Finally, the clash of the titans
It was always going to happen eventually – two big names, one big vote. And now the only two men in the house who don’t actively pluck their pubes will be vying for public love. In one corner, Marcus – a man who has come a long way in the last few weeks, and now seems almost comfortable communicating with people outside of internet chatrooms. If this socialisation process were to continue, he might yet rid himself of the hillbilly haircut. Time will tell. And in the other corner is Siavash. Mighty Siavash. Yesterday kitted out in lizard camouflage. His obsession with nominations finally got to the rest of the house, Charlie in particular, and Siavash’s handling of the situation was pretty admirable. Amidst a tirade of abuse, he stood strong and calm, like a deaf giant at a heavy rock concert. Good for him. The odds would suggest that Marcus is off on Friday, but an uncomfortable hunch suggests that we could be bidding a very tearful farewell to our Iranian Dave Lee Travis.
Elsewhere in the house, Sophie further endorsed the importance of satellite navigation systems by failing to identify England on a map of the world. David should really receive a lifetime ban from libraries, churches, and snooker matches. And Rodrigo now just wanders the house pointing randomly at people and telling them to shut up. Or, in Brazilian, “shut urp.”
On borrowed time?
As Siavash lay in a pretend rabbit hutch slowly munching through carrots, dressed like a vagrant Geisha girl, things were kicking off inches away in the communal area. The cause of the row appeared to be Freddie‘s hysterical glee that arch-rival Lisa might finally be getting her comeuppance. And not a moment too soon. Channeling the spirit of an extremely grumpy lesbian, she has done little more than slump at the bus stop awaiting transport out of the house that never looked like turning up. That particular wait should come to a very welcomed end this Friday. Her conversations with David have been the listening equivalent of watching two monkeys curiously poking at a mirror attempting to decipher their reflections. Brainiacs, they are not.
David, sadly, further proved this when explaining to Bea that he didn’t want to blow their disagreements “out of precaution”. Either he was clumsily attempting to quash their long term row, or he was making a sudden change of subject, and honestly trying to tell her that he’d run out of condoms. But we doubt that.
Elsewhere in the house, Hira spent six hours attempting to smash a cake with her face, Marcus explained his unbelievable outburst in which he called David a “fat cunt” by insisting that where he comes from, they say things like that “every four words”. In which case, his days as a popular window fitter could be drawing to a very sudden close. And Charlie has seemingly run out of things to say.
We still want Siavash to win it.
The most entertaining housemate? Really?
After a couple of weeks of thinking that David – the big gay Frankenstein’s Monster from Yorkshire – might be slightly brain damaged, it was finally confirmed yesterday when he judged Hira to be the Most Entertaining Housemate. It was a move akin to naming Jordan the World’s Greatest Perfumer. Hira, beyond her Mad Lizzy exercise routines, has done nothing. On an even more worrying note, David appears to be limbering up for a battle with the Bea, Marcus, Freddie triangle of doom, after rumours got out that he’s been spotted wandering mouth first around the fridge when no one’s looking. Food theft is a dangerous game, and – rather deliciously – it could make him toast as early as the coming Friday. He also has a massive crush on Rodrigo, which is a worry for the little Brazilian. Might there be a Lennie, Of Mice and Men moment in the pipeline?
David aside, much is still going on in the house. Bea has taken to dressing up as a jumble sale, Freddie promised to express himself in a “wonderful way” during his talent contest solo, and he may have ejaculated mid-song by the looks of things. He might also have confused the word wonderful with really really appalling. His “shoobie-do-waps” were almost enough to induce a nationwide stately home bricking spree. Sophie has no future in the rap game. And Marcus, it seems, cannot have both his mouth and his eyes open at the same time. It’s either one or the other.
Siavash, still, is our number one.
