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Celebrity bloggage
A proper actress speaks
Wotchya, Kelly Brook 'ere, with some quick words of wisdom for any aspiring actresses out there.
Y'see, when I hooked up wiv my Billy and became a proper Hollywood actress, I decided that all that posing in lads mags had to stop. I vowed that I'd only take my clothes off if absolutely necessary - just like it was in that new film I done that no one's seen yet. Necessary for the character's arc, innit? (Although I didn't get to build a boat, nor see any animals.)
Anyway, a funny thing happened. When I stopped taking my clothes off in lads mags, people stopped giving two shits who I was. So d'you know what I done - errr, did? I started taking lots of holidays wearing nothing more than a bit of butcher's string for a bikini. Ohmigod! The papers loved it. I'm absolutely everywhere! That went so well I decided I'd just flop my lils out on the beach ALL THE TIME, especially when within farting distance of a camera!
Anyway, now I've given you advice on how to further your career, please go and see my film when it comes out. It's really good. My Billy's in it and he's a proper actor in Hollywood. Go on, rent it out.
Go on, I'll flash an udder for ya.
Kelly (and two dozen paparazzi) enjoy a quiet, low key, Sunday afternoon.
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The genius of Ronnie Barker
Not strictly Celebrity Bloggage in the true sense of the words, but I like the idea of a true genius speaking through me...
This was originally shown on on BBC TV back in the seventies. Ronnie Barker could say all this without a snigger (though god knows how many takes). Irony is that they received not one complaint. The speed of delivery must have been too much for the whining herds. Try getting through it without converting the spoonerisms [and not wetting your pants] as you read ...
This is the story of Rindercella and her sugly isters. Rindercella and her sugly isters lived in a marge lansion. Rindercella worked very hard frubbing sloors, emptying poss pits, and shivelling shot. At the end of the day, she was knucking fackered.
The sugly isters were right bugly astards. One was called Mary Hinge, and the other was called Betty Swallocks; they were really forrible huckers; they had fetty sweet and fetty swannies. The sugly isters had tickets to go to the ball, but the cotton runts would not let Rindercella go.
Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her gairy fodmother appeared. Her name was Shairy Hithole and she was a light rucking fesbian.She turned a pumpkin and six mite wice into a hucking cuge farriage with six dandy ronkeys who had buge hollocks and dig bicks.
The gairy fodmother told Rindercella to be back by dimnlight otherwise, there would be a cucking falamity. At the ball, Rindercella was dancing with the prandsome hince when suddenly the clock struck twelve. ffice ffice" />
"Mist all chucking frighty!!!" said Rindercella, and she ran out tripping barse over ollocks, so dropping her slass glipper.
The very next day the prandsome hince knocked on Rindercella's door and the sugly isters let him in. Suddenly, Betty Swallocks lifted her leg and let off a fig bart.
"Who's fust jarted??" asked the prandsome hince.
"Blame that fugly ucker over there!!" said Mary Hinge.
When the stinking brown cloud had lifted, he tried the slass glipper on both the sugly isters without success and their feet stucking funk.
Betty Swallocks was ducking fisgusted and gave the prandsome hince a knack in the kickers. This was not difficult as he had bucking fuge halls and a hig bard on. He tried the slass glipper on Rindercella and it fitted pucking ferfectly.
Rindercella and the prandsome hince were married. The pransome hince lived his life in lucking fuxury, and Rindercella lived hers with a follen swanny.
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Read my book!
Yo! Lee Sharpe here. Thought I'd use Booger's blog to plug my autobiography. Now I realise that you probably have other things to spend eighteen quid on, so let me give you a brief synopsis to whet your appetite.
1971: Born
1988: Sign for Manchester United
1988-2002: Decidedly average footballer mainly remembered for outlandish hairstyles.
2002-2005: The wilderness years. Drank blue WKD and masturbated.
2005: Celebrity Love Island. Somehow pulled Abi Titmuss despite being her fifth choice out of all the guys there.
Erm... and that's it.
Oh.
Shit.
Wait! Promise me you'll still buy the book! Please, PROMISE ME!
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I'm going to have to fumigate my chair after this...
... because apparently Jordan has a few words to say. And I'm not going anywhere near this seat after her fishy vadge has been plonked dow-
Oh, hi Jordan! Come in take a seat. There's the keyboard, fire when ready. Cup of tea?
Yeah. Weak as piss, three sugars please.
Eughh, not even a modicum of class.
Whachoo say?
