Chris Evans (no, not the actor) is a radio and television presenter who routinely makes it into various “rich lists”. In 2017 for instance, Evans was the BBC’s highest paid presenter, earning approximately £2.25 million. To many people (mostly blinkered morons), wealth indicates talent and it apparently shows that someone is the best in their field, but in reality (especially in entertainment) being rich simply means the person in question is an overrated wanker who has wined and dined the right people and wheedled their way into the sector by leaving a long, winding trail of sucked-cocks and licked-arses.
Going from Piccadilly Radio to BBC London Radio to The Power Station on satellite TV, Evans’ career went from strength to strength in the 1990s. His best years, both in terms of fame and quality of content, was on television rather than radio during the early ’90s, namely The Big Breakfast and Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush on Channel 4 (whilst the channel was still watchable). The teenagers who were beguiled by The Big Breakfast unfortunately followed Chris’ career for many years. In the godawful late ’90s for example, this walking, talking, broadcasting todger became famous for TFI Friday, and attracted the now twenty-something, watered-down white male louts in Fred Perry shirts and contrived ladettes in True Religion cut-off denim miniskirts. These Hooch-drinking dullards were easily fooled into thinking shows like TFI were counter-cultural or subversive (oh look, Shaun Ryder swore 🤭 and Chris Evans apologised… how rebellious!). Whilst shitty Britpop played, Evans gave away some mugs, but it was the viewers who were the real mugs for watching this crap, propping-up the career of a self-centred, ginger twat every time they tuned-in. Channel 4 tried to revive TFI Friday a few years ago (because they literally have no new ideas) and thankfully it was a relative flop and no more series were commissioned.
Currently the presenter of Virgin Radio’s The Chris Evans Breakfast Show With Sky, Chris Evans’ latest radio programme is three plus hours of mediocrity and repetitiveness with the incessant plugging of Sky products and TV shows every few minutes. Evans as usual, speaks like an auctioneer with a brain injury, his sped-up ramblings forming the basis of his on-air persona which given the large sums of money that are usually chucked at him, I assume is supposed to be entertaining. To me, listening to Evans babbling in the morning is like being harangued by a drunk uncle at Christmas; a seemingly endless stream of nothingness is spouted whilst mundane, middle-aged music plays in the background. Mentioning “our pals at Sky” as some utterly shite track by Ed Sheeran or Dermot Kennedy is playing, after a few hours you’re ready to commit a mass shooting rather than commit to work.
Advertised throughout the day on Virgin Radio, The Chris Evans Breakfast Show With Sky is their flagship show (judging by the level of promotion). The channel is probably throwing bucket-loads of resources at Evans and the marketing of his programme in order to somehow recapture and re-entice his original audience. With has-beens such as James Blunt and The Script usually playing on his show, surely only the lamest folk are attracted to fellow has-been Chris Evans? So… target audience achieved I guess?
Going from BBC Radio 1 to Virgin Radio to BBC Radio 2 and back to Virgin Radio, following Chris Evans’ radio career is like charting the decline of an ageing broadcasting hack. When any DJ goes from Radio 1 to 2, it’s basically a sign that they’re past-it (although lots of BBC Radio 1 presenters never had “it” in the first place). BBC Radio 2 is basically a middle-aged, centrist’s wet dream with ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s DJs trying to recapture their heyday whilst Jeremy Vine pedals his misery at mid-day every day. Evans aside from DJ-ing, also occasionally pops-up on the shittest telly; he hosted The One Show on BBC One targetting drab middle-Englanders and also Top Gear on BBC Two which targetted old-men compensating for err… something. Evans himself also famously owns or owned a few Ferraris, possibly because this chattering ginge has an affinity for anything that’s loud and red.
Just because The Big Breakfast was a distinctive and memorable breakfast show, Evans has been signed by everyone from the BBC to Virgin Radio to host their brekkie broadcasts but this decrepit, specky git is now a dreary, old-man-shell of his former self and his waning personality does the opposite of wake you up, it puts you to sleep. Being or getting old is not necessarily a bad thing but there’s a certain type of person who effortlessly transitions into their warm cardigan, elasticated chinos, and running shoes whilst popping-out a few sprogs. They then start to pester everyone around them about their familial non-achievements and then upon realisation of their ever-increasing mundanity, they suddenly open-up the top-few buttons of their shirt, get a leather jacket, dye their grey hair or begin to hairspray it to give the illusion of volume, and start to wear sunglasses… cool 🤘🕶 (not). Chris definitely fits into this category, and since he started to impregnate like-minded dullards back in the late 1980s, his early-onset dad-itis has been affecting him for decades.
Chris Evans despite visually deteriorating, has always been a tame and tedious bloke, even when he was younger. You can easily judge his off-screen personality by looking at his relationships which has included Carol McGiffen, Anthea Turner, Geri Halliwell, Melanie Sykes, and Billie Piper… it’s like a list of the most dull and vanilla, D-list, female celebs in the UK. Since ejaculating his crispy-old-man sperm into another presumably dull human female (Natasha Shishmanian: golfer and “model” apparently) Chris Evans now tries to force his mundane kids Eli and Noah onto the public, endlessly plugging them in anything he presents including his Virgin Radio breakfast show and the reboot of TFI Friday (which was probably the reason people hated the fucking thing)… “they’re so cute, they’re so talented” …to you maybe, they’re fucking irritating to anyone who’s loins they didn’t stem from. Just what we need in the entertainment sector: more nepotism 🙄.
Chris Evans may not be as verbose as Russell Brand but like Brand, Evans has a tendency to blather-on about nothing, his pointless anecdotes proving that he has little to say but that he likes the sound of his own voice. With a face like a vitamin-deficient leprechaun who used all his gold in Vision Express, Chris Evans has been clogging-up the airwaves with his wannabe-funny crap for four decades now, although the only funny thing about him these days is his hobo-grotto-Santa look. This ginger wank-pot is an annoying yet bland DJ and an infuriating yet boring presenter who’s been ruining breakfasts for years like a never-ending supply of under-cooked sausages. This resident of dullsville who looks like The Bear by Leigh Francis or a homeless Mick Hucknall impersonator, needs to go back to being Timmy Mallet’s assistant: into obscurity. The overrated gobshite.
Freak, Not Unique.