Oh, and this guy left…
After just over a week of prowling the house in t-shirts made for men half his size, wearing trainers and a hat in bed, and eating breakfast like it was a workout, his muscles taut and angry, veins throbbing as he spooned economy cornflakes into his tight, muscular mouth, Tom has left the building. He cited being bored as his reason for flouncing out in the middle of the night, but we have a hunch that once he realised that Noirin had accepted the hairy Iranian lips, he was no longer needed. His parting shots involved telling a confused Rodrigo that he’d win the show, and upsetting bosomy Sophie by alluding to her boyfriend Kris being a prat. Something we’ve known for weeks, thanks Tom. He won’t really be missed.
Elsewhere in the house, Marcus has been floating angrily in the pool, unable to compute that women don’t really find him very attractive. It might be the stupid redneck hair, it might be the Tony Montana tatt on his leg, or it might be that his erosion technique of wooing doesn’t work outside of Brentford. Persistence quite possibly pays off in some outer regions of West London, especially when you’re a sexy window fitter with tatts, but in the Big Brother house where everyone is so super-attractive that you could be watching Hollyoaks, he looks like a gargoyle at a Barbie and Ken party.
Lisa, meanwhile, has come to resemble David Beckham through the eyes of a very disturbing acid trip, Hira no longer bothers saying anything whatsoever – which is lucky, as her voice sounds like a gorilla playing a Moog – and Bea might yet stand for biiiitch, as she has taken to being a little bit slaggy-offy.
Siavash, as ever, is our number one.
Bad news, one of these men has vanished…
Without wanting to spoil the surprise, let’s just say that the most enormous pillock in Big Brother history has probably been spared an evening of jeering, and a very tense Davina McCall interview. Oh, sod this, we’re no good at secrets – Kenneth has climbed the walls and left the house, and Marcus, bloody Marcus, helped him do it. Nice one Marcus.
Without any shadow of a doubt, Kenneth has been one of the foulest contestants ever. One that we could only watch through the gaps between our fingers, muttering in disbelief. Every single time he opened his mouth, something foul came out, like an appalling comment about what he likes to do to his girlfriend, or a small monologue about how people think he’s amazing. It was the Big Brother viewing equivalent of someone repeatedly calling you over, saying they’ve got something to show you, then opening a box which is full to the brim with things they scooped up from inside festival toilets. Every time you go back, hoping that it’s not the putrid gunk again, but sure enough, there it is, the fly-ridden raver poo. That’s what it was like listening to Kenneth, just one long stream of oozing revoltingness. A hunch suggests that he knew his time was up.
Elsewhere in the house, Lisa has almost completely morphed into a mumbling old bag lady, sitting at a bus stop, looking for the worst in people. Watching her yap away to cute little Sophie is a bit like watching a Yorkshire Terrier attempting to communicate with a Barbie. She does seem to have a friend in David though – he’s the fourth most popular gay guy in the house. The one with the tatts and the appallingly bad hair don’t. The one who isn’t Charlie or Rodrigo, who appear to be working themselves up to the most over-the-top on-screen frenzied angry-sex imaginable. Rodrigo crosses his legs every time he rants about his sexy northern nemesis.
In other sex news, Bea and Freddie are in the process of setting up a little Wicker Man cult, and would surely produce a small litter of chanting Christopher Lee’s were they ever to mate, which seems worryingly inevitable. While an enormous curve ball has been thrown in the shape of a Siavash/Noirin romance. It’s bolted from nowhere, like if Tom suddenly burst into the toilet while Rodrigo was silently combing his hair, and make no mistake, she’s a very beautiful girl, and he’s our number one, a beautiful man. But another one of those hunches suggests that we won’t see Noirin’s head engulfed in a gentleman’s mighty beard any time soon.
And, in completely non-sexy information, the final word must really go to terrorists from Pakistan, who have really annoyed Hira over the years. She wants to know: “what are you doing?”.
You go, Hira!
We don’t like change
Honestly, who needs new people? They’re never as good as the old people – the ones you’re used to. Hence why no one ever smiles when they introduce friends to their step mother, and why Ronnie Wood will never quite be a Rolling Stone in the Keith Richards/Mick Jagger sense. And yet, year after year Big Brother throws in strange new faces to keep everyone on their toes, but no one ever likes these weirdos, and you probably couldn’t name a likable BB newbie from series’ gone by.
