Irma van Straaten

Hold on to your hats, kids – according to a newspaper, a footballer might be a bit sexually promiscuous.

We know. It’s bizarre, isn’t it? To think that a member of the footballing profession – a profession that requires the strength of a superhero, the brains of a rocket scientist and the sound moral judgement of a clergyman – could actually cheat on his wife with a prostitute is a shock beyond words. And to think that the footballer responsible was allegedly sensible, trustworthy Wayne Rooney – an unflappable rock of a man who has never once lost his temper in his entire life – well, we’re dumbfounded.

After all, it’s not like Wayne Rooney has ever done anything like this befo… ah, actually, wait, no. Sorry. Sorry. Our mistake. Whoops. Ah, this is awkward.

In a way, footballers have got the best job in the world. They might all have faces that make them look as if they were caught in a blast at the Mr Potato Head component factory, but they’re so rich that they can often overcome these shortcomings by having it off with as many prostitutes as they like. It’s just a shame that they tend to do it while they’re either married or engaged.

First Peter Crouch was accused of sleeping with a teenage Algerian prostitute, and now Wayne Rooney has allegedly followed suit. According to some of the Sunday papers, Rooney cheated on his pregnant wife several times with a 21-year-old prostitute called Jenny Thompson, and now he fears that his marriage is in tatters. The Sun reports:

Tearful Rooney was said to be “in meltdown” last night after Jenny’s shock revelations in our sister paper the News of the World. The star made a series of calls to Coleen, mum to his ten-month-old son Kai, and promised to get help for his fixation with prostitutes. But Rooney’s shocked cousin Natalie, who famously bared her boobs at Coleen’s 21st birthday party, branded him a “dirty bastard”.

Now, to be fair to Wayne Rooney, he hasn’t made a public admission of guilt yet, so it’d be wrong to assume that the rumours of him sleeping with a 21-year-old prostitute are true. It certainly doesn’t sound like his sort of thing. She was pre-menopausal, for a start, which we didn’t think he was all that keen on. But what do we know? Maybe Wayne Rooney made Jenny Thompson act like an old lady instead – perhaps he drew some wrinkles on her face with a pencil and got her to complain about immigrants and reminisce about the days of pre-decimalisation until he ejaculated into her denture cup.

We’ll have to stop this now. Thinking about this is making us far too aroused.

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Hold on to your hats, kids – according to a newspaper, a footballer might be a bit sexually promiscuous. We know. It’s bizarre, isn’t it? To think that a member of the footballing profession – a profession that requires the strength of a superhero, the brains of a rocket scientist and the sound moral judgement [...]

We’ve been making Spotify playlists to share with you (sorry America, you don’t have it yet) and we’d like you to join in.

Yesireebob, our HecklerPlay playlists have been based around themes (you can see previous playlists here) and this week, we’re looking at ARRRGH! AAAARRRRGH! GAAAGH! RRAAAH! AAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

Yes. Anger.

So if you’d like to choose a track for everyone else to listen to while they bludgeon their team leader repeatedly with a Rapesco stapler, or indeed, vent their ire while throwing their recent ex’s clothes and belongings out of a window, leave a comment on the site or tell us at our Facebook group or on Twitter.

Someone has already suggested ‘That’s My Goal’ by Shayne Ward.

We’ve been making Spotify playlists to share with you (sorry America, you don’t have it yet) and we’d like you to join in. Yesireebob, our HecklerPlay playlists have been based around themes (you can see previous playlists here) and this week, we’re looking at ARRRGH! AAAARRRRGH! GAAAGH! RRAAAH! AAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGH! Yes. Anger. So if you’d like [...]

No matter what Dancing On Ice does in the future – even it somehow finds a cure for Piers Morgan – it will always be remembered for Todd Carty wobbling about on the rink like a drunk trying to stand up on a lilo in a pool.

Maybe that’s because the celebrities hired for the show are so eye-poppingly poor that no-one ever really manges to recall a full memory of the show… and the new series looks like it’ll be no different.

That’s because Vanilla Ice and Calum Best are being lined up to take part in the Strictly Come Ice Skating show, as well as a whole other bunch of no marks.

Of course, this isn’t the first time either of these slebs have appeared on reality/format TV. Vanilla Ice is no longer famous in our collective heads as being the man who rapped “Ice ice baby”. That’s in part, thanks to the Halifax now claiming it as their own, prompting people to clench their fists so hard their knuckles go white and their finger nails drop-off.

No, Vanilla Ice (real name: Something really amusing) is only famous for his appearance on The Farm where he hilariously got his arse handed to him by an irate Paul Daniels who shouted at him ’til his ears evaporated.

Best, of course, is famous for sticking his penis into various women despite being of No Fixed Talent. He, of course, appeared in Celebrity Love Island, bearing witness to Paul Danan’s staggering and numerous nervous breakdowns, which in a way, we really should applaud him for.

The other rumoured participants on the show are equally grim.

