We’re more scared of lawyers than we are of spiders – so we’re going to tread carefully, all the while shrieking and flapping like a bunch of hysterical women if any of us sees an actual spider. It’s being reported that the wandering lady garden of Megan Fox bad touched Shia LaBeouf for a whole six months while they were filming together. And, it’s further alleged it’s ruining Megan’s marriage.

Backing up a little, for clarity and because someone needs to hoover under our feet, their tryst first began on the set of Alien Robots Smash Things.

It would appear, at the behest of director Michael Bay, the 20-somethings pretended to fancy each other and that turned into sleeping together.

So, Michael’s the king of our robot overlords and a pimp. Huh? Okay. The guy who may or may not be a pimp pushed them together and somewhere in there everyone forgot she had a boyfriend. Maybe. No one seems to be sure. Asked whether he was the other man in a relationship that’s now spanned six years, he stuttered and gave a blithe, non-committal retort.

In all likelihood, Fox was on a Ross and Rachel break in which sleepovers were allowed as long as there’s no kissing. So, that was what she did. And Shia blabbed because he’s no gentleman.

Megan’s not really talking to the press about this. However, multiple, excitable sources are speaking on her behalf. And they’re emoting all over the place.

OK! Magazine reports that Megan and Brian are desperately trying to save their marriage. “He has really upset Megan and Brian,” a close source explains. “They went through an incredibly rocky period when she and Shia were filming Transofmers: Revenge of the Fallen…having Shia run his mouth now and brag about sleeping with Megan is awful for them.” Though was it really cheating? “…technically [Megan] didn’t do anything wrong since they were on break. [Still], they are so angry at Shia.”

Megan’s really, really, upset that she got caught. Because, frankly, with a daily side of extra penis, that would be the only reason to be sad.

This was the last ever guest post by Amy Grindhouse, which is terrible, terrible news… but then again, it really is her own fault for her continual sexual advances toward the rest of Team Spray.

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Jesse James is still talking about how he cheated on Sandra Bullock a year ago. It behooves him to talk about betraying his ex-wife for the sake of his book sales. So, his current book tour includes belated apologies and indignant admissions of guilt. However, you may be interested to know, any wrongdoing on his part is in the eye of the beholder and Jesse is only sorry that you’re so sensitive.

There are probably no innocent parties here and we don’t know the full story. There were two people in that relationship.

Until there were suddenly seven more people and Jesse was having sex with all of them. It took two of them to break-up the relationship. Which is, incidentally, roughly how many strippers with whom he cheated.

No one’s ever really at fault when a marriage breaks down. Apparently. So Jesse has spent the last 12 months writing and promoting a book about cheating on and humiliating an Oscar winner for any other bastards who want to do the same.

Asked by a journalist whether he’d entirely emotionally moved on and detached from cheating on Sandra, Jesse responded simply, ‘Yeah, I’m cool.’ He’s ‘Cool’ with moving on from Nazi strippers and a burning sensation when he pees.

Oh, good.

Probed further, as to whether his life fell apart after the scandal or whether he was ever heckled by passersby, he replied that everyone loved him. Like, everyone. Only we in the media mocked him because we are, apparently, the only ones with any perspective. ‘I never got one negative comment. Not from anyone,’ insisted Jesse. ‘The only people that said negative stuff to me were paparazzi and they were like being paid to do that.’

We’re the only people who’re habitually pointing and laughing at his goober face, whiny voice, and thin excuses for philandering. We need our own book tour where we can promote Team Hecklerspray and blame our readers for the crotch rot and constant itching in tender places.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, who is currently having an affair behind the backs of the many ‘spray writers she’s told she’ll marry, the heartless sow.

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Hugh Hefner has invented a cloning machine. We’re presupposing as much because yet another girlfriend has been added to Hugh’s arsenal of glorified ladies of the night. Ever heard of November 2011 Playboy Playmate Shera Bechard? No? Us neither.

A little too old for his tastes, we think, Shera is the 27-year-old new girlfriend of the 85-year-old smut-peddler. Yes, that’s another one since last Monday when he confirmed that Anne Sophie Berglund and the Shannon twins were back in his harem.

In what reads like the world’s most convoluted ploy for publicity, Hugh has used the break-up with Crystal Harris to pimp his forthcoming Playboy issues and the latest non-descript blonde who’s going to age out within a year.

Into his cloning device, Hugh puts thongs, botox, implants, and too much bleach. Clearly, the machine’s in need of fine tuning. None the less, it’s a work of sheer wizardry. All you would need is some ointment to soothe the itch from the nasties picked up in the literally filthy mansion and you would have a party in a box.

Speaking of boxes, being too literal for our own good, Hugh patronizingly called Anna his ‘one in a million… darling… best girl’ only last week.

This week, he added Shera. ‘Shera is both our November 2011 Playmate & my new girlfriend,’ Hugh told a Twitter follower on Monday.

