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Dawnie French! You dirty, dirty birdie birdie…


Here is comedienne Dawn French walking out of Soho’s glittering Anne Summers ‘sex’ store. Just sayin’

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That’s it… I’ve had enough… I’m going to sell… my Manhattan doily!


Joan Collins NY apartment for sale


Joan Collins NY apartment for sale


Joan Collins NY apartment for sale

This is Joan Collins’ apartment in London’s glittering New York City, looking like it just stepped out of a British Home Stores in June of 1983. When we see things like this, it makes us sad in our hearts. It pierces the bubble that is the very high standards of trash we expect of Aunty Joanie… the leopard print head-scarfs, the gold enamel, the glass ashtrays with half-smoked Sobranies, the whirlpools clogged with clip-on hair, the tights, the lingering smell of designer-imposter perfume, gorgeous things, terracotta pots, white chiffon, some yummy steamy novels opened on page 13, bunch o’ gays, men, women, lipstick, Maxwell Reid in flannel, fur coats stained just here with Cinzano, Sasha, Ford, Taro too, Biggins on poppers, that sort of thing.

Instead we have this.

Which you can buy, incidentally. Because Joanie’s a bit strapped for cash and has to give up one of her 73 homes. It has north, south and east facing windows, and that’s not to be sniffed at whatever your game is. And it can be bought for ready cash. True story.

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It was Cher’s 65th birthday a week ago today. This is cause for celebration, ho-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UnLf7ghM-6E

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Oh, look, it’s the British swim team getting their knickers off for charity!


Now, wasn’t that nice of them? It was for Cosmo magazine (who we have a lot of time for) and a men’s cancer charity (who we have a lot of time for) and if you jump the jump (which we have a lot of time for) you’ll see someone off of The Only Way Is Essex and the men from The Hunks in the altogether (which we have the whole rest of the afternoon for)… (more…)

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We like this. We find it attractive. If he were sat on the Tube, we’d try and look up his shorts.


jude law naked

We may even take a picture, but with our phone on silent so that he wouldn’t hear the tell-tale shutter sound.

Well, what do you expect when famouses take the London Underground in just a pair of yellow shorts?

And if we were a lesser publication, we would now mention his hair.

*blows a raspberry on Jude’s belly*

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The farce that is the X Factory press campaign continues to treat Her Majesty’s general public as utter morons.


cheryl cole x factor

As predicted by Nostradamus, the latest X Factory piece-of-bollocks-they-actually-expect-us-to-believe is that Cheryl ‘hair like a Beefeater’ Cole has snubbed Simon Cowell’s offer of a return to the British X Factory. Not to be confused with the US X Factory, which never had any intention of employing Cheryl Cole even though she was sensationally sacked from it. Aren’t PR campaigns convoluted these days?

And we, sir, are an ovum.

Cheryl is, and we quote, ‘so angry at her treatment by American X Factor bosses – including Cowell – that she is considering turning her back on the show.’

We, sir, are still an ovum.

Cheryl, and we quote, ‘has gone into hiding following her devastating sacking from the US X Factor’.

We, madam, are still ovuming.

Not only is all this X Factory PR bullshit utter bullshit (hooray for bullshit!), but it is insulting and downright rude. And next week the stories will start to trickle through – much like anal leakage, and not the good kind – that Cheryl is ‘considering’ Simon Cowell’s offer but only because it is what ‘her public wants’, that it turns out that Kelly ‘Row-row-row-your-boat’ Rowlands has other commitments not being in Destiny’s Child after all, that Cheryl Baker still has thin hair and that a devastated Cheryl has run into the arms of her homo boyfriend, Derek Hough.

And you know what else? Cheese.

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Imogen Thomas in a ‘don’t look at me or my fanny’ bright orange voluminous – what are we calling this? – jump suit looking upset.


‘Please, just private time. I don’t want the publicity. Just going about my business in the most eye-catching colour I could find in my George at ASDA wardrobe, looking slightly upset like my world has been ruined when in fact I’m just wondering whether to take the Murdoch dollar for having slept with someone else’s husband or go to a magazine. The Sun probably, as they are going to court to get the injunction overturned so I can sit sideways in some thick tights and tell them how my life has been ruined and how I haven’t been able to work – don’t ask me what my work is, my work is celebrity work – since my life was left in ruins by this vile man who I had sex with behind his wife and children’s back not knowing for an instant that I could make hundreds of thousands of pounds after it. And yet they call me a whore. A whore does it for nothing. I’m much more than a whore…’

The secret thoughts of Imogen Thomas as mind-read by me-me-me.tv.

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And let the cash-in commence!


Here she is, everyone’s dream girlfriend, Imogen Thomas in a classy little football strip get up. Get it? Football? Manchester United? You know, like Ryan Giggs is a football player? For Manchester United? And she shagged him? And he wouldn’t give her any money? So she’s going to get it from doing cheap adverts? Oh, never mind.

Our advice to Ms. Thomas is to get a job, one that doesn’t include shagging married men and then making money off it. Because there is a word for people like that. In fact, there are several words and they rhyme with ‘rag’, ‘hut’, ‘hostipute’ and ‘whore’…

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