Why, you ask? Well, I've never been a big Destiny's Child fan. In fact, it's fair to say I've always thought they were best summed up with the word 'horseshit'. Before we continue, I must stress this fact.
Now playing: Alice In Chains - Man In A Box.
You may be thinking 'How can Destiny's Child be the biggest disappointment of 2004 if you already had a low opinion of them?' See, that's the thing. I didn't have a low opinion of them. Sure, I thought they were horseshit, but I think lots of things are horseshit: Burger King, traffic wardens, kittens, video phones.
This doesn't mean I have a particularly low opinion of these things...just that I'm indifferent to the point of being bitter. Destiny's Child once fell into such a category. Back in the day, if I caught them while flicking through some music video channels, I'd have a chuckle at their mediocre song and continue on my search for something better. But now...oh, wait a minute...
Now playing: Opeth - Patterns In The Ivy.
...now, I hate them. Something seriously primitive is sparked in my very essence when I hear the first three beats of 'Lose My Breath', and I just flip out and start shouting at old ladies.
How did Destiny's Child become this fucking bad? They used to be a clean-cut, wholesome, middle-of-the-road harmonizing pop act for little pink-shoed girls. Now, they've taken a turn down ye oft walked road of Britney & Co, and can be seen daily on television sets across the globe, gyrating and thrusting their hips with all the rhythym and subtelty of a derobed Catholic priest cornering a trainee alter boy. Who flushed this group's dignity down the toilet? PUT ON SOME FUCKING CLOTHES, YOU SLUTS!
(Incidentally, now playing: The Prodigy - Narayan)
As if all that partial nudity wasn't bad enough, we haven't even lifted the lid on this baby yet. I had a glance at their latest CD while at someone's house on Boxing Day (you know, that time of the year when everyone drinks heavily in an attempt to forget their awful Christmas, return double items and unwanted socks, and generally wants to kung-fu their grandma in the face).
With this, their comeback album, Destiny's Child promised so little and delivered even less. Anxious as to just how awful this was going to be, I opened the CD case, and was met with what can only be described as a marketing sabotage - 'campaign' is not an accurate enough word.
Ignoring for a moment the fact that the CD didn't leap out, cling to my face, and shout at me about Coca Cola's wide range of available beverages, I don't see what more they could have done to turn their album into a marketing extravaganza.
I removed the shiny little card that told me how I could order the ringtones for my phone (all 11 tracks available), for the measly price of just �3 a go! Wow, where do I sign? You fucking leeches.
'Get the fuck away from me!' I shouted, as I threw away the sleeve of ringtone 'offers'.
Next, I face a wrestle with a sheet of card that promises an array of perfume-related bullshit...the advert makes a dive at me with its shittiness, but I deflect the beast with my awesome biceps, and then yell at it until it lays dead on the floor. I pick it up slowly, and have a look. (Now playing: Chopin - Sonata No. 4 In B Minor) It has Beyonce Knowles' ugly face splattered over it, as if to intensify the horror, or perhaps to prepare you for the pure evil that lies inside...the onslaught of corporate greediness that awaits. I peel back the card to reveal the inside...and much to my horror, I find a sniff-square.
That's right, a square that smells of the perfume that Beyonce Knowles endorses. I can feel the rage building inside me by now...it's too much...and by the time I've eaten the perfume-card and been met with the McDonald's M logo, complete with those three fucking words...'I'm lovin' it'...no...I've had enough...NYAARGH!
Flipped. The. Fuck. Out.
(Now playing: The Prodigy - Phoenix)...I ate some kids to calm down, and between sips of Irn Bru, arrived at the CD sleeve proper, where I was met with the souless gaze of the the trio of whores. Within their (fake) charming smiles were hidden horrid secrets unknown by the general masses, something only to be whispered in dark corners and the recesses of the shadows:
Destiny's Child suck the Devil's own fucking cock.
That's right. They swallow his enormous and vein-y sausage on a daily basis. In fact, I'll bet they have a little taste of Devil cock first thing in the morning. Chances are, they're knob-polishing as you read this.
Then they spit the evil seeds of Satan over large crowds of people in aural form. This is often referred to as a 'concert', or 'gig'. Man, it makes me shiver just thinking of seeing Destiny's Child perform in the flesh. Yuck.
As well as sucking the Devil's cock, they also...actually, it's easier if I just show you. Take a look at this graph...
In short, Aron Ralston is the man who, when his arm became trapped by a falling boulder while out on a solo walk in the mountains, became very pissed off. That's right, pissed off. Not upset or whiney, or any other such homoerotic emotion. After five days of being trapped, the rage was too much for him...so he used the vice-like grip of the boulder to break his own arm, and then sawed through it with a dull pen knife.
What a guy.
Dictionaries now include pages and pages of words that were invented solely to describe Aron Ralston, as there were no adjectives in the English language that were suitably strong enough prior to his incident.
Where was I? Yeah, Aron Ralston should pulverize Destiny's Child. I figure he could either eat them, kick their asses with his hiking boots, or just chisel them to death with his legendary pick-axe arm (the similarities between Aron and Ash in 'Evil Dead 3' are haunting, non?)
Aron Ralston killing Destiny's Child: This is gonna make my year.