Bill Withers, Use Me
Yes, it’s happened again, Thursday has come around directly after Wednesday. Site regulars will already have prepared for the day, perhaps by packing an extra overnight bag to take into the office, crammed with squeezable honey, a couple of Kenny G albums, probably some dry rose petals. A lot of condoms. It is, after all, the most sexy day of the week, which we always like to honour with a good song. And they don’t come much better than this Bill Withers classic, which tells the story of a horny young gentleman enjoying whatever sensual scraps a right royal bitch deems to throw at him.
Jodeci, Freek’n You
“Every time I close my eyes I wake up feeling so horny” sing Jodeci, really catching the mood of a proper Thursday – the official day of freeking each other. You might notice some people in the office refusing to blink. That’s just their way of staving off the horniness until the evening. But, if you’re anything like us, you’ll already be dimming the lights, unzipping your trousers to allow a mellow breeze to dance around your groin, and mouthing along to this sexed up R&B rubdown.
Wow, quite a few of you, then…
For those of you still craving some more words, we have been writing bits and pieces for the grown up gossip site Hecklerspray. This week, we thought we’d talk a little bit about the romances seen in the Big Brother house over the last ten years – the Big Brother lovers. Including Saskia and Maxwell, Paul and Helen, Makosi and the little disco prat, and more. Read all about that here.
Is this man a GENIUS?
And yet again, Big Brother goes on to prove that if you put a group of human beings together for more than a week, they will either start bickering with each other or attempting to have sex during the middle of the afternoon. It’s a wonder any of us got through double maths without an STD or a busted kneecap.
The sex storyline is hurtling along thanks to Kooks-a-like Kris and the in-house bosomy intellectual Sophie. Literally hours of their day are spent checking that no one is looking before darting their tongues together for a nanosecond of unadulterated sex action. He has vowed to Charlie – played by a young Sean Penn – that this girl is great, but she won’t be tearing him away from his beloved laddy mates any time soon. The very same laddy mates who, by the way, are finally enjoying a few nights out without their curly haired cohort ruining everyone’s fun by explaining in quite revolting detail how he likes to make love to a woman. Are they missing him? Are they?
Elsewhere in the house Karly has been channeling the spirit of Sir Alex Ferguson, and Siavash has bravely decided not to visit the Big Brother sick bay, despite an off-camera accident where he clearly slammed his chin onto a needle by accident. Good for him. Brave boy – and our current favourite.
Angel appears to be slowly dying as her skin becomes ever more pallid and loose, and she appears to be avoiding comparisons with Siavash by thoroughly shaving her face every morning – she was also victim of the worst piece of bread-for-cider business ever screened on television. All very embarrassing.
Which takes us to Marcus – a soothsayer with an astonishing mullet. He appears to be in the middle of a very long live commentary on proceedings, perhaps hoping that should everyone tire of the Geordie bloke, he’ll get the job. His assessment of events has finally got to Lisa, the lesbian punk rocker with eighty piercings in her ear, and she flipped out. Marcus then spent the entire fight explaining to Lisa – presumably with confused viewers in mind – why she was reacting like she was, and how it must be something to do with the way she grew up. The man, it seems, is a mind reader. And as we already know, Big Brother voters bloody hate psychics. He could be toast.
Might these two be the new Ross and Rachel?
Like a great big inflating balloon filled with custard all the colours of the rainbow, the Big Brother tensions are set to erupt, splurging into everyone’s face. Hatred is brewing for poor Sree – a man for whom confidence is very very important. Just last night, Karly made no bones about telling Sophie that their beautiful prostitute impressions are wasted on such a terrible loser, while kindly Freddie thought it time to calmly explain to the unpopular Indian the exact extent of his dislike for him. Sree took it as anyone in his position should – as a compliment.
Elsewhere in the house, Angel endured the most depressing Russian birthday party imaginable, while Kris – who, by the way, can feed three people with just one tin of beans, like Jesus could – and Sophie spent nineteen hours silently planting feathery caresses on one another’s sensitive, restrained bodies. There is a good chance that Kris mustered a full erection just by touching her shoe. The Interestment crystal ball predicts that they will be smearing giant handfuls of house margarine into one another’s hungry buttocks before week six.
It all got a bit too much for Saffia, who apparently decided that she was being a bad mother by continuing to appear on television, so she upped sticks and left. Probably quite a good move for a thin lipped should-be-HR worker, who had absolutely no chance of spending the final night enjoying a fireworks display.