There’s been mutterings that Kerry Katona, Jonathan Wilkes and Tim Westwood have been lined up to skid around an ice rink on their ears. If these all transpire to be true, then by God, there’s a chance that this could be the worst/best programme ever aired.

Just think of it. Westwood and Vanilla Ice talking each other up before breaking numerous bones live on our television sets.

Wonderful.

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No matter what Dancing On Ice does in the future – even it somehow finds a cure for Piers Morgan – it will always be remembered for Todd Carty wobbling about on the rink like a drunk trying to stand up on a lilo in a pool. Maybe that’s because the celebrities hired for the [...]

There is a weird twin montage at the beginning of this week’s X Factor, obviously because of Jedward’s outstanding success.

This leads me to think all the auditionees would settle for Jedward’s “success” even though they were actually renowned for being utter shite. Have they no shame? I’ve always found twins a bit creepy, anyway.

Twem are from France. Twem is Arabic for twin and joy, or something. They think Britain is ‘hot and spicy’ which in this September washout is pretty laughable. They also sound like women. My major gripe with Twem, however is that they, being quite clearly French, pronounce Paris as “Paris,” not “Paree”. Isn’t this like me announcing I come from Birmingham in a French accent? Who does that? I conclude that they are clearly not French and it is staged. And 90% of the X Factor viewing population wouldn’t understand if they said “Paree”. It’s a sad world we live in.

A man who sounds like a make of jeans is next (Storm Lee). Because Chezza takes offence to Simon not using his proper name, the whole world does too, if Twitter is anything to go by. Simon asks what Chezza would call him if he changed his name to Lightning and Chezza helpfully says “Storm.” We never said she was smart…

Storm is apparently a songwriter (so of course he’s on the X Factor). He is from LA, (California, he adds helpfully) and apparently took a plane, a bus and three taxis to get to the X Factor auditions. Well, if there’s a long taxi ride at the end of my journey I always break it into three, too.

Obviously since he likes rock music, Aerosmith is played in the background. Because this is what the X Factor producer thinks is rock. Fuck Rage Against The Machine, Green Day, Tool, even The Killers. Nope, 80s/90s Dadrock it is. He sings The Police but gets asked to sing another. SO HE SINGS U2. Now, I have a big problem with U2 (BECAUSE THEY ARE BORING), so this was never going to go well.

He gets through, and they play Bon Jovi.

A man called John is next. He looks after patients with dementia. I decide instantly that he is a Nice Man and he sings You Are So Beautiful. Lovely. Sadly, The Mirror will likely expose him for fucking one of his patients if he gets very far. In the nose.

Next we’re off to Birmingham. Now this is my home town so it is especially cringeworthy for me. Natalie Imbruglia is the guest judge, and it is a touch embarrassing that they play Torn constantly when introducing her. It was ten years ago for fuck’s sake!

Liam walks onto stage, who is 16 and looks like Scott Pilgrim. Simon, very believably, puts his finger to his cheek and says “we know you!” Yeah right. He’s not briefed. Liam says he will sing Cry Me A River and I think, ooh, I rather like that song, despite it being by Justin Timberlake. But alas no, it is the Julie London jazz version. Anyway, he’s pretty good, though I do wonder whether singers actually do need to bend their knees, grab the air, touch their hearts, and squeeze their eyes closed when reaching high notes. It’s a bit like lady tennis players: do they need to grunt? Or do they do it because everybody else does?

After this, Louis says he wants boys. The jokes write themselves really.

Patty is next. She’s the first Crazie. She’s quickly followed by the High Street Boys, Scott (wearing fetching white glasses) and Brenda, who wears what look like laboratory goggles and sings Pink. I have nothing to say about these people.

Cher is next. Twitter has been very excited about Cher. At first glance I think she’s pretty but then I decide her eyebrows are weird. She looks like a Mii. You know, off Wii. She sings a song called Turn My Swag On which makes me feel about a hundred years old. She does quite good dancing, and it’s so weird it’s kind of fascinating. She gets a standing ovation which is just a stupid English thing we do when one person stands up.

On the upside however, Chezza, Louis and Simon ALL say “100% yes.”  Hooray! They must have read my article.

There’s another montage next, and I can’t resist pointing this out: I WENT TO SCHOOL WITH TRECY COHEN. WE EVEN SANG TOGETHER EXCEPT SHE COMPLETELY UPSTAGED ME. She got to judges’ houses last year in LA (California) and is back for a second attempt. She won’t get through though, because they only spent two seconds on her this episode. Alas alack.

Abbie and Lisa are last. They completely fuck it up, and either Abbie or Lisa punches either Abbie or Lisa. They are a stunning example of what Birmingham has to offer. I mean, just YouTube it.

X Factor drinking games continued:

• Two fingers every time there’s a random standing ovation
• Every time Dad Rock is played for someone with remotely good music taste
• Every time you wonder what’s going on with Natalie Imbruglia’s lips
• Every time somebody squeezes their eyes shuts/looks like they’re screaming/reaches out into mid air/stamps their feet/kneels down when singing.

This is a guest post by Billygean, whose blog you can read here.

