ĎIts Oh So Quietí whispers the Icelandic pop pixie on the album ĎPostí. Not for long though if Bjork is around, nothing remains quiet once her growly shriek comes into play. Akin to the kind of siren they install in Nuclear Power Stations to warn people that it is about to go critical, it is the kind of sound that can be heard in space. And in space no-one can hear you scream.
But I have not come here to praise Bjork, but to bury her. Preferably in a concrete bunker that her sonic weapon could not break out of. After all she is a very dangerous woman to tackle, weíve all seen her attack that journalist. I was quite keen on this moment because I thought it would swing the worlds sympathies on to my side and finally show what a menace pop stars are. Instead people put up with the pop puffin being in rubbish films (I thought we had killed the musical) and boasting about her own army. She is a megalomaniac wrapped in kookie dead swan wrapping. Think about it – only one group of people in the world persist with never learning English properly – and that is James Bond villains. I for one can see Bjork strapping Bond to her volcano sized sonic weapon and trilling:
ďNo Meeester Bond, I expeeect you to die. Innit.Ē Before holding the world to ransom with an oh so ironic rendition of Human Behaviour. Get on the wrong side of her and she will be Violently Happy. Its all fight, fight, fight with her.
The sooner the world realise this menace in our midst the sooner we can do something about her. She has even joined forced with that other major force for evil in the world Thom Yorke on -ďIíve Seen It AllĒ. I bet you have love, from your top secret spy satellites. But will you listen to me, I fear not. It will do you no good wishing you had listened to that voice of reason Tanya Headon when the world is under the jackboot heel of the Icelandic Despot. Or at least the heel of a boot made of jelly or matchbox toys – this is Bjork we are talking about here after all.