Bill's Talent Search

"What a disaster," Bill Hoobastank gurgles, "that Geoff Whitewhore show I produced. I figured while I was in England, maybe I'd scout new talent. I tried to check the files at "Britain's Got Talent."

"Amanda sure looked different without her make-up. Why she was guarding the files so vehemently, I have no idea."

Foolish Bill. There's GOLD in them thar files. That's why he couldn't get to see them. He could hardly hold in his disappointment, or his bowel movement, which overflowed his industrial strength nappy.

The BGT files contain contact information for all the most important acts ever on the show. This includes 210 little black kids who can sing like Michael Jackson, 23 angelic choirs from Wales who sing only in Welsh, 23 angelic choirs from Ireland who sing only in Gaelic, and a choir from Grimsby that can fart "I'm Henry VIII."

Additionally, there's a complete file of Polish performers who should never have been allowed on Britain's Got Talent but got in because they flattered the producers by saying it's the best show in all of Europe and it would be an honor. One guy got in because he held Simon Cowell's t-shirts for ransom in a Polish neighborhood in Hull.

There's a separate folder for all those Japanese guys who love to imitate robots and waddle around the stage with silver paint on, for strange mimes and their back-projection shit (which totally amazes the judges every time), and colorful (literally) Jamaicans who bellow three-word rap songs. They come out smiling and wearing garish clothes, and expect to reach the final having memorised only ONE melody which they might put different lyrics to. Like "Me Like Rape!" or "Smoke a Ganja" or "Sucka Me Dick."

More than this, the files have a complete collection of David Walliam's favorite drag acts, annoying incompetent jugglers and tap dancers, gay duos who tango together, and little girls who bring him to tears by singing show tunes.

AND, there's a separate file containing 8x10 glossies featuring Simon's jaw-drop look of astonishment, dreamy gaze of pleasure, flat-lipped grimace of impatience, and all the other favorites he studies in a mirror, and insists that the director use for close-ups.

"I thought," the naive Bill gurgled, "there was some actual TALENT in Britain. I mean, besides that girl and her dog who do tricks. And of course, Shauna, who does tricks with her pussy but won't let me see."