The 'Ump: The Mercury Music Prize

Ah, good ol' awards shows. They tend to serve first and foremost as a prompter of tellywards abuse instead of a celebration of talent (Panic At The Disco, Best Video at the VMAs, anyone?). So, well done, Mercury judges. You've once again made yourselves look like you know diddly-squat about music.

We're not hugely bothered by this - I mean, the Mercury Prize has never been enough of a lowculture bastion for us ever to actually care. Ok, so Franz Ferdinand winning or the Spice Girls getting nominated were rare moments of greatness, but overall it's a beige pretentiousfest for 30-something Hoxtwannabes in drainpipe jeans who bought the M.I.A. album.

We're merely pissed off about yet another media outlet singing the undeserving praises of the Overrated Apes. You remember that Oxfam ad about giving a man a fishing rod, and he'll feed his family for a year? Well, give a Clearasil-lite scally a guitar, and he'll make a fucking abysmal racket with it. Woo-hoo, let's spunk awards and money their way. Elsewhere, the annual Xenomania nosh-in that is the Popjustice £20 Prize threw up Girls Aloud's Biology as the winner. Well blow us the fuck away! Who'da thunk it?

Maybe next year we'll see a musically diverse list with exciting nominees and a deserving winner. And maybe, in the words of Homer Simpson, we will then hug some snakes. Yes, we will hug and kiss some poisonous snakes.