Christ, not this tired old bullshit again please. Didn’t we exhaust the I-pretend-to-be-gay-to-be-cool thing with the death of Suede and Brett Anderson’s faux-gayness?

Seemingly not, for in order to appear all windswept and interesting, Pete Wentz has made wishy-washy claims of bisexuality. Before we go any further this is he.

He’s the lead singer of the intolerably awful Fall Out Boy, themselves named after a character in The Simpsons, Millhouse’s starring role as Radioactive Man’s sidekick. So straight out of the blocks he’s made himself unpopular with me for his paint-by-numbers pop culture reference.

In addition to this he’s married to Ashlee Simpson. Why would anyone marry that miming, barn dancer? Look at them, it’s painful.

So we’ve established he’s an attention seeker (why else would you marry Ashlee Simpson), which makes the following statements seem rather obvious.

…anybody above the waist is totally fair game.

Apparently this an allusion to the fact that he’s kissed boys, but no more! Like some kind of bisexual prom queen. Yawn. Though wait, no. It’s simply because…

I’m not a fan of penises.

Phew, glad we cleared that up. What else could this arse possibly say to dig himself further into his let’s pretend world?

How about this gem from the front cover of Out.

Yeah, I am a fag.

Right, so you’re a fag that just doesn’t like cock. I know exactly how you feel I’m a world class tightrope walker, it’s just I’m afraid of heights is all. Dick.

Still let’s save, the rather contradictory, best for last.

I would never come out and say I’m gay, because I’m not gay. There’s part of me that kind of wishes I was gay, and I think that comes from anybody constantly wishing they were in the minority and constantly wants to be fighting everybody off.

What a fucking tit. Why would you say that? What a pointless human being.

So, there I was strolling casually through Nottingham the other day when I was passed by a group of youths. Youths in drainpipes.

Now drainpipes ain’t my thing, as you’d guess, but by Christ not only were they wearing drainpipes but they were braying, braying about their achingly cool band and what they were doing on Saturday night. Look at them.

Now I have no problem with people talking to each other on the street, I’m not a psycho, but when they do it at an ear splittingly loud volume intended to ‘impress’ all around, I do. I really don’t need to hear about Jake’s band, nor do I need to hear about the ‘random shit’ he does. Ok?

Ok.

I also thought the bottle of white wine sticking out of the back of the Blake Fielder-Civil wannabe’s bag was a nice bohemian touch.

I captured this shot on Friday afternoon whilst taking a stroll around sunny, and more importantly I feel dry, Nottingham.

Two little Emos, gender not clear, sitting in the middle of the ice cold pavement with an umbrella up.

Now is it me or is that a really pointless thing to do? Why are they doing it, what is the purpose of sitting in the middle of a thoroughfare with an umbrella up on a cloud free afternoon?

I started to try and formulate a few reasons for the umbrella but didn’t do too well.

For starters the umbrella is see-through so would afford no protection if it was being used to hide them from some unspecified assailant. Other thoughts were that it was being used as a shield against the vicious tanning rays of the sun, but once again no, it’s transparent.

The only conclusion that I can reach is that they’re doing it to fuck with people’s minds.

Which, thinking about it, has worked.