This time around, Karly’s boyfriend Kenny makes up one fifth of the new contingent, and he appears completely unaware that a. He’s being filmed, and b. Everyone already knows his girlfriend. It surely won’t be long before he’s enduring footage of an enthusiastic tongue kiss with Lisa during a very awkward Davina interview. He spent three grand on a pair of shoes.
The new girls are Bea from Bristol, who takes a lot of risks when she goes out – such as barefoot dancing, sexual experimentation, and pronouncing the word fabulous “fab-you-low-ssss”. She’s just that kind of chick, mental. The other girl is called Hira, and, conveniently, we can’t hear her. She’s like a mouse.
And so to the final two pieces of this very new and unappealing jigsaw. David and Tom. David is a gay gentleman from Yorkshire. To repeat, he’s a gay gentleman from Yorkshire. That’s right. Gay. From Yorkshire. Take that Geoff Boycott. David is a gay. And he’s from Yorkshire. He’s like a Monty Python sketch in human form. He’s like Geoff Capes wearing lingerie at a strong man contest. He’s gay, and he’s from Yorkshire. It’s a bit like being humble and Italian.
Whilst Tom walked into the house and immediately removed his top so that everyone could marvel for a second at the state of his torso and solid man bosoms. You could imagine him as a guest on Trisha, explaining how he used to be bullied as a kid, so he hit the gym, beefed up, and now he’s just silently despised by pretty much everyone – possibly his own family, and definitely by men like Marcus. He drinks fluids through one of those sporty beakers with the plastic nipple thing, and the countdown to his inevitable kiss with Noirin has begun.
Marcus is planning on messing him up, which might prove to be a terrible move as Tom casually tosses him around the house dismantling him like a gorilla disemboweling a cat.
Of the old lot, Siavash is still the big Interestment favourite.
Come on guys, anarchy yeah…
The thing about revolution is that it’s really hard work, it takes lots of planning, and lives will be lost. Witnessed at its height, revolution can be beautiful, almost like violent human ballet. Unfortunately, the recent Big Brother revolution lacked any semblance of unity, and if you’re going to make a stand against Big Brother, it should take a little bit more than Big Brother saying “housemates, stop making a stand” to dismantle the whole operation. Still, props should go to Siavash for almost making it onto the house roof before remembering that he was terrified of heights – that’s dedication.
Elsewhere in the house, Rodrigo is slowly deflating, and will surely end the series self harming and muttering about respect. He was so bubbly when it all started, but our hunch is that he’s so in love with Charlie that it’s ripping him apart. A bit like in Brokeback Mountain, but less cowboyish. Karly – almost certain to go tonight – has been disco dancing in one of those up-the-bum leotards, as Marcus peered on from underneath a blanket. Creepy stuff.
Somebody’s days are numbered…
It’s been a sobering week for the animals in the Big Brother zoo, as Kris – the preening chimp – was thrown to the wolves, leaving his pack of strange and exotic creatures to lick their wounds, and circle the other pride with suspicion in their eyes and the taste of fresh blood on their fangs. Lisa, part-vulture part-parrot, has reacted very badly, as she attempts to reign in her small flock – including Charlie the talking otter, Sophie the flamingo with tits, and Karly the disgruntled labrador. They have all been wandering the grounds together in very close proximity, always with one eye out for Noirin the angry rabbit, Marcus the horny mule, and Freddie the son of a wealthy owl. Neither of these groups get along, and were it not for Rodrigo the gay terrapin keeping the peace and telling all of the creatures that they should just relax and play games together, they might already have torn one another to shreds with their rabid animal mouths.
Siavash is, of course, the lion. Still our favourite.
In other house news, Marcus has adopted the age-old corrosion technique to make a beautiful woman fall for him, as he tries to pester his way into Noirin‘s tiny underpants. While Karly should be enduring the awkward Davina interview this Friday, having done little more than swear like a trooper, and constantly look like she’s just popped a cola bottle into her mouth, only to find that it was a bizarrely shaped dollop of Lisa droppings.
