Scotland’s Jesus: The Only Officially Non-racist Comedian (17 page)

Jodie was voted the 32nd best bum in the United Kingdom. Which sounds disappointing until you realise that her tits came 145,877 and her face didn’t even meet the entry standard. Jodie says she loves her body and would run naked through a crowded street if you asked her to. I’m asking. But I’m adding one stipulation: the street must be in Tehran.

What is it with these celebrities’ obsession with plastic surgery? There’s something at once very morbid and childlike in knowing that Death is coming, but thinking that he won’t recognise you in your little plastic mask.

Amy Childs has had her second boob job to enhance her breasts from a 32C to a 32DD. Getting a tit wank from Amy Childs must be like sticking your knob between the tyres of a stationary HGV. Meanwhile, Gwyneth Paltrow has been having injections of bee venom and reckons she no longer notices the pain of an old injury . . . thanks to the pain of hundreds of bee stings.

Her pal Madonna’s carcass looks like something you’d boil up to make soup. I’ll bet her bathwater tastes delicious. She appears to have had some dodgy Botox. They’ve had to update her waxwork in Madame Tussauds by giving it a right-hook, left-cross combination. I’m not saying Madge has lost her looks but I confess some sperm I ejaculated watching the video for ‘Like a Virgin’ in the 80s has just found its way back under my front door and crawled back down my urethra.

Victoria Beckham’s been having sheep-placenta gel massaged into her face. If £500 million in the bank isn’t enough to enable her to crack a smile I doubt smearing afterbirth on her face is going to. Easy to mock, but I’ve done similar myself. A last-minute fancy-dress invite found me with only lamb chops in the fridge, so I had to go as Noddy Holder.

Beyoncé had a baby by elective caesarean, of course. Many celebrities are so desperate to avoid a visible scar that surgeons now make the incision beneath the armpit, then massage the baby round . . . I’m told it’s a bit like trying to get a cat out of a duvet cover. Beyoncé cleverly kept a low profile by checking in under the name Ingrid Jackson. So when anyone asked, ‘Who’s just paid $1 million to rent the entire floor of the hospital?’ the answer was, ‘Oh, just that plain old Ingrid Jackson that Jay-Z keeps visiting.’

You don’t need to spend that much to get a bit of space in a maternity ward. Do what I did, and check your partner in as Maxine Carr. Beyoncé said of motherhood, ‘I actually feel like my child introduced me to myself.’ Luckily for her she’s a multi-millionaire celebrity. If she were a single mum living in a council flat she could have her kid taken off her for less than that.

Beyoncé and Jay-Z are spending $1 million a year renting out a nursery for their daughter at a basketball stadium. When I was a kid my parents spent some money on a nursery for me to sit in while they were busy. We called it ‘the car’.

Beyoncé is going to be the new face of Pepsi. And by face, they mean arse. Someone needs to remind Pepsi that they can pay £30 million for a superstar to advertise their product but the advert might as well say, ‘What? They don’t have Coke? OK then, if there’s no Lilt then I suppose I’ll have a Pepsi.’

• • •

Michael Jackson’s family are accusing concert promoters AEG of only caring about money, by launching a $40 billion lawsuit against them. They’re saying the promoters forced Jacko to perform, which then led to his death. Unlike Jacko’s family, as when they forced him to perform it only led to an emotionally stunted, self-loathing, body-dysmorphic, drugged, addicted man-child who sought escapism in the company of children and monkeys. They say that the jury will see some ugly stuff – they’re not kidding. The rest of the Jacksons look like Halloween on the burns unit. Katherine Jackson says she didn’t want AEG to force Jacko into performing when it could have damaged his health – she’d have rather they’d used one of the more disposable members of the family, like Jermaine.

AEG claim that Jacko was keeping his health problems a secret. A secret? Well, hardly – he looked like something you’d pass on a ghost train. If AEG lose the case they’ll have to pay out $40 billion – what can they put on to raise that sort of cash? I’m guessing they’re trying to work out if some jump leads will reanimate Jacko’s corpse. Courtroom details are sketchy but there were claims AEG responded to rumours of Jacko’s fits and rampant pill-popping by cynically suggesting more maraca solos. Jacko was given very strong drugs to help him sleep – to be fair, if every time I closed my eyes I could see Macaulay Culkin doing that screaming face I’d need an anaesthetic as well.

