Jellybeen Martinez says 'Britain's Got Fuck All Talent'

After realising that I was bisexual at the tender age of 7, I knew that I was destined for show business. Rejected in my teens by my father and my homeland of Spain I set out for new pastures. My adventures took me to Bangkok where I scored a top 10 hit with my single Confused and also Venezuela where I endorsed a range of pan pipes on TV commercials. I finally decided to settle in the rustic streets of Edinburgh to try and rejuvenate your declining country with love, music and hot pants.

But then I discovered your Simon Cowell and the monster that is Britain's Got Talent. Yes I'll admit to auditioning for this programme, but I was young and desperate. I just wanted to entertain the beautiful people of Britain. The way they treat you in this capitalist machine that chews you up and shits you out is U.G.L.Y –no one's got no alibi.

You go in thinking you're the next SuBo or Twist&Pulse, but then you arrive on stage only for someone like Amanda Holden to take a big stinky turd on your chest in front of 10 million viewers. I went on that stage hoping to be the next Connie Talbot and I came off feeling like the next Raoul Moat.

But I got a better deal than this year's contestants. All that talent, and they were beaten by a fucking dog! It raises the question, are there any human beings in Britain with Talent? I think so, and for those people losing out to a dog is like watching an anorexic win a pie eating competition. It just shouldn't happen. And what's a dog going to do with £500,000 anyway, unless he's going to start making regular sordid trips to a red light kennel?

This country has fallen prey to El Generalissimo Cowell's grip on television and the illusion that we can all become famous, even if our only talent is playing Bohemian Rhapsody on the spoons. With Russia and China both on board the '...Got Talent' train, God only knows what's going to happen to the world. The Mayans predicted 2012 to be the year of the end of the world. Perhaps they foresaw the rise of Jedward?

So fuck Simon Cowell and his 1983 buzz cut. If I had one night with him in Edinburgh I'd firstly take him on a shopping trip to Topman were I would add some colour to his wardrobe and chuck in a trilby or two. We'd hit a tapas restaurant, guzzle down some sangria, knock back a tequila or ten and spend a few hours back at a Premier Inn – courtesy of Simon of course. (And who knows, maybe if I bring out my old €20 hand job speciality, then maybe I'll get that record contract after all.)

Until then, I will be exploding right in the face of Edinburgh all of this August with my own show, called Britain's Got Fuck All Talent in which you can witness me perform my chart topping single while marvelling at my killer dance moves. We're also lucky to have Anthony the bouncer who will demonstrate his 'fuck your ass up' martial arts, Northern Irish schoolgirl Scorchka O'Finnegan who has been physically removed from Britain's Got Talent on four separate occasions, and Kenny Boyle children's author and cousin of SuBo. And you know what? None of them are dogs. Suck on that, Cowell.