Is this the most Scottish woman ever?
Week something in the Big Brother house, and Karly is the mastermind behind a new game called Vowel Bingo. All you need to do is put a mix of the recognised vowels (a, e, i, o, u) randomly into a square grid, then whenever she uses one of them, you blot it out until someone wins a pre-prepared chocolate cake prize. The catch is that she rarely uses the correct vowel with the right word. It’s a hilarious game. Or, as Karly would put it, “hoolayreoose”.
Elsewhere in the house, Kris is painting a very bad picture of himself by repeatedly telling Freddie to shut up whenever he tries to speak – a technique that seems to be rubbing off on a few lesser members of the commune. And Freddie himself has turned his hand to a spot of mind-reading. Through his secret power, he already knows everyone’s strategy for winning the extremely simple popularity contest, and he is fully aware of everything that’s being said behind his back. Weirdly, regardless of the public hatred of sorcerers, he looks set to survive another week, meaning that Sree will be enduring tonight’s awkward Davina interview.
In other news, we were extremely relieved that Marcus chose not to go for a legs-akimbo Noirin in the painting task, and Siavash is still our number one.
Big Brother, please stop cock-blocking this man!
Poor Marcus. Big hairy Marcus. Marcus with the most astonishing mullet ever broadcast. Marcus with a series of very bad tattoos. Marcus who stands alone sometimes, with shower water cascading down his soft body, scrubbing himself feverishly with whatever kitchen product happened to be nearest the sink. Marcus who makes strange, almost pointless, presents from bits of scrap metal. That Marcus. The Marcus who could have any woman he wanted were he not cock-punched by authority every time they were about to fall for him. It probably happens all the time to gorgeous, yet cursed, people like Marcus. Oh how Lady Luck gives with one hand and karate chops your balls with the other!
Just yesterday, Noirin was about to fall in love with him, then Big Brother called him to the diary room. In those few moments, she managed to pull herself together. “Don’t fall for him Noirin,” she told herself, “he’ll only break your heart, just don’t fall for him.” It says a lot about the mental strength of the Irish stunner that she can resist. Has she been hurt before? Have you Noirin?
Elsewhere in the house, Sigourney Weaver from Alien 3 has been drafted in to replace Lisa, Rodrigo came very close to drowning in the bath, and Kris made everyone feel awkward by describing how he likes to pick up girls by performing a series of hilarious exercise routines. When no one laughed, he decided that he might dump Sophie.
On a very worrying note, Freddie thought it wise to explain that he sometimes goes to nightclubs to paint people’s faces in exchange for beer. He once painted fifteen Chinese people in about seven minutes, he laughed. A hunch suggests that fifteen very unhappy Chinese people left a club early that night.
The Interestment favourite is still Siavash.
The new Posh and Becks?
If you spend enough time with people, you’ll notice that they begin to develop some very curious behavioural patterns. That’s because human beings do funny things when they know they’re being watched. Just flick through a random bundle of photographs, and you’ll notice that you pull weird faces whenever someone points a camera at you. If that camera keeps going, like the ones in the Big Brother house do, your bizarre actions will increase multifold.
Now week three or four, Angel has really come into her own as a Gollum-type character, dressed as a London bicycle courier. She wanders the house, either casually telling perfectly thin people that they are grotesquely fat, or when she’s not doing that, she appears to be flirting with Freddie. Freddie, incidentally, who believes that in the real world, the pair would have definitely mated by now. Should they ever procreate, there’s a good chance that the offspring would be actual rats. Posh Russian rats. But rats nonetheless. It would be a bit like Rosemary’s Baby.
Elsewhere in the house, Sree has transformed himself into Russ Abbott’s Scotsman, while Marcus has forgotten the cameras completely during shower time, where he can be found sanitising himself using kitchen equipment. Yesterday he used a scouring pad to scrub muck from his upper body, pretty soon, it’ll be Cillit Bang for genitals, Fairy for underarms. The trauma of having to cut a rabbit’s penis off during the Henry VIII task could be responsible for these acts of bathroom self-harm.
