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Oh honey, a few tips on applying mascara...

We have no idea how we missed this (we have a job) and we have no idea what we were doing at the time (working) and we have no idea why girls (and some gays) continue to wear Uggs (natural selection. Byyyye!), but we totally missed Lauren Harries off-of former precocious Little Lord Fauntleroy-esque antiques boy-ling on Wogan now fully-fledged walking talking woman, doing a little turn on This Morning last week.

This woman is, according to the way things just are, a freak. This has nothing to do with the fact she’s a transsexual – why, some of our closest friends are transsexual. They’re just not our friends yet – but this mister-sister just happens to be a little lax in the keeping-things-sane department.

We give you Exhibit A. This clipette from last Monday’s This Morning. It’s nine minutes long and the piece du crazy-bitch is right at the end, best witnessed from around 8:45 – but have a little skip through the preamble just to get a feel for the piece. Then sit back, relax, and prepare to shit your eyes out. Funs. (more…)

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So Jonathan Ross can have ‘Four Poofs and a Piano’, yet Graham Norton can’t even say this person has ‘lesbian hair’ (which he/she/it quite palpably does). It’s a crazy world…

My, what a fine looking lesbian!

It’s one rule for an overpaid fatty over whom people inexplicably continue to fawn, quite another for someone who actually is quite good at his job. For whilst Jonathan Ross continues to have the questionably titled (and lame, incidentally) house-band ‘Four Poofs and a Piano’, about whom he continues to make homophobic (and lame, incidentally) jokes about them taking it up the arse/the usual old bending over quips etc etc etc, the BBC has decided to reprimand Graham Norton for suggesting this picture (see above) looks like a lesbian. Which it does.

Now, we’re all for deconstructing stereotypes, but like that angry, potato-a-likey lesbian with lego hair who pushed in front of us in the queue for the chippy and then called us ‘dirty queers’ (er, pots, kettles) after we politely suggested it was rude that she pushed in; and then punched us repeatedly in the face (and drew blood, people. BLOOD!) after we politely suggested that with a weight problem such as hers a chip shop was probably not the best place for her in the first place, there are certain things you just can’t get away from.

Back to Jonathan Ross and his self-loathing Four Poofs. Now we’re all for equal opportunities slander, but whilst JR would never dream of making any slightly edgy joke about any other minority (not that gays are a minority. We’re up to 8 out of 10 now, you know) on his show – or indeed have a gospel band entitled ‘Four Niggers and a Harmonica’ – taking the homophobic piss out of The Gays is deemed acceptable. Unless of course it’s lesbians on Graham Norton, and we all know he takes the piss out of everyone. Not just Lezzie Bordens.

We’ve said it once and we’ll say it thrice, it’s a crazy world…

Oh, and if you fancy watching the offensive (in or out of inverted commas, you choose), jump the queer jump (it has a penchant for referential comedy and dressing to the left)… (more…)

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Keith Haring’s Pop Shop is back. Madonna will be down there!

Shop until you pop

Back in the day, young children – are you sitting comfortably? George, don’t do that – when homosexualists from glittering London got on a Virgin Atlantic flight to New York City, on their to-do lists were many things. 

Taking lots o’drugs down Club USA, getting picked up at Twilo, chatting to Debbie Harry in a crinoline in Jackie 60s, getting noshed off in a truck parked in the Meatpacking District and buying lots of cheap 501s to resell to friends at hugely marked up prices. And, of course, a visit to pop artist Keith Haring’s Pop Shop on Lafayette (after a kwarfee and organic donut at Dean & Deluca). 

Ah, mem’ries, like the corners of our mind… A tiny little boutique, it was, with Keith’s doodles all over – walls, floor and ceiling. It was there that you bought your hip-hop Tees, keyring gifts for home, blotters, postcards… and maybe picked up a fellow pop art lover while you were there.

Now, Londoners can live/re-live the experience at the Tate Modern’s Pop Life exhibition, which starts tomorow. Oh, yes. Quite apart from marvelling at the likes and likings of Jeff Koons’ chrome bunny, summing by Warhol, summing by Damien Hirst, you will be able to buy Haring barking dogs and glowing babies – as showcased in Madonna’s Sticky and Sweet concerts (see the vid of that bit over the jump) – at a fully recreated Pop Shop. *spontaneous breakdancing, erm, breaks out* (more…)

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So, Jordan’s singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ to Pete’s answerphone and has set up a shrine to him in her bedroom. Looks like everything’s on schedule for that Christmas reunion then.

