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Oh, look! It’s Tom Hardy on the set of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. He plays Tinker.


It’s the high-octane sequel to Rag, Tag and Bobtail and it stars Tom Hardy (not to be confused with the writer of Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure and Me And My Lovely Fabrics) with longish hair.

Yes, the body looks like a telephone doodle pad, but you cannot find fault with the lips.

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Do you remember when Madonna was fun?


There’s our girl, getting beer poured over her by Tony Ward while some gays wrestle her to the ground. Before religion and children there was fun… This is from the new Herby Ritts book The Golden Hour, a collection of previously unseen photographs, available from all good bookshops and also places like American Retro, which you couldn’t really say was a good bookshop. Could you?

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Bobby Boney M dead! Say it ain’t so!


Bobby Farrell, the man often found standing over a trio of writhing women in lingerie in his Boney M days, has been found dead in a hotel room in Moscow. No funny business. Just long-standing illness, breathing difficulties, an alarm call that went unanswered, knocking on door, security called… you know the sort of thing.

Bobby was known as ‘the man’ in Boney M, one who never shirked those particularly 70s duties of wearing very tight trousers often with a nice bit of VPL in it and very flouncy, Bacofoil-inspired ‘disco’ outfits, with matching boots.

He will be missed. Now jump the jump to see Bobby bobbing about in the background (he was a great bobber, was Bobby. One of the best) on Boney M’s finest moment, Sunny *blows nose noisily into Autumn Shades tissue* (more…)

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Who lives in a house like this…? Clue: Kebabs.


George Michael's Sydney house

When he’s not familiarizing himself with the quick turnaround service at Snappy Snaps just off the Finchley Road, George Michael is lying back and thinking of Grindr at his new gaff in London’s glittering Sydney, as pictured here, here and here. And here.

Now if there’s one thing we know about, it’s how to keep a good home. Our inspiration, for those who are interested, is Barbra Streisand’s homely tome Me And My Lovely Fabrics, and it is from there that we learnt big gaping windows with views that go on and on are good for all manner of bumming. And if there’s something else we know about, it’s good bumming. And if there’s something George Michael likes, it’s bumming.

You will see that the cushions (bottom left) are in the colours of the Greek flag to remind George of his spiritual home, Theodopolopodus Kebabs on the Hackney Road (doesn’t putting ‘the’ in front of a street name make it sound really London?) and the pool, also coming in blue, is gay soup Monday through the following Monday. And just out of shot – this is a family show, after all (it isn’t) – is a prostrate dildo covered in… let’s just call it humous.

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We give it a year…


Bearing in mind there have been gays in British soaps since Barry and Colin first exchanged lip gloss (and even before that if you count Elsie Tanner!) on London’s glittering EastEnders, it’s taken quite some time for there to be a gay soap wedding (unless there’s been one on Hollyoaks or Emmerdale Farm or something that we don’t watch). But now the wait is over. Unfortch, it’s not the lovely Christian from EEs or one of those gays off-of Emmerdale (who might already be married – see above). It’s the vile gets-gayer-every-week Sean from Corro, who – we bet! – will wear a white suit.

Yes, unbelievable in the first place, the rather handsome nurse Marcus will be returning to Weatherfield to plight his troth to successful knicker-stitcher and part-time barmaid Sean. [Insert jokes about rings here].

Coronation Street insiders said some things about it being ‘great’ and ‘romantic’ and ‘anal sex’. *curtseys. exeunt*

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A little Christmas crazy…


Katie Bush does the non-Christmas Christmas song, writhes around a bit and simulates female masturbation on the back of a chair. So appropriate! The Lord little baby Jesus wouldn’t have it any other way. Except every other way. Over the jump… (more…)

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On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me two wrestlers in… what are we calling these?


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Those Dodgy Gabbana people are so clever… getting boxers to do the weigh-in in-store!


These are sportspeople who punch five shades of the dark brown stuff out of each other for ready money. Hello!

As part of the ritual of punching the poop-poop-pe-doos out of one another, there is such a process as the ‘weigh-in’ (pron. ‘way in’) Where they get weighed. In. Weight-wise.

‘Hold it right there. Take it back a bit,’ said Stefanie Gabbana one evening over whelks at Gold, the D&G restaurant in London’s glittering Milano. ‘Why don’t we put on the weigh-in… in our store! We get to see boys in pants, they get their pictures in the paper. Everyone’s a winner and that’s a fact.’

So, that’s what this is: the picture in the paper. See! It was a good idea. He doesn’t just invent belt buckles you know!

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