Surprisingly top heavy…
Terry Gilliam clearly likes Mescaline on his Corn Flakes and Laudanum in his tea if last night’s premiere of The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus is anything to go by. That man’s head is ruined, I tells ya. Ruined! Too many years with that odd Python lot, methinks. The film is totally weird, but rather brilliant, and due to the terrible timing of Heath Ledger’s decision to wolf down medication and have a nap, the script was tweaked to allow for three more actors to play the role of Tony. Namely Jude Twerp Law, Colin Fiddle-dee-dee Farrell and Johnny Ladykiller Depp. That’s an awful lot of eye candy for the female viewers – or for those well dressed boys who like to kiss and cuddle other boys. Homosexuals, they’re called.
The premiere brought out Lily Cole – a very tall model, with unfeasibly large boobs for a lady of her size. One scene had the entire cinema gasp in unison as it appeared that they’d magicked Jordan’s chest onto Lily’s skinny frame, Verne Troyer, who, believe it or not, is surprisingly shorter than you’d think. You’re expecting toddler, you get baby. It was especially noticeable when I almost tripped over him on the red carpet whilst he was on some kind of small go cart wheelchairy device. Tom Waits – who plays the devil brilliantly – was there, looking much like an older version of a young Tom Waits. Paloma Faith, who has the biggest mouth in the world bar none, was seen swishing around the place. She’s some sort of singer thing. And, erm, Latoya Jackson was spotted skulking about.
Sadly, the hot boy club failed to show, but were rumoured to be at Sting’s party at Proud Camden trying to save some trees in a forest or something stupid. RIP Heath, your last film was pretty good, but your Laaaandan accent was a bit, well, crap.
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.
Woman in revealing dress shocker
Only yesterday, we warned the world’s womenfolk about the danger of summer dresses, and just how transparent they can be. Unfortunately Kirsty Gallacher obviously wasn’t paying attention, as she strode boldly into the Glamour Awards sporting a thin film of stretchy black material, which had been fashioned into a lady’s party outfit. Nearby photographers zapped away, the big bulbs on their old fashioned cameras creating some kind of strange X-ray effect, rendering her completely see-through. Both bosoms, and some sensual underpants made themselves known to the startled audience, as showbiz reporters launched into a frenzy of short hand, all mystified that a woman of her class and elegance could make such an elimentary fashion error. OMG she’s totally humiliated herself, insisted one journalist in particular. Kirsty will no doubt scurry into hiding somewhere in the Outer Hebrides until the expected mayhem calms down.
In other important celebrity news, Paris Hilton has made everyone feel confused and a little bit frightened by becoming a brunette. And Britney Spears is going to perform a kick-ass show at the Millenium Dome to prove to the world that she is no longer as bonkers as the day is humid. Good for her. Here she is, crawling towards a camera, pretending to be a cat…
Pop star is bananas
Wardrobe malfunctions have been cropping up all over the place recently. You can barely leave the house without a greeting from a passing gentleman’s groin, and no one has yet explained the white summer dress/black underpants no-no to half of the nation’s womenfolk. Or perhaps they have? Perhaps these women want the world to know that underneath their white summer dress they are wearing black underpants. Black as the night, and silky as a unicorn’s tail. Black underpants. Anyway, these kinds of wardrobe malfunctions weren’t a problem for the press until Lily Allen stumbled along to an art gallery yesterday, with at least one third of her boob area spilling from the side of what was otherwise a very demure outfit. One showbiz reporter in particular was surprised, but not shocked, insisting that this kind of thing has got Lily Allen written all over it. That Lily Allen. She’s so damn wild.
Elsewhere in the world, Eminem (below) has reacted badly to having another man’s rectum forced onto his nose. And Leona Lewis – once the star of X Factor, with Simon Cowell – has showed the world just how well she’s coping with life by wearing a top that enhances her cleavage. Good for her.
Not any more, not any more…
Were you to ask a group of teenagers whether they honestly believe in true love, they will tell you that they do. Yes sir. They didn’t always. No sir. But now they do. Why? Because of Peter Andre. Because of Jordan. Because of that fateful day when Peter sat on a log in the jungle singing a song he’d just made up called Woman, You Rule My LIFE to the half naked glamour model. That day the impossible became possible. His erection was proof that true love really does exist.
Granted, the majority of the above paragraph is either made up or hugely embellished, but that hasn’t stopped the celebrity world from reeling at the news that the Tescos version of Posh and Becks (who, by the way, are the Sainsburys equivalent of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie) have decided to hang up their shared silken bedsheets, and go hunting for someone else to have intercourse with. They seemed so perfect, him with his songs, her with her big fake bosoms. But now they’re gone. Christ. Why? Why God? Why?
In other news, one of the Westlife singers has married his actress girlfriend.