Why Eurovision is punk as f**k, by John Lydon

I DEFINED punk, and decades later I’m keeping that f**k you spirit alive by competing to be Ireland’s Eurovision entry. Because that is f**king punk, and here’s why: 

The music’s reviled

The establishment hated punk, and it hates Eurovision. When critics say ‘Ah bollocks, not more shitty Euro pop with a bloody hurdy-gurdy’ it means Eurovision is punk. And I’m not just saying that to salvage my credibility after a rough couple of decades.

The fashion shocks and appalls

In silver lederhosen, no shirt and a spaceman’s helmet, you’ll piss off more knobheads than we did in swastikas and bondage gear. When Bucks Fizz ripped the girls’ skirts off in 1981 it was a big ‘f**k you’ to society’s fascist long skirt/short skirt conventions.

The great merchandising swindle

I’m working class, not an art school wanker, so when financial offers come in I take the money. Walking off I’m A Celebrity was as punk as f**king over A&M with the Pistols only more so. I’ll probably be the face of Herta hot dogs or Leerdammer after this. That’s not selling out, it’s subverting the system to buy a loft conversion.

It scares pensioners

When Conchita Wurst – the guy who looks like Kim Kardashian with a drawn-on beard – won, Britain’s pensioners thought civilisation had come to an end, just like they did with punk. And like punk, most people barely remember it now. Exactly the same.

It’s a drug riot

Must be. How else do you get through a Croatian novelty hip-hop duo playing a balaclava in frog suits?

Eurovision isn’t fake rebellion

Marilyn Manson pretended to be alternative, but he’s just another music industry bumboy selling fake rebellion for dumb teenagers. Eurovision says: ‘Watch this bullshit for the masses then go back to your futile lives, scum.’ Kurt Cobain would have shat himself at anything that radical.

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Tony the Tiger on top: cereal mascots ranked in order of f**kability

EVERY self-respecting cereal has a cartoon mascot and you’re horny in the morning. Here’s the order in which you’d do them: 


Of the Snap, Crackle, Pop triumvirate, Crackle is clearly the bottom. The Richard Hammond of the group in double denim with a flaccid, sinister beanie, it’s clear that he’s a regular on incel subreddits. 90 per cent chance he’d go off in his pants.

Klondike Pete

Like all 19th century gold prospectors, the bearded face of Golden Nuggets would have atrocious genital hygiene. His nether regions are a swampy catastrophe of mud and Nugget crumbs. Also, were you to end up getting off with this freak, he’d definitely let his donkey watch.

Professor Weeto

Professor Weeto is a troubled individual. A man who’s dedicated his professional career to studying small, sort-of-chocolate-flavoured cereal hoops isn’t going to be a sexual whirlwind. When you’re in bed, he’ll admit that he’s never actually known the touch of a human lover before bursting into tears.

Tony the Tiger

An anthropomorphised tiger who survives entirely on highly-sugared cereal? This buzzed-up nutter will go at you with the frenzied intensity of a pre-diabetic steam train. Unless you catch him during one of his many blood-sugar crashes and the best he can muster is perfunctory hand stuff.

The Honey Monster

When wet he’d stink like a damp dog, and the probability of catching public lice from this depraved furball is high. But as a shag carpet with genitals he’ll provide you with the most comfortable post-coital spooning experiences of your life.

Quaker Oats Man

An obligatory entrant, given that he’s the most human and therefore the least problematic f**k here. And, like Catholic girls, all the moral repression of his strict religion and staid cereal will burst out in a flood of passion. Shouting about what a blasphemous, tempting whore you are, he’ll give you a seeing to you’ll never forget. God, if only he was real.