Barren Cock Defends Morrissey

Yes, here I am, Barren Cock, the Goat Whisperer. Try to imagine all the text below spoken in a constipated hoarse goat-fart voice.

I'm going to talk about music, a topic on which I'm an expert. After all, I'm a musician, just waiting to be kick-started in the groin. Though I'm known for my work in the group Toothpicks and That, I'm sure that I'll be going solo as soon as Shauna and Bill recover their sense of smell.

You might know me from GooTube, where I demonstrate the dexterity with which I can open a package from Amazon! Doesn't it take talent to describe what you can plainly see? I hold stuff up and comment. Wow! But honestly, I'm also a great musician and a brilliant music authority, so when a blogger had the nerve to complain that he hates Morrissey, I have to step in. No shit!

Morrissey has had two careers, with The Smiths and solo. The new stuff is shit, and the older stuff shat. And we fans find it tasty! Some say they don't like Moz's droning, effete pomposity. Hell, that almost describes ME perfectly.

Ok, I do admit that The Smiths are Joy Division without the cool Nazi references. Still, there's no question after you've heard more than one song by The Smiths, you have to cry out, "There, they've done it again!" Dark and alienated...why, that sounds like Nigel Benn after being beaten to a pulp by Malinga.

My own favorite early Smiths number is the sour, naggy "Meat is Murder," which Moz didn't sing. Whoever did sounds like an 80 year-old woman who accidentally sat on a rotting KFC chicken bone, which went up her dry twat. You can bet she'd painfully grunt "Meat is murder!"

Now, let's discuss his solo career. No, not wanking. The music and lyrics. The first few albums were like The Smiths stuff. Horrendous. However, he did gradually manage one or two good songs per album. I know that's a Horatio. I mean, a low ratio. But there you are. I identify with "First of the Gang to Die," which is what Shauna and Bill wish for me.

Morrissey's vainglorious sense of the absurd (excuse me, I'm accidentally sounding like a real rock critic) comes to the fore on "You Have Killed Me." If you take it seriously, it's ridiculous, but if you don't, it's wonderfully preposterous. What, after all, is martyrdom except mortal man being absurd? (Am I still making sense? I'm not sure. I do much better when I just open Amazon boxes and say "I'm opening the box. I'll put in batteries. I'll see if the torch lights up." And stretch it for five or six minutes.)

Morrissey's best album, with three decent songs out of the 10 or 12, is "Years of Refusal." Oh, that title reminds me of all the time I've asked Shauna to suck my dick. It's so upsetting that her mother told her never to put a toothpick in her mouth.

The good songs are "Mama Lay Softly on the Riverbed," the sarcastic and hopelessly bitter "That's How People Grow Up," and another drama queen lament, "I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris," which always gives me the image of middle-aged, pouting Morrissey getting Paris Hilton in a bear hug. Her expression is like somebody put a shit-coated prune in her mouth.

I went to a show with my rock group Toothpicks and That. Check my GooTube post where you see me taking the two tickets I bought out of the mailing envelope! I display them with a grimace and heavy breathing, and spend the next six minutes laboriously describing my thoughts on the ink, the typeface, and the type of paper used.

What happened at the actual show? Sadly, nobody recognized me as the Consumer Reports celebrity and brilliant musician that I am! On top of that, I was embarrassed when Bill Hoobastank rushed to the front of the stage in the middle of one of Moz's antic, frantic, histrionic numbers!

Meanwhile, Shauna Cuntwell sat and stewed (fortunately she was wearing two pairs of absorbent knickers, anticipating eBay sales). She cried, "Morrissey has bigger tits than I do."

We went backstage, as Shauna wanted to brag to Moz that she has a SONG on ITUNES. She said, "Hey Guyyyyyyy, would you leave a nice comment? Coming as an endorsement from youuuuuu would be soooooooo kewwwwwl." I did manage to snap a photo.

Back to my oh-so-worthy opinions.

Give credit to Moz for still having fans, long after his androgyne pretty-boy years. Now he looks like some middle-aged Irish bartender who had just decided he was gay, and wanted everyone to know it, while the wife and kids drank themselves to death.

The prima donna posturing, and the aging Sinatra games with the microphone cord…no, this didn't exactly amuse me. But it was fascinating in a weird way. This guy comes off as almost a parody of Mr. Sensitive, and I guess he is SO sensitive he won't put a dick in his mouth or up his ass. I read an interview with him that dared to touch on the touchy topic of celibacy.

Yes, there's a fine line between self-absorbed self-pity and parody, and Morrissey seems to understand it. I remember a Letterman performance, where he was doing his usual poncing around, like Dame Judi Densch in paunchy short-haired drag, and he had a back-up singer wearing a bubble dress or something. She was doing some Yma Sumac weirdness along with him, sort of like Yoko did sometimes with John. Very amusing. No, really.

There's no question that we Brits do love our bitchy males. This includes such provocateurs and raconteurs as Graham Norton, Simon Cowell and Piers Morgan. Morrissey fits right in, as he can always be counted on to give an interviewer a lot of glowering complaints about the questions, Diva responses, and acidic put-downs. Here's a sample of Morrissey the misanthrope.

What else can I say? You can find THAT out by checking my endless GooTube posts. I'll sit and softly groan about the latest torch I bought, the latest geeky "Star Wars" item I bought, but, of course, NEVER an item sent to me by a publicity department, because they seem to think I'm nothing but a fat, adult-baby prat who is all ego and pushy pestiness, and is a totally worthless wanker. But hey, being a wanker is something my wife appreciates, as she doesn't want more children she has to take care of while I'm busy babbling to a few dozen sad fools on GooTube. She's very glad I just wank, and let her get fucked up the ass by the postman and the milkman. And that gurgling idiot Bill Hoobastank!