Thursday, November 02, 2006
Posted at 04:11 pm by Knobby
Dear Diary - This Knobby Chick
Right, this is the thing.
I've met Knobby. We have a history. A long time ago, but she knows who I am, I know who she is, we exchanged sarcasms about three years ago. It stopped, suddenly, after I agreed to an interview, set it up, and my manager behaved like a bit of a twat and put an end to that. And everything else. I apologised on his behalf, thought things were OK between us, but never saw her again.
To be honest, I didn't care much. I hardly even noticed, to be honest. What I did notice, however, was that the spewing of acid sarcasm was gone from my forum. Six months later I shut it down - for reasons totally unrelated to this. I used to read the comments, amongst many others, and though I didn't exactly miss them I took notice. Then the times of blogs came. I found Knobby's blog. Read it when I thought Kenny wasn't looking - until I caught him doing the same and we started reading it together.
What's this with Kevin Spacey anyway? Is he more interesting than me? Surely not. He's not an intelligent as me either, and Tony Blair seems to like him (bitch). Bill Clinton too. There's been a lot about Kevin Spacey on Knobby's blog. Even in the middle of my scandals, when I should be getting all the attention, there's a Kevin Spacey post. What's he got to do with anything? I don't care about him, and yet I know more about him than I care to - just in case there's a mention of me in the Kevin Spacey posts. There seldom is, but I've noticed some comparisons. Like he does more things than I do. I couldn't have that - so I decided to go on tour. That should show'em. He's doing a play for 3 months, I'm doing a tour for 3 months. Same thing! Now leave me alone.
Kenny suggests that I'm obsessing over this matter, but I do feel that because the Knobby character was first dedicated to me, focus should stay on me. Jesus. Come on, honestly, I may not do professional stuff all the time, but you can't say it's ever boring being a fan of mine. How many times haven't I had my fans going into a frenzy this year alone? Newspaper headlines, releasing songs to the radio without telling anyone, springing a tour on them just like that - where's my appreciation?
It's especially during rants like this that Kenny looks at me and says, "George. Darling. It don't matter, dude." But it does. I feel deprived. I do get like 70% of the attention on Knobby's Blog, but where's the other 30%? Kevin Spacey, other people and topics that's got nothing to do with George Michael. I ask myself, I really do, "How can it be!?" So I decided to go public and say - as Knobby's Blog has said for years - "Talk less and sing more." Now if I do that, shut up and sing, will that earn me the other 30% as well? Or do I have to switch to Remarkable's Blog instead? I don't understand what the fuck he means most of the time, but I'll go there just to spite the Knob. Give 30% of my attention to someone else - give a feel of what that feels like. Hah!
George - heading over to Knobby's.
Posted at 02:59 pm by Knobby
Thursday, October 12, 2006
I've been kinda busy touring and singing and shagging random strangers on street corners lately to do a diary entry, but I gotta tell you something, now that I've gotten over the initial shocking pain.
Waxing one's chest. I'm hairy, OK, and that's been fine for a long time, but now that I'm a) really fit and b) touring, I felt I needed a change. It's easier to wipe a clean slate free of sweat than having to blowdry a furry bush between each song, I tell ya that. So I got into this beauty place and I got a little Japanese chick that was barely twenty to do it. She asked me to take my shirt off, and went "ooh. You hairy!" and I said "What did you expect?" She asked me to lay down on a table, took out this little scissor and started clipping me down like a sheep in the places where the hair was too long. This is cause we tried to just put the strips of wax on, but it wouldn't take.
So, first wax strip on, she said "It will only hurt for second" and I was thinking "OK, a second I can do." She counted to three, ripped it off and suddenly it dawned on me just how accurate the reaction in "40 Year Old Virgin" was when he got his chest waxed. Oh-holy-mother-of-God, the pain spread like fire in dry grass and I released the most obscene swear-phrase you can imagine. I didn't even know I could fit that many words into one breath. So I asked "Is this the least painful you have, cause it's kinda unbearable, considering I have about an acre of hair that needs to be taken care of." She said for ten quid more, they had a less painful hot wax - but they were currently out of that. Brilliant.
At this point I was just thrilled. I had a flaming red stripe of skin in between my nipples and asked in horror just how many more it would take. When she said "maybe thirty" I nearly fainted. So I said, "How about you shave it first and then wax it?" and she said "Then no hair to pull out". So couldn't do that either. An hour, thirty-seven strips - and being hoarse from screaming - later, I was feeling numb all over. Not to mention that I looked like a lobster between my shoulders and belt buckle. She had to go over certain areas more than once in the chest area (which brought me to tears - literally). When done, she said it would be red for "couple hours" then be fine.
This was at 2pm and by that evening I had a mass of red spots on my chest. So I applied some oil-free moisturiser to it, hoping it would soothe. I couldn't go out cruising looking like that, so I went to bed kinda early and woke up the following morning looking like a plucked chicken. The spots were still flaming red with little white dots on them, like that you see on - well - a newly plucked chicken. I wasn't happy at all, called the salon and they said I may have had a reaction to the wax or the tea-tree oil they put on afterwards. What to do? Put some ice on it. So I did.
