Pretty Much Everyone who Works at Radio 1 is a Twat… Except for Colin Murray

FACT OF THE WEEK: To get a job at B&Q you have to be either under 20 or over 60 years old. Borderline autistic social skills are preferred.

GO SEE THIS: I laughed so much when I saw this that the friend who showed it to me considered calling a priest. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aT2wbnOfoEE

MAIN EVENT:

For anyone who may be thinking along the lines of the traditional ‘just don’t listen then’ retort I say only this: It is an unavoidable fact of life that everyone has at some point listened to Radio One for an extended period of time. This is largely due to a law passed in 1995 stipulating that the station should be played constantly at every minimum wage workplace and every office staff room in the country. This means that everyone who has ever worked in a kitchen, factory, warehouse, shop, building site or any shit job for that matter will have been subjected to the anodyne station and its 12 song loop.

The music, though invariably average, actually serves as a blessed relief compared to the dronings of the presenters. This cretinous collection of individuals appear to have forgotten that they are no more than skinbags employed to press a play button and thus spend huge amounts of airtime sharing their half baked musings with the public (starting your own blog and cajoling your friends into viewing it once a week is of course a different Kettle of fish entirely).

Here are some of the Worst offenders…

JABBA THE MOYLES: Bernard Manning for the Ipod generation. As he never tires of informing the country Mr. Moyles is most successful breakfast radio DJ ever, though he unfortunately fails to realise that this is mainly because he has the kind of grating, nasal voice that is completely impossible to ignore and fall back to sleep, forcing the country to get up, turn him off and go to work on time.

He is so self-absorbed that he once completely failed to see why a yelping impression of a stereotypical black sit-com character might be offensive to Halle Berry, who he was interviewing at the time.

JO WHY-OH-DEAR-GOD-WILEY: I know she seems nice, but consider the following.

Jo fronts a TV show that failed to find even an average band from all the unsigned acts in the country when half an hour on Myspace invariably yields four or five gems.

She has a section on her show called changing tracks that basically serves as an avenue for emo children to talk about how My Chemical Romance cured their eating disorder - nothing to do with doctors, psychologists or parental support then?

Despite being the very embodiment of the ‘cool-Christian’ that came to your school to tell you not to do drugs, she’s one of the most powerful people in UK music and therefore partly responsible for its current state. I think that’s reason enough to burn her at the stake.

SCOTT NO-THRILLS-MILLS

You’d be forgiven for thinking that Scott Mills got his job as a Radio 1 DJ through Adecco when his office administrator placement finished, such is the lack of enthusiasm for music he exhibits. Even in an age when every public patch of grass has at least three a year, Mills had never been to a music festival before a trip to Glastonbury a couple of years ago. I’m not saying that every DJ should be a bearded, record bag wielding, lentil smelling, skinny tied nerd but it would be nice to think they have some idea.

Another problem I have with Scotty boy is ‘Flirt Divert’. In this mean-spirited little segment, women are encouraged to give out a special number to would be suitors they deem unfit to bask in the glow of their beauty. When the poor bastards - whose only crime let’s remember is to attempt to start a conversation in a public place - call the number they get put through to Mills’ answer machine, he then plays the messages on his show and guffaws like toddler at a pantomime.

I guarantee you the girls giving out the Flirt Divert number are the same ones whining about how they never meet any good men. Could it be because if they put a foot wrong with their approach they risk humiliation on the national stage?

ZANE LOWEST-COMMON-DENOMINATOR: Stop shouting at me Zane! Just bloody stop it! I like Roots Manuva too but I don’t shout at you do I?

COLIN -ACTUALLY A NICE BLOKE- MURRAY: He’s the exception that proves the rule. I once met this guy after a DJ gig he played in Bournemouth, he was buzzing off his tits and challenged me and my friends to a game of beach football. We agreed. On the way to the beach he made his tour manager stop the car at a service station so he could buy porn and Dairy Lee Dunkers. Seriously!

What-A-Legend!