She thought her Kickstarter campaign, ending on her birthday, would be a celebration?
FAIL!
Don't worry, she'll be smug and upbeat and know-it-all. She'll tell the "crowd" (her friends and indulgent relatives) that she'll be going places, even with an ordinary voice and boring face.
Well, yes, she'll be going places. After the show, she'll be going to the ladies room to wring out her piss and sweat-stained knickers. She'll go to the drug store for fresh tampons. She'll take a bus to a bus to a train and take the scenic way home, as she stares at all those cool street art "murals" done on public property by Bristol's fabulous Banksy.
Banksy is Bristol's favorite son, becoming famous by imposing on everyone, and creating so much hype people forget that behind it is NO TALENT.
Basket-Case will continue to impress her small circle of friends by having a website (wow), items on GooTube (gee, how many can do THAT) and a "tour" of a few gigs in obscure local bars. The tour, a few dates a month, will end when her small fircle of friends get tired of hearing her twee voice, seeing her rat-like one-expression face, and being hustled for over-priced drinks and soggy crisps.
Eventually she'll get knocked up and say she gave up a lucrative career to spawn half-breed Muslims with her husband, Ollie Hugh Akbar.
Meanwhile, her website has a blurb about her upcoming birthday show.
And let's sample one of her many, many, pompous blog entries in which she explains the music industry and how she knows EXACTLY how to become a star: going on Kickstarter constantly, flogging social media, and promoting iTunes and Spotify and other places that, UNLIKE THE EVIL RECORD INDUSTRY OF OLD, doesn't take 90% of the profits and pay a shitty little royalty.
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