Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to “the biggest night in British music”.
This was how dishy Dermo hailed this night of nights.
The bum-faced Brit Awards overflowing with stuffed-shirt eels wriggling in the around Earls Court are outdated and irrelevant as a pig on a motorcycle.
This is the fabulous future of all music.
If you care to take a sneaky peek at the peak of the charts you’ll see luscious Leona.
And lovable Leon’s galloping up behind her on the rails.
People, why are you reading this?
People, you should be queuing outside Zavvi to buy your copy of When You Believe.
Put it on your iPod, gobble it down to savour all the nutrients of lovely Leon’s humble talent.
But most of all BUY IT!
Oh, peepy, peepy people as divine the Dermo says: “This is it!”
Here comes the judges, chests out smiles fixed on with superglue that’s been borrowed for the evening from Jesus that he used to make sure he didn’t topple from his cross and spoil the iconic image for millions of Christians.
And speaking of iconic images, sultry Simon really looks the part tonight; he’s sexy and sultry and scrumptious – he could pick the meh McDonald Brothers and we’d still eat the slug pellets he carries in his pornographic pockets tempt himself to poison lovable Louis out of his hand.
Next, we’re zipping around the country – first we’re in Portsmouth for a room of Same Difference disciples, then Edinburgh to (ha, ha) an empty room.
But that’s the beauty of live TV; things can go wrong but that just makes it feel more truthful.
Ladies and gentlemen, first up it’s Same Difference, and it’s loopy Louis who sums them up better than our old maths teacher, “You’re in the final – who would’ve thought – people obviously like you!”
Stupendous Sharon then does what she does best, she acts like the mum we all wish we had – a bit naughty but loving all the same, “The best time of the year! The best show of the year! You opened it superbly!”
Those words composed as beautifully as a Tchaikovsky symphony made us so happy we rushed to our advent calendars to make sure it wasn’t Christmas Day come early!
Next up, it’s silly Simon warming our cockles with his flamethrower wit – “I never had presents as a child!”
O’Leary crows, “We are feeling it in here”; but we are feeling nothing other than a numbing gust of complacency.
In luverlee Leon’s intro film, he’s reduced to tears when a teacher shows him a pamphlet he made at school.
The tears may be coming from his eyes but all round the country, eyes are gushing with tears, including ours – no wonder the powers-that-be are fretting over winter floods.
We reckon the X-Factor (ha, ha) should be sponsored by Kleenex as their sales must go through the roof when heartfelt stories such as Leon’s are told.
In the mist of all this happiness, happiness and joy, joy (nice one, Dermo!) it was good to show the police earning their corn in these troubled times as they provided a police escort for lubbly-jubbly Leon to scythe his way through the thorough throng.
And what’s more what better anthem to serenade us with during this poignant film than Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars – our choice for the new national anthem.
But everything pales into insignificance when he sings.
That voice could melt the polar ice caps 20 years early with its pulverising power and poignant potency.
In fact, ladies and gentlemen, that load crack you just heard was our heart breaking!
Walsh is the first to offer his comments – “Everyone in Scotland should be proud of you” – once again reducing the cerebral euphoria of music to the bleeding heart of nationalism.
Osbourne uses cliché to further bury Leon under the avalanche of meaningless platitudes, “You came into this contest as a little boy, you’re now a confident young man!”
And, people, you would not believe our eyes when we told you of the wild people in Scotland supporting love-love-lovable Leon, as the marvellous Michael Underwood says, “It’s wild up here!”
Robust Rhydian – our sneaky favourite, you see, we’re half-Welsh – is up next.
Everything about him is mmmmmmm, BIG!
From his frosty hair-do (this Xmas’s must have hair, ha, ha), his rippling muscles, to his voluptuous voice that could break the polar ice caps in two leaving polar bears nowhere to live (unless they take up residence in his hair, ha, ha).
And, ladies and gentlemen, another MASSIVE thing about him is the stretch limo that brought him home to the bosom of his family.
People, the most amazing thing about his version of O Holy Night isn’t the way he projects and imprints his voice onto the souls of his listeners like the moon against a cloudless sky but that immediately afterwards the streets aren’t full of people standing ten feet tall walking on the clouds!
Halfway through O Holy Night the stage becomes unnecessarily littered with children.
Walsh repeats his determination to transform a talent contest into a battle of nations, “You are the next big thing from Wales; you can sell records internationally!”
In Cardiff, Myleene Klass is engulfed by a crowd making a noise only heard previously in burning barns full of distressed cattle, “They’re going absolutely insane for Rhydian!”
O’Leary says, “Remember people, you’re voting for the winner of X-Factor” as though there might be some other reason to telephone the numbers that have been repeated so often they’re now tattooed on to your eyeballs.
For the duets, it’s as if all our Christmases have come at once.
Jason Donovan and Same Difference are gilded together in harmony like a farmer’s clenched fist and a cow’s gleaming udder, and we gratefully suckle on this milky tune!
