite succession of miracle vacuum cleaners, each one better than the previous one which was, at launch, unimproveable-on; the domestic arm of GlobaCorp, Dyson and his wheeled dustgobblers are so essential to the nation that he had to shift their manufacture out to wogland, and they don't strike, the little brown and yellow fuckers, should be ashamed of himself, Dyson, shit product, shit ethics, but he's not.
Anyone who ever read about the Dutchman who invented the microscope knows that, in his words, there are more creatures living on one of my teeth thatn there are grains of sand on the beach. That stuff exists in mind-boggling abundance, even though you can't see it, is fairly rudimentary intelligence but Hammond lads it all up , waltzing coolly, eyebrow raised, through slo-mo special effects - they don't make him any bigger - as though he was actually in a rock video.
The programme, a series of micro - nano? - photography studies is visually startling and I guess educational, informative, at least, as it magnifies both the everyday and the esoteric to many thousands of times the naked eye perception and then suggest ways in which the knowledge thus gleaned can enhance our already fairly luxurious lives; close, microscopic observation of, for instance, a lotus leaf, has led to us aping it's micro-forestation of water- and dirt- resistant surface hairs in the manufacture of an entirely water-repellent fabric. If only there was a bullshit one.
Interesting stuff, if ultimately corporate and capitalistic but Oh, Hammond; he can't resist the laddish quip, the As You Do, the There You Go, Top Gear Laddisms, pathetic in that milieu, entirely inappropriate, irritating and just plain fucking stupid in this pseudo-scientific outing. It's not that the Beeb lacks presnters with credentials, its just that it takes such a lowest common denominator approach to popular science, thinking, rather like Morrisonss, that just because its Hammond folk will buy it, watch it, love it- even though he spoils it completely; this is Ruin writ large, this is like the Crankies Meets Tomorrow's World, avoid it.
6 comments:
Sometime ago I believe these 3 twats tried to destroy a Japanese pick up truck by blowing it up, throwing it off a cliff etc. I can't help but think how much more entertaining it would have been if these three fuckers had been inside it when they tried to destroy it. Clarkson and these other nonentities are all thst wrong with the BBC today overpaid saloonbar loudmouths braying about his daughters first car bought for a couple of hundred quid probably loose change found in his turn ups driving about in the "Paddock" thats the way rub their fucking noses in it. As for Hammond he has and I have no idea either managed to front Engineering connections on the National Geographic channel. Now I am an engineer who grew up with Meccano and Hornby double o train sets and I do realise that not everyone is up to scratch with engineering but is it really nescessary to dumb it down as much as he does? While I am at it with all their money can't they afford the services of a barber preferably an absent minded one that does bloodletting?
Exactly, mr anonymous, that's it exactly; the trouble is that the blogosphere is choked with braying, overpaid saloon bar loudmouths to whom Jerry Clarkson, for a few off colour remarks abour prime minister Snot, is God, the best loudmouth IN THE WORLD.
ps bloodletting's probably a sore subject in your neck of the woods; have things calmed down?
Perhaps we could get these three fuckwits over here testing bullet proof cars? Bombs going off all over the place even up here in the frozen north, Chiang Mai the "press" and how the Cyclops in no 10 would like this buch of useless kowtowing twats don't report the exposions. You can get 15 years in nick per offence Le Majeste you know, the king 82 years old has been in hospital since last September so watch this space for fun and games. There is conscription here, rich people don't apply, so about 100,000 poor sods armed to the teeth are in BKK and there have been a lots of thefts from military barracks, guns, ammunition, grenades have been stolen (translation, sold) There is another big demonstration this weekend the hotel and guest house owners are thrilled to bits with the prospect of empty rooms and bloodshed. On a lighter note at least the people here do somthing about this unelected governmnent whom they want out unlike the sheeple that the population of the UK have become over the past few decades. Nearest thing to political action is watching "have I got news for you" with that gurning dwarf and Murton reading from an idiot board instead of taking to the streets.
The Top Gear programme is just symptomatic of the entire output of TV and radio in the UK.
The content of the programmes is unimportant but the presentation is paramount.
Why do we need two news readers?
Why do so many programmes need two presenters who talk to each other instead of to the listner/viewer?
Why do we need so much background music?
Why is it necessary to "talk down" to the listener/audience?
Why is the coloured/white ratio so skewed to the coloured side in a white country? Not only in programes but even more so in adverts?
Time to start again.
Why are there so many weatherpersons on the BBC? Why is political coverage reserved largely to the Dimblebys and the wretched Neil; why do Merton and Hislop seemingly have a job for life, with their tired, old, slow-motion satire; is Nicholas Parsons immortal? And who pays for all the clothes?
I suspect the only way for us to wrest control from the BBC mafia is for there to be a national refusal to pay the tax; fat chance.
Rasmus
I couldn't agree with you more. However let me draw your attention to Justin Fletcher a presenter and actor his show 'Gigglebiz' carries the BBC pre-school television channel CBeebies.
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