His children say Jacko did everything he could to give them a normal childhood – and speaking as someone who grew up on a merry-go-round with a baboon as a wet nurse I think he did a great job of it. It’ll be interesting to see if the kids display any of Jacko’s personality traits – you know, his little foibles like living on a rollercoaster and being best friends with a circus.

Former
Oliver!
star Mark Lester claimed he’s the father of Jacko’s daughter Paris. If Mark is the father it could be a chance for the kids to lead a more normal life – and it’s coming to something when moving in with a grown-up Oliver Twist on the other side of the world is ‘more normal’. This sort of attention isn’t good for kids – or anybody – and it was no surprise to see our easily outraged tabloids using a kid’s suicide in an attempt to sell copies.

Meanwhile, Justin Bieber’s increasingly bizarre behaviour has worried some that he might be turning into the new Jacko. He’s even building a zoo. Hopefully, he won’t use the zoo to indulge his sick urges. Apparently, Jacko would often coat his buttocks in sand, before inverting himself and getting his butler to startle the ostriches. Still, the man’s dead. We should remember him in happier times: dangling a baby out of a window perhaps, or sharing a bed with three nine-year-olds while a bemused Liz Taylor scraped up llama turds with a gold disc.

Bieber failed to collect his pet monkey from quarantine so he’s gone to a zoo. It’s the best place for him. Whereas the best place for the monkey would be back in the jungle. I hope that ten years from now a giant silverback gorilla turns up at Bieber’s door and says, ‘Why did you leave me, Daddy?’ before ripping his face off. And for anyone who’s thinking ‘Monkeys don’t grow into gorillas’, may I just point out they can’t work doorbells, either.

Justin Bieber left a message in the visitors’ book at Anne Frank’s house hoping that if Anne were alive she would be a fan of his. If Anne Frank were alive she’d be eighty-four years old. She’d much more likely be targeted by Harry from One Direction.

Bieber was caught on camera spitting off a balcony as a crowd of fans gathered below. It’s not the first time he’s treated his fans with utter disdain, as there’s also his music. He’s a multi-millionaire who turned nineteen earlier this year – of course he acts badly. It’s not going to be a tremendous shock when he turns into a transsexual antiques expert.

• • •

I agree with Michael Douglas. The only way to promote your biopic of a gay icon is to say ‘I ate so much pussy I got cancer.’ Turns out Douglas only smoked to get the taste of pussy out of his mouth. I’m worried that these revelations mean they’re going to ban cunnilingus in pubs. Thing is, if we found out that all cancer was caused by oral sex we’d still have to find a cure for cancer.

We mustn’t overreact. I’d suggest compulsory testing, and anyone who comes up positive just gets their pubes shaved into a skull and crossbones. Michael does less of that sort of thing now as he often finds himself coming up again unsure what he went down for in the first place. His cunnilingus habit was actually a side effect of his excessive sex drive – his penis had become so exhausted that at the mere hint of an available woman it would bury its head in his scrotum in the manner of a sleeping swan.

Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones are taking ‘time apart to work on their marriage’. That’s like saying they’re ‘staying together to explore themselves as individuals’. It’s not easy making relationships with a 25-year age gap work. It must be hard for a couple to grow old together when one has such a big head start.

Keith Richards simply can’t die. He’s a genuine, living, pickled-and-preserved icon, talking and walking around like a sun-scorched, partially concussed half-man, with the ubiquitous Marlboro Light held in a claw-like, static, paralysed hand. A truly terrible hand. A hand that resembles an ancient, leathery, malformed foetus dry-cured in sea salt and malt vinegar.

Keith says he intimidates his daughter’s boyfriends by showing them tricks with knives. Bear in mind this is a man so off his face I’d feel intimidated standing near him while he held a hot cup of tea. His best knife trick is when he drinks a litre of Southern Comfort, and then falls face first into the cutlery drawer and manages to come up with just a teaspoon jammed into his eye socket.

Brave Angelina Jolie says her double mastectomy has brought her closer to husband Brad Pitt. By my calculations, 3.86 inches closer (granted, my model’s not 100 per cent accurate – there’s only so much data you can retrieve from mattress plaster casts taken after sneaking into recently vacated hotel rooms). Angelina added she doesn’t want more kids. Causing jubilation across rural Cambodia, where many parents guard their huts by hanging a carving of Jennifer Aniston above the door. An impossibly sexy woman – who campaigns against war, between playing gun-toting assassins – had her breasts cut off and re-sculpted to save her own life from cancer. If her next press release could be instructions on exactly what we’re allowed to masturbate about from now on, that would be very helpful, ta.