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There is a weird twin montage at the beginning of this week’s X Factor, obviously because of Jedward’s outstanding success. This leads me to think all the auditionees would settle for Jedward’s “success” even though they were actually renowned for being utter shite. Have they no shame? I’ve always found twins a bit creepy, anyway. [...]

Hello everyone. So. Bad news. After a long period of uncharacteristic soul-searching, I’ve reached the painful decision to stand down as hecklerspray editor as of Friday.

It hasn’t been an easy choice to make – I’ve been here for five years, and this has been my entire life for most of that time – but the sad truth is that other my commitments have left me no time to give the site the attention that it deserves. So, for the sake of hecklerspray and its readers, I’ve decided to step aside and let someone else take the reigns instead. It’s bittersweet, but it’s probably for the best.

But, hey, Monday mornings are no time to be this maudlin. Come Friday afternoon, I’ll inevitably be crying and drunk and full of regret somewhere. But in the meantime, it’s business as usual. I only hope that someone famous does something really stupid between now and then to give me the send-off I deserve.

Stu

Hello everyone. So. Bad news. After a long period of uncharacteristic soul-searching, I’ve reached the painful decision to stand down as hecklerspray editor as of Friday. It hasn’t been an easy choice to make – I’ve been here for five years, and this has been my entire life for most of that time – but [...]

This week’s toffee and fudge.

Folded:

• Cassetteboy…we love you (could this be his best one yet?)
• SaveWalterWhite.com (fun this actually exists, and good too because you can follow the link and give money to a real cancer charity)
• Own George Clooney’s sunglasses from The American (it is guaranteed you will look just like him when you wear them)
• Soon you’ll be able to buy Back to the Future Nike shoes with power laces (we live in wonderful times)
• Breaking Bad wins some Emmys (and it deserved to because it’s the best show on TV that none of your friends watch)

Creased:

• Bridget Fonda has not appeared in a movie for eight years (this is terrible news for anyone who remembers how hot she used to be)
• It’s September (let’s all enjoy the summer. Stupid country)
• Five’s massive amount of ad breaks (seriously, they are on about every ten minutes and always right in the middle of an action scene or passage of dialo-)
• Bank holiday slowdown (short week nuthin; it drags even more when you have slipped into a coma watching old movies and eating Chipsticks on the Monday)
• Okay, even we think Diana Princess of Wales pants are a sick idea (and what’s a kid doing there?)

Michael Jackson fans love us writing about their favourite popstar. We pull their noses and they get to try and outdo each other with hyperbolic claims of infatuation and true fandom. We all prop each other up, like recovering drunks in a day centre.

Someone who loves Michael Jackson more than any of us is his dad Joe. Or, more accurately, Joe really loves those pennies that MJ earned in his life.

As such, Joe Jackson is now going through the courts to get his mitts on the moolah.

Joe has been granted a court date to argue that his son Michael’s estate executors should be removed. Presumably, he’s not too impressed with the way that the current team are respecting Michael’s wishes to leave his dad piss-all money.

And now, a court in California set a court date (if you’re the kind of idiot who hangs around these court houses with pointless placards, then the date is October 6) for Joe’s appeal, which will see the man who used to make Michael Jackson vomit with fear attempting to oust estate executors John Branca and John McClain.

Michael didn’t include Joe in his will, but that’s not stopping our heavy-handed soul parent. He’s claiming that he should have the right to dismiss any potential executors because he was financially dependant on his son during the popstar’s final years.

Of course, since Jacko died, his corpse has been raking it in, and if we’ve noticed, then our Joe will have noticed even more. Tune in next week when Joe Jackson grafts a beak, wings and vulture’s hump onto his body and he circles car-crashes looking for bones to lick clean.

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Michael Jackson fans love us writing about their favourite popstar. We pull their noses and they get to try and outdo each other with hyperbolic claims of infatuation and true fandom. We all prop each other up, like recovering drunks in a day centre. Someone who loves Michael Jackson more than any of us is [...]

Kick-Ass is one of the best films of the year and, as we learnt last week, one of the most impossible films to follow if you’re trying to watch the censored version on an aircraft.

But forget that, because Monday sees the DVD release of Kick-Ass (order it here) and we’ve got a phenomenal giveaway to mark it. One of you lucky swines will soon be the recipient of a LIMITED EDITION, individually numbered Kick-Ass box set packed full of goodies, including exclusive art cards, the original graphic novel that started it all, and all kinds of other crap. To stand a chance of winning it, all you have to do is answer this question:

Whose ass would you most like to kick, and why?

Email your answers (and contact details) to hello[AT]hecklerspray.com with the subject heading ‘Kick-Ass Competition’. Best entry wins. Competition closes at midnight on September 10. UK readers only, please.

Film(c) 2009 KA Films LP. All Rights Reserved.

Kick-Ass is one of the best films of the year and, as we learnt last week, one of the most impossible films to follow if you’re trying to watch the censored version on an aircraft. But forget that, because Monday sees the DVD release of Kick-Ass (order it here) and we’ve got a phenomenal giveaway [...]

