chrismoyles.net
- Mon Feb 26, 2007 11:00 pm
#271376
Ahh for all of those who find a certain Mr Joe Mott too good to be true..I give you a very unique take on the man and all that is this great laughing stock of so-called journalism. Please do take time to read this, and I've highlighted where you can find the Daily Star p****'s blogs of pure GOLD, some bloke at the Guardian has been taking a look at the tabloid hack who had a run-in with Moyles once.... 
- Charlie Brooker
You know how sometimes you develop an obsession with a writer's work, and decide to seek out their entire oeuvre and inhale their every word, even if you don't really know what an "oeuvre" is or what it looks like? Well, I do that for masochistic reasons. I actively enjoy reading people I can't stand. When they write something particularly horrid, a wave of nausea surges through me and my pulse quickens. I am hooked on it, like a base jumper compelled to leap off chimney stacks for the adrenaline rush. Consider it a sickness.
Previous obsessions have included Liz Jones of the London Evening Standard (specialist subjects: new age spa treatments and marital despair), and the Barefoot Doctor, who used to write for the Observer.
The latter took over my life for several months. Everything he said incensed me. He gushed a wild river of bullshit, which I swam through open-mouthed, savouring the taste. I even bought one of his books - a "guide to urban survival"; an incredible how-to manual apparently designed to help shallow, cosseted airheads become even more self-obsessed, justifying their unhinged narcissism as spiritual development.
It outlined concepts such as "people-surfing" - which seemed to involve deliberately developing superficial relationships for personal gain - and "visualisation". If you wanted a new laptop, he said, you should picture yourself throwing a magic lasso around it, and before long it would be yours in real life (assuming you walked into a shop and bought it at some point).
I read the book from cover to cover, pausing occasionally to hurl it across the room in disgust. Even the typeface annoyed me. It was brilliant.
And now I have a new obsession, this time with a blogger. Not just any old blogger, mind - this one's a showbiz journalist with a celebrity girlfriend. He is called Joe Mott and he writes for the Daily Star. His blog, archived at dailystar.co.uk/blog, is the single most dazzling body of work I have encountered in years. I urge you to read it yourself. It heaves with demented beauty.
At the top of the page squats a photo of our hero, grinning like a man who has just found £10,000 up his arse, beside the legend "Joe Mott's HOT". The word "HOT" appears to be made of gold. Over this, a little textual strap informs us that Joe Mott's HOT is "AWARD-WINNING". Sadly it is not clear what sort of award it was. Perhaps he entered a competition to see who could devise the most infuriating byline imaginable. If so, he deserved to win.
The byline on its own is enough to trigger my coveted puke-surge, but beneath it, thrillingly, Mott has actually written several hundred words about his incredible life. Within seconds he is describing a rowdy night out with some "fellow journos" and bragging about getting a Lotus Europa ("it's small, fast and arousing"). Slightly annoying, but this is Mott Lite. Scroll further down and you strike gold.
Mott recounts his night at the Baftas. He starts by ticking off "charmless man" Daniel Craig, who "had less charisma than the spotty youth who took my ticket on the way in ... come on son, you're James Bond ... you could have larged it at the parties afterwards ... sort it out."
Yeah, Craig. Pull your finger out.
Mott attended the evening with his current squeeze, Sarah Harding from Girls Aloud. "Fittest one there was my girlfriend. And you know that is an actual fact."
He clearly loves Sarah a lot - almost as much as himself, in fact, because he's recently bought her a "well flash gift... it's a Swarovski crystal-covered bottle in pink and it's blinger than everything in the world... the only other person who's got one at the moment is Jay Z."
But his life isn't all chuckles and flashbulbs and "larging it at the parties afterwards". There is also beauty. "I woke up this morning to find snow settled beautifully on the slate rooftops," he muses. "It's funny how I've started noticing that sort of thing as I've got older ... my younger self would still have been thinking about garters, G-strings and possibly women's volleyball."
Magical. But sadly his joy doesn't last long.
"I turned up at Cirque for the launch of a new mobile phone fronted by David Blaine," he writes. "I just wanted a free phone - simple. But look after me and you'll get plugs and a decent party write-up."
Instead, outrageously, an "Aussie-sounding bloke from God knows what PR company" holds him up at the door because "we thought you were bringing Sarah."
"You do not invite national press, make them wait at the door, tick them off for not publicising you properly last time ... then express disappointment that you haven't brought your celebrity girlfriend," Mott fumes. "The idiot should admit defeat and go to his natural home in telesales. And did I even get a phone? Nope."
Fighting back sympathetic tears, I read on. Mott visits lapdancing club Spearmint Rhino for a magazine launch, where his problems get worse still. "My mate fancied a girl who was there for the event, so I started talking to her ugly friend to try and get him in there ... [she] didn't even want to pass the time of day ... being snubbed by a rough bird is not a good experience."
Marvellous stuff. But not my words. The award- winning words of Joe Mott. Right now he's my favourite writer in the world. That a prick this immense could actually exist in our universe is utterly inconceivable - yet Mott, clearly the most brilliant parodist of our age, almost has you believing it's true. If I bump into him some day, while I am "larging it" at a swanky press awards ceremony, I swear I will kiss him full on the lips, whether Sarah Harding is there or not. I urge you to read him. The man is HOT.
- Charlie Brooker
neilt0 wrote:
Click, look, be happy.