Get it while you can, love

Here is Katie Price with someone else’s hair and her new stand-in boyfriend. On what looks like a fairground ride which is particularly apt as someone’s being taken for a ride.

*points at stand-in boyfriend us no-one, because how fucking stupid do you think we all are, Katie P off-of J?*

So, as predicted in the Holy Bible itself, the Jordandré (TM) reunion is on track for completion just in time for Christmas, a magical time when stupid people have excess pennies to spend on make-up records, ‘auto’biographies (part 7230162. Just how much life has this 31-year-old woman lived?) and OK! magazine covers exclaiming ‘Katie’s most revealing interview yet!’ (just how many revealing interviews has Katie Price given? The whole world’s her gynaecologist as it is… any more revealing interviews and we’ll all be privy to her DNA)…

And today’s installment is that Katie/Jordan/the first bit of Jordandré (TM) has created a living, breathing, column inch-garnering shrine to Peter André off-of shiny head area in her home. How cute. How creepy. How contrived. How now, brown cow.



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Did anyone see our boyfriend on Late with Jools Holland last night? We’re back in love and are planning a mini-break to the Cotswolds

Kiss us

It’s a brave, brave man that gets up to sing on a live music show where Gladys Knight is also going to be performing. *curtseys, leaves room, realises there’s more to the story than that*

Yes, ladies, gennels and undecideds, it is of our boyfriend Mika that we speak. It was he – our ladylove, our sweetie, our cookie, our fluffybum – that we watched proudly like a mum (a stay-at-home mum at that. And not just one who can’t get a job. One who actually chooses to be at home looking after children, and really looking after them, not just smoking Embassy Regals, watching Jeremy Kyle and having the ‘girls’ round for Cider Mondays/Tuesdays/Wednesdays/not Thursdays ’cause that’s lager day/Fridays) *breathes* as he performed on Later with Jools Holland.

What a great show, by the way! Amazing that a half-pint, half-baked backing performer from a group called Squeeze should front such a corker.

Even Gladys – who had just rocked the room with a heart-breaking rendition of ‘Help Me Make It Through the Night’ (though we don’t know where in that hair there would have been room for the ribbon that we were supposed to be taking, shaking loose and letting fall) was seen to be jiggling along on a specially reinforced piano stool.

He’s great is Mika, and here’s why over the jump. Oh, and it’s not even his second single! It’s so far ‘just an album track’!… (more…)

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Oh, look at Holly Golightly’s ginger pussy!

Needs a trim

And what a triumph it was. Not the pussy (though Kitty gave him five stars and is pushing to have his comments included on the poster), but Breakfast at Tiffany’s starring Anna Friel off-of Brookside who never knowingly fails to order a bottle of wine when being interviewed (our kinda gal!)

Well, according to The Daily Cunt’s Quentin Letts’s review, which highlights all the important details in one of the West End’s big openings of the year.

There’s the fact that it has one of the tallest actresses he’s ever seen, for instance. Oh, and some people in the audience had a cough. And if you want to see Anna Friel’s arse you need to buy tickets in the Royal Circle.

A pretty insightful review, we think you’ll agree. Glad to see standards aren’t slipping over at the odious Mail. (more…)

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EastEnders climbs aboard the ‘naked rugby player’ bandwagon. And we give them a leg up.

Owcha magowcha

No, it’s not Syed and Christian on the Gaydar again, it’s another entirely unrelated storyline on EastEnders that requires hot young men to go down to small handtowels.

And this guy is not the only one: a total of four, let’s call them rugby spunks, come onto the scene as Jane’s – Ian Beale’s missus – new flatmates. And let’s bear in mind she smells of chips. 

What it is is… Jane moves out after Ian said he doesn’t want any more babies (how old is she anyway? We thought she was well past that) and the bedsit she moves into contains four – count ’em! – hunky rugger buggers. A bedsit! Five people! Where does everyone sleep? What are they, Australians?

But never mind all that… who wants to see those boys lined up ready for inspection? Do we have a taker?… (more…)

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It’s all the rage…


Superimposing your mug inside of Madonna’s Celebration cover, that is. As are snoods.

All our ‘friends’ on Facebook are at it, mounting their 15 minutes like rabid pitbulls (not you, honey. You’re more of a chow-chow), in-between dropping little hints that they know famous people.

*waves at Diana Ross*

And wouldn’t you know it, Kitty wanted to get in on the act. And who are we to deny a little pussy?

If you haven’t done it already, go here. Hours minutes seconds of fun.

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