Ricky Gervais seems to have the ability to rub people up the wrong way.

Maybe it’s his egotistical rants or perhaps because The Invention of Lying was complete turd. Either way some people just cant stand the sharp-toothed tubster.

Whatever it is it seems to be mostly unfounded. As both The Office and Extras proved that when paired with Stephen Merchant he has an ability for creating both comedy steeped in real-life while delivering some genuine drama to each scenario.

While Cemetery Junction doesn’t quite have the squirm-inducing Gervais in centre stage, it does have a trio of leads that seem adept at providing as much grounded humour, with the added bonus of not looking like a deep-fried marshmallow.

Set in ‘70s Reading, it’s hardly the glamorous tale that you’d expect Gervais and Merchant to promote after their international success and celebrity filled fun on Extras. What we get is coming-of-age drama, set against the backdrop of the blue collar upbringing of a group of three distinct lads.

While Freddie gets a job working for a superbly straight-faced Ralph Fiennes at a life insurance company, his mate Bruce is trying to cope with being a rebel, while Snork is just trying to be the ‘Gervais’ characters.

Although, that’s a bit unfair on Snork. The character provides most of the laughs as the comedy sidekick simpleton. The character manages to provide plenty of chuckles even if he doesn’t quite seen believable in the setting. Most of the early humour revolves around sniggers at schoolboy gay insults and Elton John’s sexuality. A few smaller characters also make an impact but it doesn’t quite hit the memorable balance of humour and humanity that The Office excelled in.

It’s more functional as an indie drama and it’s here, without the weight of expectation from Britain’s home-grown comedy heroes, that the story shines. A study on adolescence, marriage and dreams against the backdrop of ‘70s England with a great soundtrack. You care more about the eventualities of the situations rather on waiting for Snork to guff on Fred again. In that way, it’s probably one of the most involving British films for some years.

It’s clear that both Merchant and Gervais have filled the film with many cinematic influences and it plays on the era well. Also, the casting of Fiennes is a masterstroke, given that the legendary actor has a gravitas that makes much of his comedy the standout. Similarly, Watchman’s Matthew Goode makes for the clichéd controlling boyfriend between Fred and his love interest Julie. One trope of cinema that never fails to annoy is how the girl only ever discovers her boyfriend is such a monster when the really nice guy shows up. Presumably, being pushed around like a geriatric on a bus trip was all hunky dory before he arrived.

So it doesn’t all work on inventive levels but when the story and characters are propelling Cemetery Junction so well, it proves that Gervais and Merchant aren’t two of Britain’s best comedy writers but they’re actually two of the best dramatic ones.

‘Spray Rating: 4/5

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Ricky Gervais seems to have the ability to rub people up the wrong way. Maybe it’s his egotistical rants or perhaps because The Invention of Lying was complete turd. Either way some people just cant stand the sharp-toothed tubster. Whatever it is it seems to be mostly unfounded. As both The Office and Extras proved [...]

Kelly Osbourne first appeared on the radar as a kinda-chunky potty-mouthed brat with daft hair and a house covered in dog-shit. Then, she releases a couple of singles and does a duet with her dad.

Then she almost disappeared.

Well, it seems that, in the interim, she’s been losing weight and now she wants us all to see it as a picture of her looking svelte in a bra appeared on Twitter. That’s not really that newsworthy… but the fact she joined the Pussycat Dolls is so weird that we really ought to relay it to you all.

The thought of Kelly Osbourne gyrating with the Pussycat Dolls goes against everything our puny little brains have ever thought. I mean, they’re the girlfriends of jocks right? Kelly is the snotty little punk in the toilets smoking tabs?

Not anymore. These worlds melded as one peculiar beast on Wednesday night in LA.

Apparently, Osbourne has been working hard on improving her body. She’s a size two these days. We don’t even know what that means. Is it like children’s shoes? If she goes lower does she end up in thirteens?

Anyway, she performed alongside the Dolls during an invitation only show at the Viper Room club… you know the one, the club where celebrities go and die.

She took to the stage wearing a flashy white sparkly corset, hot pants and fishnet stockings.

“It’s the first time I’ve really danced since filming ‘ Dancing with the Stars,’ but it’s so different,’ she said. “This isn’t stiff ballroom – it’s slinky and sexy!”

Robin Antin’s hybrid burlesque act invited Osbourne to join them and Antin wrote on her Twitter page:

“SNEAK PEEK of Kelly in rehearsal for Pussycat Dolls Burlesque Review! WOW, she’s so HOT!”

And then she posted this:

So there you have it. Famous person is now thinner than previous. Everyone continues their lives unchanged.

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Kelly Osbourne first appeared on the radar as a kinda-chunky potty-mouthed brat with daft hair and a house covered in dog-shit. Then, she releases a couple of singles and does a duet with her dad. Then she almost disappeared. Well, it seems that, in the interim, she’s been losing weight and now she wants us [...]

