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.
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.
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.