Seeing this, his new plaything, with fully adjustable limbs, wrote that she ‘really does love’ the man with whom she has been enjoying early bird dinners.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

The lies with which Heidi Montag is filled are the softest known to man. So, when you give her a squeeze, you can’t tell she’s fake. Realising that her star has lost its luster, Heidi has taken to flat-out embellishing about her disfigured form in order to remain in the media. And, because we’re a giving bunch, we’re going to oblige my mocking her.

Heidi hasn’t been in the news much, for the better part of a year. The last thing she really did was mutilate herself, of her own free will, on the operating table, while bemused photographers from an American magazine watched on. Pretty much, that was the last thing she did, except fake a divorce and fake the release of a sex tape, to keep herself in the tabloids.

It’s a pretty sad state of affairs that that’s what it takes to remain on television. At least the Kardashians were willing to take one in the eye for the team and be a little more open about their lack of talent. It’s the smoke, mirrors and subterfuge that’s bothersome with Heidi.

Having nothing but her inflatables and low self-esteem to promote on the world’s stage, Heidi spent the weekend with Crystal Harris. The same Crystal who dumped Hugh Hefner five days before a wedding she admitted she’d pressured him into. The two girls aren’t friends, to be clear. They’re just equally attention-seeking and Heidi invited Crystal to spend the weekend at a promotional pool party in Las Vegas. Their jobs? To stand there, all fake-tanned, and stage awkward photos together.

This is the first event in some time for which anyone’s been willing to pay Heidi. Which hasn’t escaped her.

Months ahead of time, she began to prepare for the pool party/ photo call, fearing that she’d become overweight. Then she slimmed down and lied about working out 14-hours-a-day, every day, for months, to lose 27 pounds.

“I’ve been working out from, like, 5 a.m. to 7 p.m. for two months now. I’ve been working out really hard because I had this pool party and I was like, I have to be in shape,” she told Us Weekly. “And I was actually a lot overweight. It was the most I’ve ever been because I’ve kind of been in hiding eating pie with my husband and puppies, so I needed to get back in shape.” At her heaviest, the 5?2? reality star claimed she weighed 130 pounds; she’s currently back down to 103. How did the Hills alum lose 27 pounds so quickly? “I’ve been running a lot, and I’ve been doing weights,” she said. “When you work out, you boost your metabolism, so you have to [make sure you eat enough].”

Worse still, she nearly burst her inflatables with all that exercise. Won’t someone think of the breasts. Oh, the humanity!

“My breasts, because they’re so big, really needed some time,” she explained. “So I’m just starting to work out again after my surgery. Sometimes I get shooting pains, but I hear that’s normal.”

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

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We’re going to start this off by dragging your collective minds out of the gutter… we mean the lips on her face. Anyone who thought different will be made to sit and write 1,000 lines, with an also-ostracised Editor Mof Gimmers.

Explaining why her breasts were cast to offset the bombastic and yet somehow monotonous and threadbare work of Michael Bay, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley has spoken about the facial features that got her bullied in secondary school.

It’s going to be a long summer filled with less-than-special effects and poorly-implemented 3D that’s going to make you whimper for something lower tech. A few of this season’s films look especially ropey on the old effects there; The Green Lantern and Captain America among the worst. As not even boys can suffer through 120 minutes of explosions, all of these films are going to have bonus boobs. Boobs, attached to some pretty-but-interchangeable woman, who’s onscreen intermittently to remind you there is a God.

In this case, those boobs belong to Rosie. She replaces an angry Megan Fox who left to join the Spice Girls, or something, according to an annoyed-sounding Shia LaBeouf.

Oh, did we not mention, Rosie was cast in Transformers: Dark Of The Moon because she’s comfortable larking about in her skivvies. Speaking about Megan’s departure, Shia told a newspaper that

‘Mike films women in a way that appeals to a 16-year-old sexuality. It’s Michael’s style. And I think [Megan] never got comfortable with it… Rosie comes with this Victoria’s Secret background, and she’s comfortable with it, so she can get down with Mike’s way of working and it makes the whole set vibe very different.’

Boobs. We actually weren’t kidding about that.

The model seems passable at worst in the trailer. But she’s doing herself no favours in her interviews. Not that it’s her fault, but time and time again she’s asked about her famous pout. Speaking to Maxim, Rosie admits her lips have magical powers. Which, of course, means she’s a witch and should be burned at the stake.

‘The rest of my body requires a lot of upkeep, but the lips are one thing I don’t have to work on. They’re funny, because they change colour with my mood. They get really, really red when I’m angry or passionate, and pale when I’m miserable or tired. But I suppose everyone else’s do too. They have a life of their own. they get me in trouble. You know mood rings? I’ve got mood lips.’

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

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First things first. We’re using ‘star power’ in its loosest of meanings. As loose as a certain part of Paris Hilton’s very anatomy, you might say. She had some strange kind of fame that was based on a filthy tape that was meant to be sent to a nature channel but some perverts packaged it as another kind of tape – we’ll have you know, nature channels the world over are still feeling the loss.

Last week, Paris upped her promotional obligations ahead of the debut of her latest reality show. Appearing on show after show, Paris never seemed to realise that her original fans from a decade ago had aged out and had already moved on to Law & Order reruns.

Even appearing with her mother, who co-stars on the show, didn’t endear Paris to her audience.