And onto eviction news, where it’s Freddie against Sophia. Freddie did himself no favours by detailing the enormity of his brain, hence his lust for sleep. But Sophia looks dead set to go, having fallen into the age old trap of insisting that she knew she’d be up for eviction, she knew why, and she knew exactly who nominated her. Big Brother voters can’t stand mind readers or warlocks. The tiny little lady is toast.
Some really great ones just missed out
What a decade, the 1990s. It came directly after the 1980s, and featured a gigantic backlash against massive earrings, AIDS, and big feathery haircuts. Instead, everyone just necked magic mushrooms and sat around pretending to be from Manchester. That’s right, Manchester. Or as it was known then, Madchester. Because everyone was mad for it. And the cinema was a whole different kettle of fish too. You couldn’t smoke down the left hand side anymore, and shiny films like Mannequin were replaced by intense social studies like Boogie Nights, Falling Down, and Edward Scissorhands. It was a magnificent decade for films, so coming up with the four that most encapsulate it was a very emotional, sometimes heartbreaking exercise. Die Hard 2, The Big Lebowski, Scream, Basic Instinct, Jacob’s Ladder, and Goodfellas all fell at the very last hurdle. Our top four ended up looking like this…
1. Point Break
One of the finest films ever made, this has it all – big waves, bank jobs, Gary Busey, and Keanu Reeves career peaking throughout. It is amazing. Reeves plays a young FBI agent attempting to infiltrate a gang of bank robbers lead by the peerless Patrick Swayze, who is on dynamic form as Keanu’s male crush, Bodhi – a big blonde man who fears nothing, not even his own watery death. “If you want the ultimate, you’ve got to be willing to pay the ultimate price – it’s not tragic to die doing what you love,” he deadpans at a beach party, sort of killing the vibe.
2. Groundhog Day
Of many fine Bill Murray performances, this is the finest. The tale of a man reliving the same day over and over again, it features Bill descending into madness, before realising his deep inner love for Andie MacDowell. It’s beautiful, and hilarious, as he goes about correcting his mistakes, killing himself, robbing people, and – presumably – spending three or four days slowly explaining to MacDowell how annoying she is. The comedy of the decade, just above Kingpin.
3. Pulp Fiction
Without a doubt, this is one of the greatest cinema films ever made – by which we mean, it should be watched in the cinema. It was a close call, with Reservoir Dogs, True Romance and Jackie Brown all super-excellent films, but in Tarantino’s strongest decade, this was his real masterpiece. In a single stroke, he managed to dig up Travolta’s career rotting remains from a Hollywood roadside, as well as make Samuel L Jackson the coolest man on the planet. It also just keeps Goodfellas off the top four, as the best ensemble film of the decade.
The high point of Elizabeth Berkley’s career, this is one of the most preposterous films ever – and one of the most fantastic. Berkley plays a lapdancer climbing the Vegas showgirl ladder, selling little bits of her soul along the way, as well as thrashing around sexually in a swimming pool in the greatest intercourse scene ever filmed. It just beats Basic Instinct – another tale of lust and deception – to the fourth spot. An underrated gem.
New Madonna in classic Madonna antics
Nothing tells the world that you’ve arrived quite like taking your clothes off and allowing the general public to cast a judgemental eye over your naked body. Madonna famously did it with the metal encased coffee table book, Sex, which featured her showing her boobs to Vanilla Ice, french kissing Naomi Campbell, and sitting seductively on top of a very nervous R2-D2. It was hugely popular at the time. And now, Lady GaGa – the oiky New York princess who appears to have stamped her foot and demanded pop stardom – has turned up on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine wearing nothing but some very convieniently placed bubbles, which cleverly hide both of her breasts, her strange belly button, and her lady gaga. The picture is accompanied by a headline reading The Rise of Lady GaGa, when they could easily have punned something along the lines of living in a bubble, or bubbles bursting, or desperate measures. But they chose not to. Good for them. Good for them.
In other news, Kylie Minogue might be getting married to someone. It’s her birthday by the way. And Rihanna – the pretty young singer with the nasty ex-boyfriend – has proved that she’s past the worst of it by looking sexy in a music video. One showbiz journalist in particular is delighted about that. Absolutely delighted. Here she is back in the good old days…