The Shite Factor

Where the fuck's the off switch?

As I arse about on t'web my conjugal Kraken has The X Factor on the telly. Jesus. It's like a gaping wound that you can't stop staring at. I've just seen a 40 something man dressed in a kimono while whinnying a Kylie song. Worse (depths can always be further plumbed) he's had slanty eyes drawn onto his face to add to the faux-Oriental schtick. I feel as if I've been culturally assaulted and left for dead in the alleyway of taste. 
And as I was about to sign off this post I glimpsed four girls (I think that's what they were) sat on their arses on the stage while choking on their own false eyelashes/ notes. And then some bird came on dressed as the purple one from the Quality Street tin while balancing a tiger loaf on her head. 
I can't stop staring at it. This must be what it feels like to attend the death of a rapist in the electric chair. The whole thing makes you want to scrub your memory bank with caustic soda. Thank Christ I'm taking anti-psychotics. How the rest of the nation is getting through it is fucking well beyond me.