Three days later the redness was gone, but I still had the chicken-look, and that was the day of the Barcelona gig so I had to go onstage looking like that. To my dismay the hairs were starting to come back, but there was no way I was going to do the waxing thing again in a hurry. Since, I've stuck to the old fashioned way; razor and foam. Twice a day. Like I used to have to do when I was clean-shaven. God bless the existence of razors. Really.
George - the plucked rooster
Posted at 01:50 pm by Knobby
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Right, I'm quite intrigued, I must admit. If my life was anywhere as dramatic and interesting as the press makes it out to be, I'd be exhausted by now. This week alone I've been an alcoholic, a drug addict, narcoleptic and comatose - in addition to the usual liar, cheat and bad driver, of course. Wow. This is not bad even by my standards.
What's the truth? The truth? The actuality, reality, sincerity, integrity, accuracy, correctness, exactitude, fidelity, veraciousness, veracity, TRUTH...!? I once sang, "I've no memory of truth" but that's more to do with when I said what and when I said it - I do remember what happened hours/days/weeks ago. I had a spliff in the car. Big fucking deal. I was tired. It was three-thirty am for heaven's sake. Was I comatose? Please. Would I be onstage the next day if I'd been seriously ill? Would I look like this [points to own impressively fit body] if I wasn't well? I've never looked better, what's wrong with ya?
I know what it is. I've seen these people. They're unattractive, balding and overweight. I'm none of the above, however they tried to make out that I was. The balding incident was quite amusing. Good photoshop work, whoever it was. I have a full head of hair, thank you very much. I'm not overweight by anyone's standards. Look at me, I look better now than when I was in my teens and twenties! If I could, I'd do myself! That's how good I look. So fuck you all.
Anyway, looking forward to my Milan gigs. Buona sera di Milano.
George - the troubled star. x
Posted at 02:16 pm by Knobby
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Dear Diary - Survived Week One
Well, I'm home. Came home last night after the gig in France and going back to Lyon tomorrow. As of today, four down, 43 to go. Fuck-me, really? That's another... eleven weeks. An average of four shows a week. Blimey. Weeeell, at least I have a private jet. I've no idea where my crew is, but they're not here. Thank fuck.
I went online tonight with my regular nickname and as usual I got a whole shitload of replies, right, and as usual most die down but one or two keep it up. I was feeling particularly dirty, and said "how d'ya want me to do you?" and one went into this elaborate description that was a bit too romantic for me, so I ignored him. This other guy, on the other hand, said "I want u 2 bend me over & do me hard, big boy". I immediately warmed to him (I mean, shit, BIG!) and I said "and what would you do to me?" and he said... actually I can't say what he said cause it was a bit X-rated but it sounded divine. So I got really really excited and he then asked "what u doin'?" and I said "nothin'" and he said "me too". So we were both doing..........nothing, right, and then he asked "How big r u?" and I said "HUGE!" and he said "Cool. I love'em big. My b/f ain't that impressive." I asked if his boyfriend knew about him doing this online and he said "He does it 2 - wanna meet?" And I agreed.
So I got out of my bedroom and ran into Kenny on the way down the stairs (I didn't even know he was here). As we were both heading out the front door I asked where he was going. He said nowhere. He asked where I was going. I said nowhere. We got in our cars and sped off in different directions. I was getting excited, was looking forward to some great sex, when I pulled up by Hampstead Heath and saw a BMW there. Similar to ours. I crashed the engine as I saw that, in fact, it WAS ours! Kenny stepped out and nearly passed out. He looked at me in horror, and knew I wasn't happy.
Am currently offended and not talking to Kenny. The sizeist muppet.
George - the bigger man.
Posted at 11:27 pm by Knobby
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Dear Diary - Are my tour demands too high?
I don't think so. Do you?
-No Press/Media Commitments
-No communication with manager/s unless absolutely necessary
-Hot Gay Bodyguards
-5 star accommadation w/ 24/7 internet access (in order to hire local tricks)
-Full Time Dog Minder/Walker/Feeder
-Full time Massage Therapist and Osteopath on Call
-24/7 Access to Psychotherapist
-Tour Assistant with sole responsibility of lining up fucks/tricks/pricks in each city
-Tour Assistant with sole responsibility of identifying local Starbucks & purchasing Venti Non-Fat Frappuccino
-Hair Stylist prepared to wax, pluck and bleach unwanted body hair
-Make Up Artist with no other commitments than apply and re-apply before, during and after each set/break and before leaving hotels/planes/between fucks.
-Widescreen TV with Sky box available at any time with pre-recorded EastEnders, This Morning, Richard & Judy, gay porn and various other programmes of interest.
-Personal Arse-Fondler (hey, J-Lo has a nipple-guy!)
-Personal Ego Wank provider before going on stage
-Qualified Neumann U49 microphone polisher
-Part Time Purveyor and Spliff Roller
-Full Time tour photographer and Mini DV handler - must be fully abreast on The Talent's photographic preferences.
