Firstly, I just want to congratulate you all. We’re getting good numbers, and if you’re reading this, then you’ve been a part of that, so have a jam sandwich on us. The downside to that is, of course, that with good numbers come large amounts of criticism and butthurt media figures (like Jon Ronson - like fuck are we gonna take that from the guy responsible for that Amy Winehouse\Zutons cover.) To respond to some repeated misunderstandings - firstly, some of you appear to be failing to grasp the concept of a countdown. Like most of the people we’ve covered so far, we’re still stuck in the mid-80s, and we haven’t got onto any true bellends yet. Secondly, something that a lot of you need to understand: there are basically two types of people covered on this blog. The people that everybody knows will be on here in advance, clicking back every day and hoping for the inevitable disquisition (FourFourTom, Grace Dent) and then there’s a second type - people who you won’t have heard of, where we try to do a service in bringing their weaponry to a wider audience. Ronnie Joice is one of those.
Do you remember Littl’ans? What, seriously? Christ. Well, for everyone elses benefit, they’re one of many sub-offshoots of Pete Doherty’s career, part of that whole THE LIBERTINES SAVED MUSIC schtick that a few people were crusading about back in the early-mid 2000s. Or, as Wikipedia has it, “Littl’ans are an English alternative rock band, who have had marginal success.” Ronnie Joice was their tambourine player - a role somehow even less demanding than it sounds. Think Bez without the talent or self-awareness.
Despite those shortcomings, along with looking like a cross between Shane McGowan and Henry V, Joice didn’t let it stop him from sleeping his way around the London celebrity circuit. He bedded Peaches Geldof and, uhm, ‘the racist one off Big Brother.’ He appears to have fallen on a dry spell lately, as he appears to have given up reposting his oft-deleted Wikipedia page (Occupation: ‘Socialite.’)
So, where does a talentless man who’s run out of the whiff of relevance he once claimed to have go to die? That’s right, The Huffington Post. There, you can read his bio, the most tl;dr piece of writing in human history, alongside columns such as “I’m Going To The Isle Of Wight To Watch Bands”, “Here’s Why Music Is Great”, and “I Went To The Isle Of Wight Festival.” Other subjects covered include David Cameron, Gay Marriage, and the Petrol Crisis. Football is a notable omission - this is probably because Joice used to tweet his opinions on the game regularly, until someone spotted that they were copied and pasted from other users on a music forum and called him out, prompting him to delete all the tweets.
His bio states that he “can regularly be found entertaining the likes of Agyness Deyn, Dizzee Rascal, Kelis, Kate Moss, Noel Fielding and Paris Hilton”, for which you can read “can regularly be found in 2006.” That’s why I’ve gotten this far without mentioning Nathan Barley - it’s not even relevant here. Joice is a man so oblivious and thick that he didn’t even have the sense to reinvent himself like every othercunt in the land did - that’s why he’s writing for the Huffington Post when anyone remotely savvy, thrust into his shoes in 2006, would have a column in Vice right now. And ultimately, despite being one of the worst people in the world, that’s why he’s only number 83. His slow decline is a bullet dodged for anyone who ever leaves their house.
“Was Ted Heath a European-obsessed traitor or a pioneer for British politics?”
“Here’s an idea to get everyone back into the Olympic spirit. Instead of passing a torch around the UK why not use a giant joint instead?”
“I’m so glad that I don’t look like Shane McGowan anymore…”