St Bono the Tedious

Poetry, like any artform, is open to interpretation. One man's meat is another man's poison. Or maybe that should be one man's Ratt. Either way, they will probably disagree over some works of art. The reason I bring this up is because on May 13, Radio 4 will be broadcasting a poem about Elvis Presley, written by Bono in 1995. In true 'is it art?' debate fashion, some people will like it and some people will not. Specifically: the world will hate it, seeing it for the maddening bullet-point biography that it is, whilst Bono will gurn his best chin-touching-forehead smile and continue lighting his farts with hundred dollar bills, congratulating himself on having polluted the airwaves with lines such as 'elvis the pelvis, swung from africa to europe, which is the idea of america.'

How has this happened? Surely not even the most ardent U2 fan would read this and think "that'd make bloody good radio". You could get the same level of entertainment by being tied to a chair with razor wire and having radioactive leeches deposited onto your naked eyeballs. Or by watching 'Katie and Peter: Stateside', which is a lot less messy and you get the added bonus of watching her dead, botox-paralysed face trying to express discontent at Peter Andre (who looks the same now as he did in the early-nineties, ie: clumsily carved from wax by a blind man with no hands). You might also get to see her son, Harvey, who she keeps 'under wraps' due his various disabilities.

Here is a picture of her blending in, in order to keep him 'under wraps':




Although granted it does look like she's either

a) trying to subtly steal someone else's baby,
or
b) attending a party where all the dips are secreted in the hair of disabled children.

I can't decide which, so I will opt for mystery option c, which is the slightly more realistic 'about to unnecessarily nag an offscreen Peter'.