TI, who is a rapper, has had frequent brushes with the long arm of the law. He’s caused near riots which saw the police pepper spraying everyone and shutting down a music award ceremony, as well as getting done for the ol’ possession and a firearm trick.

And now, he’s back in prison, less than six months after being released from a year-long stretch in the clink after he and his wife were arrested on drug charges, after police couldn’t help but get a load of weed-stink up their nostrils when they stopped the couple’s car.

Oh dear. More Magic Trees needed.

According to a representative from the sheriff’s department, “deputies smelled a strong odour of marijuana emitting from the vehicle” and “a narcotics investigation ensued”.

A bunch of pills that “resembled ecstasy” were taken from the vehicle and the couple were then arrested on suspicion of possessing methamphetamines and posted bail to the tune of $10,000 (£6,500) each.

This is bad news for the dunderheaded rapper as he was already on probation from a 2007 weapons charge.

He noted that his last stint in jail sent him down an unhealthy road.

“Putting me in prison took me off the path of positivity. Now I’m working to get back on that path – or at least back on the path to the extent that I was before I went in … Being in that environment and having those daily surroundings, it’s going to affect you.”

Oh dear. Now he’s going to be all negative again. Oh well, we can only assume that the US police department will let him out before he’s even got close to serving his time and let him spend a couple of days in a rehab.

What?! There’s one set of rules for young actresses and another for young black men in America?!

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TI, who is a rapper, has had frequent brushes with the long arm of the law. He’s caused near riots which saw the police pepper spraying everyone and shutting down a music award ceremony, as well as getting done for the ol’ possession and a firearm trick. And now, he’s back in prison, less than [...]

Celebrities are annoying aren’t they? That’s why we like being nasty to them. Sometimes, we like to slag people off who are more talented than us. Sometimes we like to chide them simply because they’re richer than us.

In most cases, we hate celebrities because they get much more attention than we do and we’re just as needy as they are. It’s quite possible we’re more needy. Not one member of the press took any notice when one of the editorial team got arrested for hoovering up lines of drugs whilst getting their genitals messed with by someone dressed up like a Tudor peasant.

But who is the most annoying celebrity on the planet right now? There’s a lot to choose from isn’t there? Piers Morgan? Su Pollard?

If you want to cast a vote, or indeed, hurl endless abuse at us, click here to visit our Facebook page.

Celebrities are annoying aren’t they? That’s why we like being nasty to them. Sometimes, we like to slag people off who are more talented than us. Sometimes we like to chide them simply because they’re richer than us. In most cases, we hate celebrities because they get much more attention than we do and we’re [...]

So. You’re Paris Hilton. Wait, wait, take that man’s penis out of your mouth, we haven’t finished yet.

OK, you’re Paris Hilton. You’ve just been arrested and charged with felony cocaine possession after a police officer found a bag of drugs in your handbag. Luckily you have a cast-iron excuse – the bag isn’t yours. A friend lent it to you and, even though it contains some of your belongings, it’s not your bag and you had no idea that there was any cocaine in it whatsoever. And that, Paris Hilton, is your one-way ticket to freedom. You’re a genius.

Unless, of course, you’d taken a picture of something that looks identical to the offending handbag in July and posted it on Twitter along with the caption “Love My New Chanel Purse I got Today.:)”. Because that would sort of make you a colossal dimwit, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it, Paris Hilton? You dimwit.

The main question surrounding Paris Hilton’s recent drug arrest isn’t ‘Is Paris Hilton guilty?’ but ‘Is Paris Hilton really that stupid?’, and rightly so. After all, the main thrust of her defence seems to be that a) the handbag she was holding wasn’t hers, and that b) she thought that the bag of cocaine inside the handbag was actually a packet of chewing gum. So is it true? Can Paris Hilton really be that stupid?

The answer is no. She can’t be that stupid. Because it actually looks like she’s much, much stupider than that. She’s so stupid that her stupidness can’t be measured in reasonable human terms. To get an accurate gauge of Paris Hilton’s stupidness, you’d need NASA to divert all of its resources into a building a cutting-edge, space age Stupidness Observation Tower on the moon just to capture the outright vastness of her galactic moronitude.

Why? Because all the while that Paris Hilton was telling the police that the Chanel handbag wasn’t hers, she appears to have forgotten that she tweeted this on July 15 this year…

And lord knows that the Twitter detectives have seized upon this with all of their might, leaving Paris messages like:

Did the bag come with cocaine?

And:

What the hell is wrong with your thumb?

But it’s not an open and shut case yet. Some sources claim that Paris Hilton bought the bag, then gave it to her friend as a gift, and then borrowed it back. Also, there’s a chance that she’ll refine her defence or, better yet, have the charges thrown out because of the supposedly illegal nature of the search carried out by the police officers. So this picture is by no means evidence that Paris Hilton is guilty.

But it probably is evidence that Paris Hilton is a numbskull. Obviously.

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So. You’re Paris Hilton. Wait, wait, take that man’s penis out of your mouth, we haven’t finished yet. OK, you’re Paris Hilton. You’ve just been arrested and charged with felony cocaine possession after a police officer found a bag of drugs in your handbag. Luckily you have a cast-iron excuse – the bag isn’t yours. [...]

