2009 – The Year of the U2 Virus

An excerxise in Beautiousness

An exercise in Beautiousness

Stretch in the age of Aquarius.

So Little Man Bono recently said that he wanted 2009 to be the Year of U2. Oh really. This causes a problem for Stretch. With the release of next month’s No Line on the Horizon, they will be smack bang in the consciousness of the planet. Perfect timing really. In fact, suspiciously perfect timing. Obamaman making his first cup of tea in the White House; Israel mismanaging the unmicromanageable situation in Gaza by killing everyone in sight; the collapse of the global economy and the inevitable self-destruction of Givo Trapper-Toni. What the world needs now is a gobby Little Man Bono with a whole projectile vomit of righteousness and indignation, separation, condemnation, revelation, isolation, desolation, mechanisation, etc etc.

Here’s my existential issue. Say I live to be at least 50, which would seem like quite an achievement considering the self-abuse this monkey indulges in, Little Man Bono will have taken up one year of that by demanding ownership of 2009. He will achieve this through the release of the album, the endless tour, the interviews, appearances on Jonathan Ross (minus the bad language, ohhhh you), the incessant award ceremonies like the Grammys and the Mofo mofo and that’s before the benefit gigs….There will be a new image, a new set of values and a new tint in those glasses. They will have taken up more than a fiftieth of my life. Violating it more like with their media machine. Horrible hangers on will be draped across their Lillies booth and paid assholes Guggi and Gavin Friday (remember the Fall, Gavin) will be wheeled out from storage to drink cocktails and simper about.

I always get the feeling that the Larry guy keeps all the rest down in a pit just like Buffalo Bill in that film

Bono, rub this here lotion on your body!

Bono, rub this here lotion on your body!

about sheepies. Stretch feels frightened by the sheepies. Why is that? Maybe I should see someone? Or is it CowFear, Bovinebloodcurdlingbollox? I see the Larry guy screaming down the hole, waking up his school-gimps and ordering the Edge (stoopid, stoopid Edge) and the guy with the perm to jam and come up with some new rawk. The Uber-undead, Lanois and Eno, are released from their cryogenic chamber, thawed and given gitanes. This makes them happy which in turn creates noise. But the Larry guy is the key, the reason it all exists, and he is the Keyser Soze element. Beating the band into shape and getting them on the road again. Shaping Little Man Bono requires a Rocky Balboa-style training montage.

Little Man Bono, tired of this process, steals the tapes and flees to the South of France, holing up in a chateau and brooding. After a month of dismay and some sex with Rebecca de Mornay, he sticks the mastertape on and begins to dance around his house in a very theatrical way dressed only in his underpants, screaming to himself.

“This is my Year, this is my Year!”

A very strange boy wanders from the Netherlands to the South of France after being sent to the shop for milk and fags. Overhears Little Man Bono crooning in his Y-fronts, freaks out and hits RECORD. This recording ends up on the internet, scaring the shit out of sweat-shop owner and wet dream of Lars Ulrich, Paul McGuinness. However, listening to the tape, all he can hear is a drunk and bitter Little Man Bono crying the words of various Coldplay songs and a nasty vomiting sound. Crying in the corner Little Man Bono confesses to his dictaphone that he still doesn’t get that joke, “Why did Bono fall off the stage? Coz he was standing too close to the Edge.”

Anyway Stretch is worried. It hasn’t started yet, but it’s in the post and we know where we’re going to end up by the end of the year. It is necessary in one way for them to keep going. In the land of Richard Corrigan and strap-on Corrs, U2 may resemble the closest thing that increasingly bland little country is going to get to counter-culture. They may be a bright spot in a media sponsored recession. I may even grow to love them like I did as a child, but I doubt it. For all the good they do, they have a habit of pissing Stretch off and as Steve Buscemi would say,

“that can’t happen!”

3 thoughts on “2009 – The Year of the U2 Virus

  1. Prepare for the End of Days, Stretch. Its time for some serious Tribulation time.

    You’ve got the collapse of the global economy, worldwide war, and the arrival of the antichrist (wee guy with cloven feet, a hat to cover the horns, and big shades to hide those satanic eyes. The U2 fans think they’re the ones who’ll get Raptured, because they think Bono’s the second coming, but they’re all following the wrong guy. Once he has all his minions marked with the bar-code from his new album, he’ll be in a position to unleash hell on Earth. They’ll be his slaves and he won’t be treating them well. “No mudderfuckin VIP passes to Lillies for you maggots, now get on with the pitch-forking and burning or you’ll be impaled on the sharp end of Satan’s justice and end up eaten by some giant carnivorous slugs and burn forever.”

    Hey, and Colplay heads, don’t think you’re in line for the Rapture either – straight to the pit marked “Horrendous Suffering for Eterninty” for you lot. And be thankful, you’re getting off easy.

    And as for all you other emos, don’t even try to run. You fates are sealed. Is excruciating and relentless plain an emotion? Well it is now. You lot like emotion, well try torturously slow, miserable, terrified death, tormented by the endless screams of your emo heroes being disassembled by plagues of satanic insects. That ripping and scratching sound is their flesh being stripped off. How’s that for emotion? Oh, and eventually, we’ll have some giant carnivorous slugs for you guys as well.

    An for all you other Left Behinds, ha ha I told you you should have been listening to The Fall all this time. Mark E is the good guy, see. Rapture for us, seven years of pestilence, persecution and obliteration for the rest of ya, including Gavin Friday, who was cast out by Mark E. Enjoy.

  2. uggh, I just got sick on myself. it turns out that horrible Jim Carroll with his blog of self-importance was talking about a no-U2 day. I feel like I have accidentally allied myself with the child-muncher. Please please Ballantine, cleanse me of my revolting sins. I didn’t know, honest. I hate him so much. Will he burn, will he? There must be room for him to be flayed in front of the Anti-christ…please make it happen. Meanwhile, all that office could be sunk into a lava canal. That’d be fun. Might let the Boyd fucker live as he has written stuff that didn’t include himself as importanto…Tomorrow I will slap myself seven times around the block until whatever appears to punish me for my hideous heinous sins. Am in hell now, tomorrow who knows..who knows?

  3. You’re gonna have to undergo some serious Old Testament style penance to get the stain fo Jim off yourself. I pitty you. You’re dark alliance with Jim was not of your doing, and I believe you had no hand or knowledge or it, but that doesn’t get away from the fact that you wear the Stain of Jim. There are few more damming sins.

    Be assured, Jim will suffer a worse fate than burning and being flayed, something communsurate with the suffering he has spread on Earth.

    I’d love to bring back the days when the Corrs would just serve you a pint and then shut the fuck up, but unfortunately reversing time is not within my powers. I comfort myself with the knowledge that their final punishments will be in the top tier in terms of pain and defilement. Their future suffering is simply beyond the capacity of the human brain to imagine. All I’ll say is it involves Meat Loaf, Simon Cowell and a shitload of voltage, roughly cut metal tubing, rusty tools, mechanical spreaders, rabid deamons, and a device known as an eviscerator. The results will not be pretty, none the participants will enjoy themselves (well maybe Cowell, I hear he’s into that sort of thing, although I suspect he prefers not to be on the receiving end), and new knowledge about human anatomy will be gleaned.

    For the less musical and more moosical, you’ll be simply aghast at what’s in store for Sarah Palin and her brainless minions.

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