All the while, Kris and Charlie have been singing a medley of chart hits, Karly has been wandering from mirror to mirror wearing just underpants and a bra, and Lisa has been telling all who will listen that the key to success in this world is to never change, and just be yourself. Ironically, by following her own advice, she has no chance of winning the show.
Tonight it’s Freddie versus Angel. Angel looks to be toast.
The Interestment favourite continues to be Siavash.
Facepaint! Alcohol! Lasagna!
The Big Brother house really brings out the bisexual in a man. Just this week, Sree has turned his attentions from Noirin – the Irish girl who lives her life by the Ten Commandments, ignoring the “thou shalt not get thy breasts out for cider” one – and now he appears to be all over Charlie, the gay Geordie played by Sean Penn. Kris also seems content bathing with Charlie, and Siavash burst into tears like a wife being handed divorce papers at Christmas when Ciaron was ushered from the show. It’s strange. But not as strange as watching Marcus – the hairy one who struggles with non-chatroom-based communication – puckering up his left nipple so that Sree could get stuck in during a game of dare-dare-or-dare.
On the fashion front, a few interesting moves are being made. Karly, who sounds like she might be Sir Alex Ferguson’s voice coach, has given up on trousers altogether, and now just slopes around the house in a pair of underpants and a top. Angel has modeled herself on one of London’s many bicycle couriers, and Sophie – the glamour girl who always sounds like you’ve walked in on her crying – has really let her hair go. It looks a bit like Russell Brand’s, only in negative.
Elsewhere in the house, Sree appears to think that Big Brother might have a quiet word with people for him, and Freddie revealed that when he has parties at home, it’s all “facepaint, alcohol, lasagna!”
Does strange things with coat hangers…
It was just a few days ago that Angel was caught out in one of the most dreadful cider-for-bread deals ever screened, but just yesterday Noirin – the Irish one who managed a three hour hunger strike – almost topped it in a breasts-for-beer debacle, which so very nearly destroyed the onlooking Sree. As fate would have it, common sense prevailed, and she kept her boobs in their top, despite some rather persistent bartering from Marcus, who appears to be having a bit of trouble communicating with women outside of a chatroom. A hunch suggests that it won’t be long before he’s swapping beans-for-pubes with Angel or Lisa.
Elsewhere in the house, Angel has been continuing to showcase her massive eating disorder, and appears to be morphing into Christian Bale in The Machinist. Her two most disturbing moments so far have included skinny dipping in the Big Brother pool, and smiling at Freddie as he embarked on a forty-five minute improvised jazz song. Any sane human being would have started with some jabs, then finished him off with a series of over-the-top rabbit punches and karate kicks.
Siavash is still the Interestment favourite.
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.
This man lives in a BUBBLE!
Another few days have passed, and further into their own strange little worlds drift this year’s Big Brother contestants. Charlie – the one who looks like Sean Penn playing a gay politician – has already referred to his Charlie Bubble, which appears to be a spherical place where people can state the obvious and make it sound like modern philosophy. Only yesterday Charlie informed his captivated audience that he can only have sexual intercourse with another gentleman if he finds him “sexually attractive”. He then took four hours and fifteen minutes to teach Noirin that you should enjoy everything in moderation, before blowing everyone away by explaining that to become truly drunk, a man should drink alcohol. That Charlie Bubble is a deep place. A deep deep place.
Elsewhere in the house, Noirin doesn’t seem to realise that she accepted Sree’s marriage proposal a couple of nights ago, Angel is prowling the house, slowly dying, and catching butterflies. She’s a bit like a a Russian female version of Mr Miyagi. And Marcus thinks that butter is “fucking shit”.
Nominations-wise, it’s Freddie versus Cairon this week, with the bookies convinced that the young rapper is toast. Shame really, because Freddie is an almighty pillock.