What’s the best thing about Natalie Portman? Her constant determination to take on one challenging role after another?

Her fierce political activism? Her intellectualism? No, you idiots. The best thing about Natalie Portman is probably the way that she looks quite nice when she wears pretty dresses. Look at her, all pretty in a lovely frock. She looks like a fairytale princess. What a lovely, pretty, lovely little princess Natalie Portman is. Why, if she didn’t waste her time by thinking about things so much, she’d be perfect. She’d be our pretty, lovely, lovely little perfect princess in her lovely pretty perfect dress.

Anyway, here’s lovely Natalie Portman in a lovely red dress at the premiere of her new film, which is about swans or something. It doesn’t matter, though, because it’s a good excuse for her to walk up and down in a pretty dress, which is what she’s best at. Not acting. Or thinking. Stupid Natalie Portman.

It goes without saying that Natalie Portman’s greatest achievement to date is her role in Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, because she got to wander around with her eyes all big looking adorable and she didn’t have to think about things very hard. It’s so much better than films like Brothers or Closer, where she spoilt things by being subtle and morally ambiguous. Ugh.

Anyway, apparently Natalie Portman’s new film The Black Swan is almost as good as Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. It’s so good, in fact, that following its premiere at the Venice Film Festival this week, some say that she might even win an Oscar for it. That’s great news! It means that the Oscars are so impressed with Natalie Portman that they’ll introduce a brand new category – for Loveliest Princess In A Lovely Pretty Dress – just so she can win something.

But what’s The Black Swan about and, more importantly, how many lovely pretty dresses will Natalie Portman get to wander around looking pretty in? CBS reports:

In Contention’s Guy Lodge called the film “boldly deranged and beautifully despairing.” Screen International’s Mike Goodridge said “Portman is captivating… Like Catherine Deneuve in “Repulsion” or Mia Farrow in “Rosemary’s Baby,” she captures the confusion of a repressed young woman thrown into a world of danger and temptation with frightening veracity.”

What? Confusion? Danger? Despairing? Captivating? This is no good. No good at all. It sounds like The Black Swan isn’t going to contain any lovely pretty dresses at all. And Natalie Portman probably isn’t even going to wink and blow a kiss at the audience, not even once. God, we hate The Black Swan.

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What’s the best thing about Natalie Portman? Her constant determination to take on one challenging role after another? Her fierce political activism? Her intellectualism? No, you idiots. The best thing about Natalie Portman is probably the way that she looks quite nice when she wears pretty dresses. Look at her, all pretty in a lovely [...]

Punks are idiots. Phlegm soaked idiots at that. You see, they told us for years that there was ‘no future’ while sneakily getting one of the most lucrative pension plans in existence – and that is the one of coining it in from faux-rebellion.

You see, punk had a great get-out clause. Basically, that meant that any attempt to fleece you, the public, could be filed in the ‘Art School Prank’ column and the biggest slags of the lot, The Sex Pistols, are at it again.

Bizarrely, they’ve released a perfume.

That’s right. On the back of appearances on countless clips shows, an appearance on I’m A Celebrity… GET ME OUT OF HERE!, some Country Life butter commercials and the re-releasing of their sole LP in countless guises and tarted-up box sets, the Pistols are now putting their name on a unisex perfume.

The advertising gubbins says:

“Resisting tradition, fighting conformity and disregarding aromatic conventions it leaves a fresh, restless bite of lemon, sharpened and intensified by a defiant black pepper. Electrified by aldehydes, the fragrance exudes pure energy, pared down and pumped up by leather, shot through with heliotrope and brought back down to earth by a raunchy patchouli.”

“As well as a strong scent, the bottle also makes a bold impression, with its iconic graphic inspired by the front cover of the single ‘God Save the Queen’ released in 1977.”

Are you getting all this down? ‘Raunchy patchouli’ and ‘defiant black pepper’.  Jeez… stop us from laughing so we can ingest huge amounts of heroin before stabbing our wives to death.

Of course, if the Sex Pistols really meant it maaaaaaan, they should have released a bottle of vinegar and piss for you to wear on your scrawny neck, all mottled up with huge green snotty loogies. That’s the scent of most punks if you ever brave their grotty little bedsits.

If you’re a complete idiot, you can buy it here for £20.

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Punks are idiots. Phlegm soaked idiots at that. You see, they told us for years that there was ‘no future’ while sneakily getting one of the most lucrative pension plans in existence – and that is the one of coining it in from faux-rebellion. You see, punk had a great get-out clause. Basically, that meant [...]

Now that Tiger Woods is single again, he can throw himself into the bachelor lifestyle with wild abandon.

He can go out and get drunk. He can have sex with as many unsuitable women as he possibly can. He can act like as much of a total pervert as he likes every second of the day. He can… oh, no, wait, we’re just listing things that Tiger Woods already did when he was married, aren’t we? Silly us.

