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.
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!”
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.
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.
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.