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.
Be careful making one of these socially…
The Big Brother sociological study of human behaviour is in its tenth year, and it still contains daily surprises. For example, in a freakish twist of art imitating life, imitating art, imitating life, imitating art, Sree – the Indian guy – appears to be doing a performance art real life interpretation of The Shermanator from American Pie. Only Indian. Just yesterday, his restored confidence helped him explain to Big Brother that “everyone is loving” him, a point which appears to be repeatedly disproven whenever he leaves a room. And in a spectacularly misjudged moment of flirtatious bonding, he accidentally called Karly from Scotland a slag.
Elsewhere in the house, Cairon and Siavash appear to be enjoying a strange Brokeback Mountain journey. Last night spotted bathing one another, with graphic scenes of man-on-man hair washing, and possible heavy breathing. Future wives, if they tell you they’re going fishing, you would be wise to pack them some extra condoms with their fishing tackle.
And Freddie really pissed everyone off by making a great big salad and kindly offering it around.
Do not DARE cross this woman…
You can learn a lot from watching Big Brother. For example, just last night we learned that Beinazir looks a bit like Boy George during his early Culture Club days, but just as we were becoming dizzy with excitement about that, she was bundled onto a big red bus and driven the hell home. Voters, it seems, were not feeling her, which is a shame, because she seemed quite nice. She even allowed the strange Russian house guest quality time, which is surely akin to doing charity work. Good luck back on Civvy Street, Beinazir.
Elsewhere in the house, Siavash is beginning to resemble Che Guevara auditioning to play Dick Turpin, and the sickly-child-grown-up, Sophia, has taken serious issue with Saffia. For what, we’re not sure. She said something about them having the same name, or Saffia being a bitch. What we do know, however, is that Saffia is coming across very badly – like one of those thin-lipped office cows, who never smile, then spend the weekends becoming outrageously drunk on white wine, and pretending that they’re a bit like Bridget Jones really. They’re not. They’re nothing like Bridget Jones.
Last night also saw Sree – the kindly Indian man – morphing into a tearful young baby kitten, as he realised that he was up for a public vote. “I don’t want to lose my confidence,” he wept in the diary room, in a soft, childlike voice. And lo, thankfully, he survived the early vote. His confidence was alive and well, as he danced in front of the losers, shouting to the gods, praising his own brilliance. What wonderful, attractive confidence. Confidence that must never be destroyed. Might this be the same confidence that will help him steamroller his way through nightclubs in the not too distant future? Yeah, let’s hope he never loses that.
Oh, and everyone’s bisexual.
From this to Big Brother…
It’s probably been a hectic day in the Big Brother house, as the housemates (or non-housemates) continue to circle one another, constantly reintroducing themselves, and making the same joke about how terrible with names they are. Eventually, that line of conversation will become tired, and they will be forced to move onto more fascinating topics, like which celebrities they might have met on their many nights out in fashionable London clubs. Blonde 1 and Blonde 2 might even enjoy a sudden bonding moment when they both chance upon common ground when casually mentioning a Dane Bowers/Dean Gaffney sandwich in Movida. Great times.
Whether that happens or not, some of the inmates have started to hint at their alterior motives for undertaking such a rash life decision. In the least shocking turn of events of Day One, Sophie – the busty girl bound for the Nuts cover – has caused a ripple in the popular showbiz press by removing her outer clothing, to reveal a set of underpants, and one very unhappy bra. While Lisa, the ferocious lesbian with an actual tattoo on her head, has been overheard talking about her ex, claiming that she let the girl of her dreams slip through her fingers. Lisa, would a simple phone call not have been better? It’s your life, but COME ON.
Elsewhere in the house, the guy from Teen Wolf has been wafting around, preening himself like a panthress, and he even paid a visit to the diary room to explain how brilliant he is. As anyone who lives in London already knows, it just isn’t a party if Teen Wolf isn’t there. It just isn’t.