Nothing, honest. Get on with it.
Alriigghht, iss Jordan 'ere. Did you see me in the papers today? Fit or wot! S'like, I've just 'ad a baby, yeah - and yet I can stuff myself into a tiny pair of pants for the Dukes of 'Azzard premiere. An' like, you all loved it and the papers loved it too. And I loved it...
I can't do this anymore. I'm really sorry. I'm quite possibly the most insecure woman in Britain, when we got invited to that premiere the first thought in my head was: God, Jessica Simpson! Denim cut-offs! She's going to make me look like the fat trollop I really am, and worse: she'll grab the spotlight. How can I steal it off her, the rightful star of the show? And I just... I just folded. Before I knew it I was crammed into a ridiculous outfit, caked in slap.
I looked silly, didn't I?
Tea up Jordan. How's it going?
Oh, errrr. Yeah, 'an then I slapped that Javine upside 'er stupid fat head!
Erm, splendid. Glad your enjoying yourself, I'm off to do some work now. Gimme a shout when your done?
Phew... that was close. Don't tell no one, yeah?
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Deep deep down
Alright, I'm Brian Harvey.
Just wanted to point sumthin' out. Even though I've been in 'ospital for free monfs, even though my pelvis is mullered and I can't sit dahn or shag me missus or anything, don't you just love it that I've kept my bleach job looking peachy the whole time? Nah, straight up. Check out The Sun today, I look fuckin' wicked.
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Celebrity deathmatch
Its that time again: you the people get to decide who sits in the hallowed office chair next. (Okay, maybe not hallowed just yet. But soon it will be, this baby'll go for thousands on eBay one day.)
Anyway, the next gaggle of slebs on the starting blocks are:
-American teen sensation and human Chupa Chup Lindsay Lohan
-Scottish pocket rocket, rock aristocrat and newly confirmed dad Rod Stewart
-Apparently the sexiest woman in the world, as well as being Celebrity Love Island's walking endorsment for Ronseal, she's Kelly Brook
-The biggest grin in Hollywood (especially since he started banging Dawson's Creek poppet Katie Holmes), it can only be Tom Cruise
You've got until Monday 6th to cast your vote. The winner will take the hot seat soon after.
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Malcolm Glazer's welcome letter to Man United fans:
Dear Soccer fans,
As you all know, I’ve been looking to buy the Uniteds of Manchester for a little while now. I've also heard that some of you may not be too happy about me using… sorry, buying the club in order to reach new heights. You also reckon that I may not be a fan. Well fear not, as I’m writing this personal letter to let you know that I’m a genuine fan of you blue devils.
I began rooting for the Uniteds back in 1992 when our little Malcolm JR was practising those Soccer home runs out in the yard. I loved the way you turned defence into offence, and the way that Bobby Shearer used to top half it into the goal bag. Oh man, that play was hot. My son tells me that you even out-zoned your City rivals Southampton in the 4th quarter of the FA World Series. As for your current team, that Rude guy is awesome! I see a profitable future at the United, with the young talent of Cristiano Rooney (man, that guy can dance!) and Peter Shilton giving us hope in defeating the evil Russian tyranny which assaults the freedom of our beloved Soccer. With the marketing potential of those Neville brothers and that Pearce dude leading the team, we can all look to achieving our beliefs of a better future. Especially when I add Alexei Lalas and Cobi Jones to the starting 15.
Now to you, the fans. I've been to see the Uniteds play once before, and the respect you pay your team in silently admiring the play out on the pitch was overwhelming. Because of this, I've just purchased a new GBP45 million mansion in the Manchester to be close to you guys. And more good news is I'm planning to add an extra 10,000 seats through corporate boxes so more genuine blue devils can experience the play. What's with the prawn sandwiches I had to eat when I was there? Well, rest assured it'll be super size prawn baguettes when I take charge. I can't wait to come over to the Manchester isles, as I love the country, especially the beaches and the hot chicks. I hope you can all see my vision of this future, with new shirt sponsors (Dunkin Donuts) and new team name (The Manchester Gloom) I'm sure things are looking bright.
Further good news for you guys is that I've just agreed a partnership deal with McDonalds, who will help in promoting the Manchester brand. This will involve re-naming the stadium to 'McTrafford' as well as an exciting launch of Manchester Gloom plastic fan toys in every happy meal. Cristiano Rooney will be the face of this campaign and during this, he will be marketed globally as Roonald McDonald.
Take care dudes.
Regards,
Malcolm.
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