Still, that hasn’t stopped Tiger Woods from taking out a vast $54.5 million mortgage on a new home in Florida. Apparently it’s got everything that a man like Tiger Woods could possibly want, like a tennis court, an oxygen room, a gym, wipe-clean bedsheets and an adjoining 24-hour sexually transmitted disease treatment facility. We may have made some of these up.

We don’t know about you, but we certainly miss the good old days of the Tiger Woods sex scandal. Why, if we had our day, then we’d still be bringing you a different story every day about a brand new set of women who had sex with Tiger Woods during his marriage. Women with strands of synthetic polymer where their hair should be, and a couple of rancid watermelons where their boobs used to be, and skin that looks like it should set off every single Geiger counter in a 20-mile radius, and names that are almost entirely made up of vowels. God, we miss that.

But that’s all in the past now. Tiger Woods has seen what such an exhausting schedule of no-strings sex with a spectrum of ratty-looking cocktail waitresses can do to his public image, personal happiness and financial situation and – now that he’s finally got divorced from his wife – he’s on the straight and narrow again. And to prove it, he’s just bought an insultingly large mansion to begin his life as a bachelor. The New York Daily News reports:

Hot on the heels of his highly public divorce, Tiger Woods reportedly took out a $54.5 million dollar mortgage for his new Florida mansion. The troubled golfer filed the legal docs for the massive mortgage earlier this week. The home, located on the exclusive Jupiter Island, will reportedly have a tennis court, oxygen therapy room, many pools and a fitness center. The loan should be repaid by 2016.

Of course, Tiger Woods would do well to remember that no amount of material possessions will ever replace the family he lost with his serial philandering. But then again, he probably is going to have loads of sex with hundreds of porn stars from now on, and that probably might.

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Now that Tiger Woods is single again, he can throw himself into the bachelor lifestyle with wild abandon.

This year’s Dancing With The Stars will feature the likes of Bristol Palin, The Situation and Michael Bolton.

But that’s not why you’ll watch it. No. You’re only going to watch Dancing With The Stars for David Hasselhoff, aren’t you? It’s OK, you can admit it. You’ll either watch it because you genuinely appreciated David Hasselhoff’s work on Knight Rider and Baywatch, or because you’re an ironic fan of David Hasselhoff’s ironic ‘Hoff’ persona, or because you want to see David Hasselhoff turn up drunk, start a fight with the gay Italian and then roll around on the floor urinating everywhere.

But what if you want to see David Hasselhoff do everything in his power to try and have sex with his Dancing With The Stars partner? Don’t worry, he’s got that angle covered as well. It was obviously a massive risk on the part of the Dancing With The Stars producers to hire David Hasselhoff. Don’t forget, David Hasselhoff is perhaps best-known for not being able to eat a hamburger off the floor properly so, by attempting something as complex as ballroom dancing, there’s a very real chance that he could end up dislocating every single bone in his body.

Not that David Hasselhoff cares about that, anyway. He’s only going on Dancing With The Stars for the poontang. No, really. E! Online reports:

“My daughters are the ones who talked me into this, and they said, ‘if you get this certain dance partner, you’re going to be very happy.’ And when I met the dance partner, I was smiling for a long time,” David said with a grin too big to be just for show. Uh-oh. The hookup rumors are starting before a single sequined pantsuit has been donned.

Now, we don’t know who David Hasselhoff’s Dancing With The Stars partner is – partly because she hasn’t been announced yet, and because because we really can’t bring ourselves to care – but, on the simple basis that she’s a female member of the professional Dancing With The Stars team, we’re going to guess that she’s tall, slim, coated in a thick nut-coloured Ronseal mixture and has about 4,000 more teeth than she would ever actually need. Or maybe, because David Hasselhoff loves her, she might be a talking car. We just don’t know.

Still, this news has suddenly made Dancing With The Stars a lot more appealing. As the relationship between David Hasselhoff and his partner develops, we’re bound to see a lot more brand new dance moves from them, including the Sneaky Non-Consensual Grope, the Restraining Order Threat and the Oh God Your Breath Smells Like Alcohol Again Look At Yourself You Disgust Me. We can’t wait.

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This year's Dancing With The Stars will feature the likes of Bristol Palin, The Situation and Michael Bolton.

True story – Age Of War probably got the best reaction of any Slackerjack we’ve ever published. People loved it, and no wonder. It was brilliant.

And here’s Age Of War 2. Whoopee. The good news is that it’s just as good as before. Age Of War 2 works just the same as its predecessor – you fight an army, slowly gaining the money and experience points necessary to evolve. You go from caveman you futuristic spider-cyborg before you know it. Honestly one of the most satisfying games around.

Play Age Of War 2 now

True story – Age Of War probably got the best reaction of any Slackerjack we’ve ever published. People loved it, and no wonder. It was brilliant. And here’s Age Of War 2. Whoopee. The good news is that it’s just as good as before. Age Of War 2 works just the same as its predecessor – [...]

There are two types of people in this country – people who like X Factor and people who like Strictly Come Dancing.

