(LONDON) Slightly mishaven, tweed-wearing men the world over were aghast this Tuesday gone when Craven McMoneygrab, the newly installed manager of the Morrisey junket, announced that the legendary bequiffed caterwauler had finally, once and for all, run out of things to moan about.
*Heaven Knows You’re Miserable NOW*
Filthy Hack, Blather.net’s correspondent on idle, useless celebrity tittle-tattle informs us that Morrissey was in mid-whine (sources state that he was directing his ire at the current dearth of decent hair products on the market) when ‘Moz’ was overcome with a chronic attack of being ‘utterly sick of the sound of his own voice’ and was rendered almost completely inarticulate.
Onlookers were horrified as the Mancunian singer seemed sapped of his ability to complain, feel sorry for himself and touch the very soul of manically depressed teenage girls everywhere. The former Smiths frontman locked himself in a toilet cubicle whereupon he entered into a frenzy of incoherent sobbing, spluttering and rocking backwards and forwards in the foetal position.
The whole sorry episode was witnessed by thirty-five people, who claimed that the singer was heard to scream ‘Take That have made millions. Millions. Oh my God. What have I done with my life?’ This was followed by a fifteen-minute cacophany of flatulence and nasal shrieking, which one hanger-on likened to the mating call of an Indonesian Mountain Weasel.
Witnesses further attest that Morrissey was so disgusted at this latest metaphysical slap across the mush that he was seen to storm out of the bathroom, kick a nearby fan in the balls and then burst out of the room screaming the words ‘Fuck this, I’m doing the Eurovision’
Morrissey to do Eurovision