-Full Time Liaison between Kenny Goss & myself when Kenny is busy wining and dining Ms Halliwell/friends/family/fans/press or partaking in weekly botox injections/necessary work-outs to keep up with me
-Full Time Personal Fitness Trainer: Must be attractive, highly skilled in body work and willing to prompt suitable diet - and with stamina to say no when The Talent gets the munchies on Doritos, Hagen Dazs icecream and/or pasta
-Full Time Teeth Bleacher
-Part Time Tea Brewer and Lemon Squeezer for daily intake of tea and water with fresh lemon juice
-Part time Linguist for the purpose of teaching The Talent to say Hola Barcelona, Hei Oslo, etc when going onstage in different countries to connect with crowd in their respective language.
I got some complaints. Why why why!? I am not a diva!
King George x
Posted at 03:43 pm by Knobby
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Dear Diary - La Pharmacia
Last night I decided to go for a walk in Madrid and I'm amazed at the number of pharmacies here. On every corner. Blinking green neon signs La Pharmacia. I snuck out on my own on a whim and wondered how long it would take before it would cause a frenzy. As it turns out, nobody cares. I was almost disappointed. I tried asking for directions to a few places, but to no avail. I asked "Do you speak any English" and I just got long stares followed by - add Spanish accent - "No, a little." I got directions, though somehow confusing. They'd all say "go to right" and point to the left and vice versa. It was also "only couple minots" in whatever direction but I never found anything.
In the end I couldn't even find the way back to my hotel, got in a cab, the guy had no idea what I was saying, I gave him the name of the hotel but he literally had no clue. He kept talking in Spanish, I said I didn't understand, no comprende, no hablo espanol etc. When I didn't understand him he spoke even louder and faster - still in Spanish - and I really didn't know what the fuck to do. I'd left my mobile phone at the hotel and started perspiring rather badly. So I was about to get out of the cab and bumped into this guy that clearly wanted to get in. He looked at me and said "Yorge." The cab driver looked back and the new guy said something very fast and exciting in Spanish, I heard my alter-ego name and the driver then said "Ah, George Michael. What hotel?"
So suddenly he knew more English than the average Londoner and chatted away about his sister being a Wham! fan back in the day and him meeting his wife during the Faith tour. He even lent me his phone so I could call my bodyguard. I was kind of meek as he was sleeping in his room and I wasn't supposed to leave, at least without telling him. He gave me the address, I passed it onto the driver and ten minutes later of verbal diarrhea we were there. I was met by my bodyguard and Kenny in the reception, both gave me a piece of their mind and said I should tell'em where I go next time so I don't cause another security alert.
Random thought: with all those pharmacies, surely they'll sell weed over the counter for medical purposes?
Posted at 11:47 am by Knobby
Monday, September 25, 2006
Well, it goes to say, doesn't it? Hell did eventually freeze over and I did pull off the gig. I came out on the stage and had 18,000 people screaming in my face as I said "Hola Barcelona" that I'd learned from the Spanish guy I had fucked the previous night. I want to do that for every gig. Greet the crowd in their local language. Thank fuck I'm not going to Russia or China, cause that'd be interesting. And they'd spend the next two hours laughing at my rats accent instead of enjoying the show.
It's taken me a few days to get over the initial shock - and giving a few people some heat for fucking up my goddamn show! "Too Funky" twice!! - of actually pulling through. I'm in Madrid rehearsing for the second gig tomorrow, and have told my staff that either do it right or fuck off. So they're going to do it right this time. I was happy, overall, and the audience was amazing. ("I think you're amazing...") The stage show is way cool - especially with thousands of adoring fans screaming at ya.
The Bush joke went down well. I knew that was a great idea the moment I'd had three spliffs, a curry, a fuck and a blowjob (not in that order) and thought of it. It's my favourite part of the visual, definitely. One thing I wasn't too happy about was that I fucked up the lyrics now and then - but I don't think anyone noticed. It's the biggest ego wank I've had since... well, let's not go there. May do "Understand" - as we've done it in rehearsals - for the Madrid gig. Maybe. Though, will leave the planned medley permanently out.
Everybody wants a lover like... moi.
Posted at 12:59 pm by Knobby
Saturday, September 23, 2006
DA DA DA DA
Posted at 07:47 pm by Knobby
Friday, September 22, 2006
Dear Diary - It's The Final Countdown
I'm just nervous now. In 36 hours I'm on the stage in front of however many thousand people that have waited between 15 and 18 years to see me here. I didn't sleep last night, and was getting testy with people in rehearsals. Tried calming myself down with a shag but that didn't work either.
My brain is empty, my mouth is dry, I'm sweating in places I didn't even know I had places, I ran into fans on the street when I tried getting a new suppliance of weed and had to chase the poor guy away to not ruin my rep as a clean, sober rolemodel for my fans. Shit.
Posted at 09:41 am by Knobby
Since 12 September 2006.
These are the totally untrue and 100% made-up diaries of singer George Michael.
Nothing that's written here is in any way associated with, been run by or been approved by George.
In fact, I'm pretty sure that nothing written here has ever happened - and if it has, it's purely coincidental.