Having said that, I don’t think you can simply bash an entire medium. Like anything, blogging can be put to admirable use or the opposite. But I think he may have had a – albeit overstated – point.

After a brief introduction, in which he explains that he once said hello to Katy French (and has been pullin’ his plum ever since) backstage at the Late Late Show, Waters gets down to business:

She had a beauty that suggested itself as emanating from an infinity within. (In other words she had big tits) She seemed to believe anything was possible (she was rabidly ambitious) and her smile convinced you, for an instant, that she was right. I wanted her dreams to come true.(so did her pusher) She was a child.(is there something you want to tell us?) She was my daughter and Eoghan’s daughter and Eamon’s daughter and Pat’s daughter and Bertie’s daughter. (fuck! Her Ma really got around, will there be a DNA test?) She was your daughter,(don’t drag me into your swingers club) your little sister.(now you’r really gettin weird, this is the immaculate conception gone nuclear) She was a child of Ireland in the time of its rebirth (as an upperclass drug lake).

Katy French was a personification of our fantasies, (So your were jerking off on her photo?) of our sense of what we were becoming,(drug heads?) of how we might unfold ourselves. (How the hell does anyone “unfold themselves”?. What kind of sexual gymnastics are you up to) She was not the only one, (so sales of coke have not been affected) but in the immediate past was perhaps the most spectacular light on the skyline, (if you lay on your back after mainlining) a meteorite of desire plummeting through the Irish zeitgeist (and landing in a grave after an autopsy) Katy had found a way of being that promised her it could slake all her human cravings. (Is that a fancy way of saying she was a drug addict?) She had manoeuvred herself into a position where everything humanly desirable seemed to be within reach,(I’d say that night was well worth the call out charge) and was careering forward on the path opening up in front of her.(a fancy way of saying she fell on her face) She did not, other than literally,(are we talking alternative reality here) die of whatever it will say on her death certificate. (Are you alleging a cover up?)She died of desire, (So the cocktail of drugs had bugger all to do with it then)of being utterly human. (as opposed to those other two poor idiots who were just coke heads who ODed.)
As Pope Benedict (real name Herr Joey Ratzinger a notorious anti-human) reminds us in his new encyclical, (which we have been up all night reading, my bollocks) we have no idea what we would really like. (ahem I do, I’d like Herr Ratzinger to fuck off and join his predecessors) “We do not know this reality at all ( Hello! is this coming from the twat who said the fires of hell are real?); even in those moments when we think we can reach out and touch it, (cue music, cue slow motion shadowy figure on horizon) it eludes us.” (Not if its your knob) All we know is that it is not what we have. (well there would’nt be much point in longing for something you already had, would there now) God is a concept by which we measure our longings. (Oh Oh Now the gawd thing is retreating to a mere concept) I’ll say it again. God is a concept by which we measure our longings. (I’ll say it again: Oh Oh Now the gawd thing is retreating to a mere concept) As Katy did not comprehend the limits of her human capacity (which is why she was shovelling kilos of drugs into herself) to pursue her angelic yearnings,(apparently she thought doing industrial amounts of drugs would help her grow wings) neither, anymore, do the rest of us…(speak for yourself you fuckin wanker) And so, dear friends, (don’t be presumptious) we’ll just have to think it up all over again. (No we won’t: from the minute she died every minor nobody with tits and a modeling ambition was on the bandwagon milking it and hoping to replace her in Assets) The dream is over. (About time you fuckin woke up) Our daughter Katy is dead ((Give it over, her real Dad is staring at ya, don’t you have kids of your own?)… The dream is over. (About time you fuckin’ woke up, again)