Leona Lewis: the richest karaoke singer in the world
Leona Lewis's did a cover of Run by Snow Patrol and she's all famous for it now. It's not a cover like A Perfect Circle - Imagine is a cover. It's exactly the same as the original. The only difference is that it's a black chick singing it and it has a bunch of backup choir shit. You know, for that "We're in church" effect.
Here is the video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0rjfGvwMdE
If you can't stomach it for more than 8 seconds without "raging" as everyone calls it now, it's understandable. But here's to illustrate my point.
Look how fucking passionate she is. A half-black rich little dumb girl could not possibly have that much in common emotionally with a bunch of stoned musicians from Scotland to merit those kinds of facial expressions. She is a phoney dumb hack.
This video is so ridiculous and contextually inaccurate, it's 97% of the way to being a parody rather than a cover. And she actually looks like Weird Al is the sad fucking truth about it.
The only thing substantially different from the original is Leona's "halfblack" influence - "OOOOO AAA OOOO YAAOOAOAOOOA" vocal flourishes that are just annoying standard bullshit I could find five million thirteen year old girls doing on YouTube. They think that closing their eyes and pointing their chin in the air and doing a bunch of "Yeah-ee-yeahh ohhhh noo noooooo" stupid pitch bends makes them oh-so expressive and passionate. They're always like, "Yeaaahhhhh yeaaah-- nooo nooo.. yeah yeah.. noo noo.. yeah.. maybe.. umm.. cant deciiiiiiiide." Stop saying "Yeah" and "No" in the same line without any subject or anything. Make up your damn mind before you start singing. You can't just say "Yeah" and "No" over and over again and expect it to mean something. Those are not complete sentences. Those are complete bullshit.
Lol, she can't even sign autographs right.
If I were Leona Lewis, I would go for three weeks without eating. When I was basically starving, then I'd eat myself as fast as I could and see what percentage of my body weight I could eat before I finally died. Except the problem is that, by eating myself, my body weight stays the same. So I basically have to ignore all that and shoot her in the chest with a shot gun. I'll give her a reason to Run. Then she'll be inspired to write her own sequal to Run, called Run From The Screaming Jewish Maniac With A Shotgun.
And I'm writing this and I know some fags are probably like, "You listen to Snow Patrol? FAG." Yeah. I listen to relaxing music sometimes. So what. I also listen to the sound of baby's bones crackling under my teeth. Fuck yourself.
Ugh. I'm watching Leona's video again. It's freaking awful. Why do I submit myself to this. I watch it once, then get pissed off, then I watch it again. It's like I enjoy being angry or something. It's like when you have an ingrown nail thing and it hurts to touch, but it feels good at the same time. It's like the pain is somehow enjoyable. That's how this video is. Look how into it she gets. She's so god damn passionate about the music she had absolutely zero part of. All she's doing is singing lyrics. I could do that. She's fucking karaoking this song and getting rich off it.
This all leads me to believe two things:
1. I hate this newly dawning mash-up culture. In the future, I foresee the word "mashup" being more and more trendy. Watch out.
2. I will die from a stress-induced artery explosion before age 35.
I will be walking down the street sometime in my early thirties and I will pass by a store that smells like perfume and is playing music way too loud, and I will snap and my heart rate will shoot to 300 and a vein in my neck will burst under the pressure and squirt blood all over everyone in line waiting to pay for their $80 black t-shirt with some cutesy white lettered phrase like "My friends don't like you." Or some corny tongue-in-cheek bullshit. The jobs for t-shirt writers have a really high turn-over rate because they are constantly dying of shoving their tongue in their cheek so hard that it slices through their jaw and they shit themselves to death from a half-hernia, half-idiot whatever fuck.
Then the total full-circle twist will be that after my vein bursts onto everyone's purchases, it will become hip and trendy to wear clothing with blood stains on it. And I won't even be alive to cash in on my success.
I went to Safeway and this dude was like, "Hey man, got twenty five cents?" And I was like, "Sorry dude, I don't."
When I was on my way out, the same guy was still standing there. He asked me, "Hey man, you got thirty five cents?"
What the FUCK IS THAT SHIT. During the time it takes me to buy tortillas and a coffin for my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, inflation went up like thirty percent. I hate beggars. You don't need to guilt trip me. I pay taxes. I give you fuckers money. If I wanted to give you more, I would do so without you needing to talk to me with your disgusting decaying mouth.
Then there's strangers asking me for a cigarette. How fucked up is our culture to allow that kind of thing? No, I do not have any desire to support your weak-minded addiction. I'm addicted to Quaker Dipps bars, but do I go around downtown asking people, "Hey man, you got a Quaker Dipps bar I could bum off ya?" Or god forbid I walk around asking, "Hey ma'am, do you by any chance have a vagina I could fuck?" .. "No? Oh okay, sorry. Yeah, I'm addicted to fucking vaginas. Yeah. I'm trying to quit LOL. I got this patch that I stick on my dick and I slowly fuck it all day long to sorta ease the addiction, but it's just not the same LOL." Ugh. Yet cigarettes are perfectly okay to ask strangers for. "Hey man, could I bum a smoke?" Your stupid language doesn't help. A "bum" is a noun. That is you. No, you cannot yourself a smoke. Leave me the fuck alone. I have my own vices to be pay homage to. Fuck yourself.
God I hate Earth. It's all I know, and all I've ever known, and yet I still hate it. It must be REALLY bad. Like - I have absolutely nothing to compare life on Earth to, and yet I still hate it. That's just not good. That really doesn't say much for my existence.
God I want to kill that hack bitch Leona Lewis. If anything to give her some genuine emotions to write her own sad song about. I'll cut her boobs out and put a lock on her make-up drawer. Or rather, her makeup realm. Her make-up closet is so big, it has its' own guest house. ZING! I know, right? I'll cut her nappy boobs out and she'll be crying, "Waaaaa," and her dopey agent will come up, "What's wrong? Oh my god! Your nappy boobs are cut out! We need a hospital!" And she'll be like, "No!
By the way, the next person to email me "tl;dr" gets my first-born baby shoved up their pee hole.
Last updated November 29th, 2009