Chris Brown said in an interview that after fifty-two weeks of counselling he learned that punching a woman in the face ‘is absolutely wrong’. Well done, Chris. Give yourself a peanut. Chris got a tattoo of a beaten-up woman on his neck. Contrary to what people think, it isn’t a tattoo from when he beat up Rihanna – it’s a flash-forward to when he kills her. What better place for your ‘To do’ list than on your neck. He doesn’t need a tattoo to remind himself of what he did. That’s what Twitter’s for.

Rihanna said she can turn straight women bisexual, which I’m pretty sure was also an early advertising slogan for Lambrini. Megan Fox says her first love was a teenage lesbian stripper who broke her heart. I think she broke mine, too. Either that, or it turned me on so much I tried to grow a breast. She’s having her tattoo of Marilyn Monroe removed as she says it draws negative comments. No, Megan. You misunderstand. It’s your whole being that reminds people of the death of Hollywood.

Lady Gaga has given her boyfriend a scrapbook to remind him of her whenever they’re apart. Surely he’s reminded of her every time he looks at some raw meat, a pile of bandages or his own dick. Meanwhile, Jennifer Lopez’s new lover says she has the body of a woman half her age. Though it seems that so far she’s only harvested its hair and buttocks.

Why is there so much coverage of the United States over here? Most Americans struggle to recognise us on a map. Or a battlefield. Of course, the real reason that the United States is such a horror story is that they built it on top of an Indian graveyard.

Naomi Campbell advertised for a new personal assistant. Responsibilities included dry cleaning, managing her diary and dressing as a giant sycophantic talking mirror. Supermodels can be so contrary to their assistants. One minute it’s ‘You make me sick!’; the next it’s ‘You! Make me sick!’

Kelly Brook is stunned that women have sent her boyfriend Danny Cipriani sexy pictures and dirty messages. Danny is now in therapy trying to work out why he’d think looking at scantily clad women was OK while he was going out with an underwear model. I hope Sigmund Freud is available, as this one’s going to take minutes. Kelly assumed that Danny had been shagging all the women he texted, showing the quaint understanding of modern life that your mum shows when she asks if you can hear her talking into her email. Kelly’s a loyal girlfriend – she managed to stay with Jason Statham for seven years. I can’t get through a title sequence of his films without wanting to walk out on the whole of humanity. Danny’s friends claim he was bored with the relationship. Well, she would keep banging on about Syria. Why would a rugby player be so promiscuous? It’s probably the inevitable subliminal effect of spending your working day chasing a giant egg.

So, Lord Leveson produced his report. I enjoyed the spectacle of how boring papers started getting. Do you want to read a story about Anton du Beke getting off his bicycle? Or one where Justin Bieber’s found face down in a hooker’s ass? Can’t we just have both in the same story?

At first, I tried to look at it from the freedom of speech angle. Steve Coogan was a cocaine-fuelled sex case. He pumped Courtney Love! Can you imagine what he’d have done if the tabloids weren’t following him? They were the only thing keeping him out of jail. He’d have been like Uday Hussain. He’d have ended up getting shot by the Red Arrows when he tried to climb the Post Office Tower like fucking King Kong. It certainly made a change for Coogan to answer the question ‘Can you tell me exactly what happened?’ when it wasn’t being shouted at him by a sobbing fiancée.

But to be honest, I feel a bit embarrassed about having been suckered in by that. None of it was about freedom of speech, unless you mean the freedom of speech of huge corporations; corporations historically opposed to freedom of speech in every other instance. People like Coogan and Hugh Grant actually did a brave thing, largely because the papers had already taken everything they could from them. It’s worth remembering how few people with a career
in front
of them have spoken out about the press. They’ve probably made an accurate assessment of where power still lies.

Newspapers are still the real consensus-makers in Britain. They’re owned directly by billionaires and conglomerates, so the views of the ruling class are straightforwardly presented. The real debate around Leveson should have been about breaking up the power of media barons by assuring as wide an ownership as possible. There was no political will to do that because politicians and media owners have very similar interests: serving power.