Wait, no. Sorry. There are actually three types of people in this country – people who like X Factor, people who like Strictly Come Dancing and people who aren’t gormless, backwards, cross-eyed, clapalong, dribbling, remedial Saturday night bellends. Three types. Sorry.

Anyway, some people have lives so colossally empty that they actually like X Factor and Strictly Come Dancing, and they’re bound to be upset by the news that both shows will air at the same time this year. Simon Cowell is upset about it too, but we get the feeling that’s mainly because he knows that if the audience is split then his plan to blind everyone in the country with the agonising glare from his ridiculous granny teeth will end in tragic failure.

So that’s it, then. Summer’s over. It’s all downhill to Christmas now. From now on our weekends will be dominated by hour after insulting hour of dumbly lowest common-denominator talent shows full of crying and pointless explosion noises and toe-curlingly scripted feuds by judges who look as if they’ve never had an original thought in their entire lives. And, whether you choose to take this nonsense in its X Factor or Strictly Come Dancing form, chances are you will end up being sucked in. Because your lives really are that desolate.

But the sole nugget of joy you should take from this is that you can’t watch both. Thanks to some mercifully competitive scheduling, Strictly Come Dancing and X Factor will be shown at the same time this year, which means you’ll be spared at least half of the agony. It’s joyous news. People should be dancing in the street out of sheer gratitude that they can no longer watch both Bruno Tonioli and Cheryl Cole spout the same mindless cack on the telly in the same evening.

But tell that to Simon Cowell. He’s got his knickers in an almighty twist about it, and wants Strictly Come Dancing to relent and get out of X Factor’s way. God knows why. The Sun reports:

He said: “I’d suggest they show Strictly a bit earlier in the afternoon because their audience is older. I’m serious. Then they can have a nap if it finishes at six and watch X Factor later. We don’t pay the licence fee for people to play games with ratings. It is childish and pathetic. We gave the BBC a choice last year about different time slots but they have this obsession with competing with us.”

But despite these protests, it’s too late to go back now. Viewers will have to choose – it’s either X Factor or Strictly Come Dancing. Or, you know, cyanide. Cyanide’s always good.

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There are two types of people in this country - people who like X Factor and people who like Strictly Come Dancing.

You’ve got to hand it to us Brits haven’t you? We certainly know where our preferences lie and what key issues are the most important in determining the outcome of our lives.

Or whatever makes the trending topics on Twitter. Forget the plight of some Chilean miners stuck down a hole or the flooding in Pakistan.

WE KNOW WHO THE STIG IS, SO WE CAN CROWD AROUND HIM IN SHOPPING CENTRES AND ASK WHAT IT’S LIKE TO DRIVE FAST CARS WHICH GO BRUMMMMMMMMMM BRUMMMMMMMMMM.

The Stig, who’s that then? Petrolheads everywhere bow down to the fourth member of BBC’s Top Gear, as he was the once anonymous character paid to drive cars round a track to unfunny narration from Jeremy Clarkson. Supposedly, the secret of The Stig’s identity was never meant to be revealed, but a court injunction from the High Court has allowed an autobiography to be published by a bloke who drives cars in a mask.

The formula for Top Gear is very basic. It’s presented by ringleader Jeremy Clarkson, with help from James May and Richard Hammond, collectively known as the three musketeers of the mid-life crisis. Each spouting overgrown hair and wearing ill-fitting clothes, the trio shout and emphasise each word as they entice the studio audience into watching the same rehashed footage of cars zooming round a track, cars being slagged off, cars being praised, cars being blown up and cars being priced so highly you’d wish you’d starting saving for one whilst you were in the womb.

So just who is The Stig? Well take a deep breath – he is apparently racing driver Ben Collins. No, us neither. We have no idea who he is and won’t be searching Wikipedia for his tampered biography page. Exciting stuff or what? The Telegraph reports:

“The High Court has refused to ban a book which reveals that Top Gear’s The Stig is racing driver Ben Collins. After more than a day of legal argument in private, Mr Justice Morgan said he would not grant the BBC a temporary injunction blocking publication of Mr Collins’s autobiography.”

But before you start to create an effigy of Ben Collins, it seems that if you used basic detective skills, then the identity of The Stig wasn’t quite as top secret as the secret recipe used by Colonel Sanders in his greasy chicken. Reporting further, The Telegraph says:

“It was widely reported that The Stig was Mr Collins after his company’s financial reports listed Top Gear among its work.”

How will the producers of Top Gear react? Will they bloke up The Stig and nickname him The Stag? Thus widening the appeal to the shows alpha male audience? Or will the simply hire someone else and threaten to attach his testicles to a car battery if identities of future Stigs are breached?

Probably the latter if Jeremy Clarkson gets his way.

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You’ve got to hand it to us Brits haven’t you? We certainly know where our preferences lie and what key issues are the most important in determining the outcome of our lives. Or whatever makes the trending topics on Twitter. Forget the plight of some Chilean miners stuck down a hole or the flooding in [...]