Big Brother 10, the great big launch night…
And so the housemates trundled into the house, some sprinted, some walked in slow motion whilst dressed like a Cabaret inspired demon. It was weird. Made all the weirder by Davina McCall’s decision to dress a little bit like a woman who might run a brothel. Anyway, no matter. Here’s how the first sixteen housemates came across, as decided by us…
With a beard reminiscent of General Zod in Superman II, Freddie is a little bit posh for all of this. That said, his big cheerful hugs seemed to go down well with the rest of the incomers. “Peace and love,” he declared on his way up the steps. That’s peace. And love.
With her punk rocker haircut and tatted up arms, neck, head, back, and face, Lisa has the look of a ferocious lesbian. An illusion that was immediately shattered when she embarked on an awkward conversation with Freddie about the shared moment they were enjoying.
Three minutes after her breasts, Sophie entered the house, making her already a guaranteed cover girl in the Nuts/Zoo axis of sophistication. Were she not a tits out glamour girl, she’d be an ice cream lady, she declared. Sorry, but what’s an ice cream lady?
Kris is as unconventional as the spelling of his name. Oh no, hang on, he’s not at all. He’s just another one of those Kooks-a-likes with a scraggly my-first-beard. He fumbled handfuls of cool points the minute he cooed “it smells like Allied Carpets”, whilst descending the house stairs.
Luckily for Jesus, Noirin lives her life by the Ten Commandments – or nine, as she’s already opted to bow down to another God by going on Big Brother. The Lord will not be happy about that. We’ve got a nasty feeling she might bear false witness against her neighbour at some point too. Just so long as she doesn’t covet anyone’s ox…
The youngster of the house, Cairon is a stylish American lad. Regardless that he feels gay just wiping his own bottom, he looks like the most obvious early contender for the crown. Kids will think he’s cool.
Instantly made a bad impression by taking about twenty minutes just to get up the steps, Angel would make for an awful dinner guest. Pudding done, wine empty, and yet there she is, staring at you, totally unwilling to leave. She’s slightly terrifying in a serial killer kind of way.
According to Karly, her arse is her best feature, which shows an incredible amount of humility from a girl who could have singled out her wit, her lust for medieval poetry, or her ability to change from blonde to brunette in a single frame change. The minute she saw Sophie, most of the blood drained from her face.
Should your computer go on the blink in the next week or so, gutted, because the only man who could combine fixing the thing with telling intriguing stories about the serial numbers on the back of comics is stranded in the Big Brother house. Looks like Wolverine in the same way that Trevor McDonald would if you just stuck some pretend side burns on his cheeks and told him to growl.
Kindly, to kick things off, Beinazir explained that she isn’t a prostitute. Something the other presumed-prostitutes in the house completely failed to consider doing. She then went on to explain that she frightens men, and hates posers. At that stage, we were still reeling from the prostitute revelation.
This is what happens when sickly children pull through and turn into strong young women. They pogo into the Big Brother house cackling like Jabba the Hut‘s manic giggling sidekick from Return of The Jedi. Another possible contender, she seems quite sweet, as all tiny little people do when they smile.
Unlike most Brits, Rodrigo – a Brazilian – loves England, even though it has unwittingly made him gay. Or straight. He’s just not sure. Although he does want to have sex with Latoya Jackson, which, frankly, casts no light on the situation whatsoever. Already in the house, he might win.
Charlie looks a little bit like Sean Penn in Milk, and although he insists that he can’t sit still for one second, we know he’s lying. He clearly spends at least fifteen minutes every morning patiently carving completely pointless go-faster stripes into his left eyebrow.
This year’s victim of appalling intro video syndrome, there is an immediate mountain to climb. Claims to hate all people within just a few minutes, she really should have considered the bra options when picking out a decent first night outfit.
Dressed by his mother and father, they said. And yet, there he was, Union Jack shirt underneath his jacket, Indian flag in his hand, leaving most BNP members totally bewildered. He’s got their shirt on, but he’s Indian. Brains all around Kent literally melted.
In a word – Teen Wolf.