Dr Dre My Arse

Me Mum has been pressing the teenager for a Christmas wish list, amongst which is a set of "Dr Dre cans" whatever the hell they are. Upon asking for a translation it seems that the normally shy and retiring one (if you can get two words out of her we normally put the bunting up for a week) means a set of headphones. So me Mum pops onto the world wide web to see how much these things are and they start at £100 and go upwards from there! I don't know who Dr Dre is, but I strongly suspect that his medical qualifications are somewhat limited. I mean you never hear anyone say: "I think he's having a heart attack, quick, send for Dr Dre" do you? So I've checked him out online and it appears that he's really called Andre Romelle Young who has produced albums for the likes of Snoop Dogg - who it appears isn't a real dog either! "The doctor" has apparently achieved critical acclaim with the unforgettable classics "Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang" and "Fuck wit Dre Day (and Everybody's Celebratin')" - the latter I think being a cover version of an old Rolf Harris hit from the 70's. Needless to say the teenager has been informed that her chances of obtaining said "cans" from Santa are somewhat limited as "he has a lot of children to buy presents for you know - including all the ones in Ethiopia and Wales." Neither the plasma telly nor iPhone are likely to put in an appearance on Christmas morning either it seems. That's the problem with the kids of today isn't it? They expect the bloody moon to be gift wrapped and handed to them on a plate in return for "I cleaned me teeth twice last month so what's your problem?". Talking of presents my birthday iPad hasn't shown up yet. It was the 64 gig 3G version I asked for as well. Bloody Amazon.