Quick, people, quick, to the ticket office; Dermo’s kindly asked Jason what he’s up to at the moment and he’s on tour – it’s a good job we were watching and Dermo asked else we’d never have known that.
Classy Katherine Jenkins saunters on to the stage to join rapturous Rhydian , and is so slinky and hot she could melt icebergs leaving the polar bears even less places to live unless they sleep rough in divine ice-queen Danni’s elegant eyes.
The judges are on their feet again quicker than if the fire alarm went (because curvy Katherine is so hot, ha, ha) in a harmonious, spontaneous standing ovation.
O’Leary asks Jenkins, “Does this chap have a career?”, when he may as well just have said “Shower him with the meaningless compliments we told you to say earlier”.
Leon performs Better The Devil You Know with Kylie Minogue, dancing in a manner that suggests he is being persistently kicked by an invisible man.
During the inevitable standing ovation for Leon and Kylie, Walsh claps harder than the rest as if compensating emotional ingenuousness with exaggerated physical actions.
The rejects arrive for their annual ritual humiliation.
Next year, Cowell may as well ride a horse through the TV studio and skewer them on a pike like terrified squealing pigs.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the quote of the year when super Simon said of the rejects, “I tell you guys, you make me proud to be British!”
Simon’s wit certainly puts paid to those pompous people who think he’s not up to the job anymore like a removal man with a broken back!
Ladies and gentlemen, it’s at this point that we’d like to give a standing ovation of our own to our very own Dermo, who captured the tension perfectly with, “It’s now time to ramp it up, people; we all know who it is, but Simon tell us who it is!”
Children are thrown arbitrarily onto the stage like flowers at a funeral.
Cowell glorifies the contribution of Brian Friedman, a man so useless he was replaced by Westlife’s creator.
O’Leary reaches a new nadir in broadcasting when he calls Leon ‘braveheart’ simply because he is a Scottish stereotype rather than being either ‘brave’ or having a ‘heart’.
Walsh on Leon, “You are as potentially as good as Michael Buble”; while in Moscow Vladimir Putin is lauded as having the potential to murder as many people as Josef Stalin.
Cowell reaches for his honesty in the same way God reaches deep into Hell when he wants to make a conference call to Lucifer.
“I’m going to be honest with you – I thought it was brilliant!”
Aping Cowell, Walsh too reaches for his honesty but with the futility of Babel’s Tower reaching for heaven, “I’m going to be totally honest with you…”
Danni reveals her sensitive side when she reveals that her goal for the whole series was to make Simon to say “you were brilliant” to Rumpelstiltskin Rhydian.
Over on the Xtra Factor, funky Fearne Cotton has the rest of the glorious finalists gathered around her like she were an oasis and they were the thirsty camels.
Each of the finalists vainly tries to assure her that they are on the cusp of global stardom.
Cotton even swallows their PR-shaped lies, “I’m loving that you’re all doing so well!”
Stripped of new ways of coercing the public to fritter away their money, O’Leary is reduced to pleading, “Whoever polls the most votes from you, they will win!”
And to squeeze those last few pennies he simpers, “I’m being told it’s very close between two acts!”
Hasn’t Michael Grade assured us that this shameless begging wouldn’t be tolerated on ITV any longer?
During the Kylie Minogue interval, Cowell looks disgruntled that this slot isn’t being used to promote Leona Lewis.
Same Difference are spat into oblivion, with only O’Leary’s parting insincerity to comfort them, “It’s been an incredible journey for Same Difference – I’m sure there’s a big future for them!”
Danni Minogue is clearly running low on vocabulary petrol as she introduces Leon with, “Our very own Braveheart – Leon.”
Leon performs When You Believe and sounds like the auditory equivalent of a phalanx of fat people trying to squeeze through a London Underground ticket barrier.
A gospel choir appear dressed in gowns as if they’ve just scuttled here from the local church, that most beloved cynical device of corporate record executives who yearn to instil vapid covers with pseudo-credibility.
Leon sings songs in the same way infant school children learn the alphabet.
Walsh again cannot help himself, “If the people of Scotland start voting now, you can win!”
Cowell scowls, “Oh I hate losing”, and in doing so encapsulates how little this competition is about ‘finding new talent’ and how much it is about massaging bulbous egos.
O’Leary: “There is 1% between the two boys.”
Myleene Klass speaks the mortal phrase, “What can I say?” which is the utterance of someone who has had nothing to say their entire lives and never will again.
There is a pause of 23 seconds before O’Leary deigns to reveal Leon has won; in that time a billion ideas more imaginative than X-Factor have lived and died across the world.
Because of the judges’ determination to stir more passion in this most gutless of industries and transform the contest into an England v Wales v Scotland dispute, the inevitable protests from Wales followed Leon’s win.
Publicity-seeking bookmakers are already paying out on Leon Jackson being the Christmas number one.
Leon Jackson will be the Christmas number one. Well done.