Flailing in one interview, on a show called The View, Paris struggled to defend her show’s pretty obviously staged nature and the heavy-handed editing to conjure storylines where there were none.

‘The cameras are there every single day,’ she explained, ‘the show’s not scripted [unlike competing shows]. You can’t write this. It’s all real.’ Well, except for the 59 minutes of filler in the first hour that showed a convoluted and desperate attempt to remain relevant – at any cost – in a market dominated by other reality stars like the Kardashian sisters. In case you were in any doubt, there was even a scene of Paris in the bath as she yelled things at her assistant. She struggled to think of a gimmick. And it was painful to watch.

Did we say painful?

Oh, we meant it was nothing of the sort – it was schadenfreude. After years of fame based on little, Paris is pretty much finished.

Clasping at straws for reasons why her show debut flopped, Paris is blaming a technical error.

“Paris is furious that the show didn’t premiere at the time it was supposed to,” an insider [said] about ‘The World According to Paris.’ “She worked her tail off doing promotion and publicity for the show and then because of a technical mistake, the show aired at a completely different time in a lot of markets.”

A representative from the network denies that there were any glitches in her premiere episode. “The show premiered at 10 p.m. on Wednesday, June 1 as was promoted,” an Oxygen spokesperson [said] in a statement. “There were no technical mistakes. We look forward to a very exciting run of the series.”

Realising there was no point in flogging a dead horse, Paris apparently dropped out of this week’s promotion for the second episode. Instead, she left her mother to promote the show alone. And, according to reports coming out of America, the disappointing ratings could mean the show’s pulled altogether soon.

Excuse us. We’re off to buy a little Henry vacuum, to get the crisp crumbs off the hecklerspray hovel carpet, before we throw this ‘WHEE!’ party on the eve of Paris’ free fall into irrelevancy.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

In an ouroboros circle of narcissism that’s going to be the reason the universe implodes in on itself in 2012, Katie Price has been spotted with ankle ink that would appear to mark the date she met her latest boyfriend. Which would be fine. Except she’s been dating this latest guy for all of three months and change.

Katie and boyfriend-of-the week, Leandro Penna, have been spending time together since February. This February. The February during which everyone else was getting knocked-up or getting married.

Okay, okay. Maybe meeting and instantly falling in love with some bloke she just tripped over in the street is the lesser of those evils. So long as her womb stays empty and she doesn’t sprint down the aisle again, we’re not going to fight her on this one.

We’re just genuinely perplexed by the logic behind a tattoo of the date she met Leo, when that date was only weeks ago. Unless she’s got negligible short term memory and she’s inking herself in a Memento-style effort to keep track of whom she’s bedding, it’s a touch redundant.

Even if the ink’s temporary, which it could be, it’s still stupid.

As well as staging pictures with her new boyfriend, poolside in Marbella, prominently displaying ‘Leo 27-02-11’, the couple is starting fake engagement rumours too.

During a book signing in early May, Katie wore an enormous diamond ring on her engagement finger. Not the middle finger, which, given the insult to people’s intelligence, would have been more fitting. Pictures showed Katie holding up copies of her latest poorly-penned and probably ghostwritten book, making sure to showcase a ring she likely bought herself.

It’s pretty headache-inducingly hackneyed at this point. And it’s always a convoluted misstep before she marries whichever virtual stranger.

Wait, do we hear wedding bells? Oh no!

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

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Justin Bieber is really making it too easy to make jokes about him at this point. With a preternaturally smooth face that screams androgyny as much as it does ‘Please slap me,’ he’s released everything from nail polish to a women’s scent. If, by ‘women,’ he meant the people who paid for their tickets to see his movie entirely in 10 pence pieces.

The only thing slightly more preposterous than the release of quite so many concurrent women’s products is that book and movie deal – with so many trips to rehab and love children with other people’s wives under his belt, heck, he’s got one story to tell.

Except, oh. None of that ever happened. His entire story is based on closet lesbianism and a stupid shiny face. Nothing more.

With the life experience of a family pet behind him, Justin is beginning an empire of unrelated products aimed solely at extracting tooth fairy money from pre-pubescent girl fans. His latest product is named after the ‘secret’ file of JPEGs on every Belieber’s iPhone, ‘Someday.’ As in, someday, he’s going to need that restraining order.

Justin claims to have created the scent so he’d have an excuse for sniffing girls’ necks. We’re not even kidding.

He told Ryan Seacrest on Monday:

I want to be smelling the girl’s neck. I want to tell the girls what I like and what I think is… attractive to me. So I wanted to make a fragrance that I think will be appealing and make me want to chase the girl that I smell. It smells really good, not too strong; it’s like a nice, spring, light smell.’

Yes, he really said that. And, no, the authorities have not been called.

Because his scent isn’t creepy enough in name and concept, it’s got an equally creepy advert to accompany it. In it, Justin’s supposed to be an asexual Peter Pan type who sexually harasses some model who’s spraying the product – the vague, subliminal context… buying his crap guarantees he’ll sleep with you.

Watch the advert below. You can do that and dial 999 at the same time, surely?

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

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This may come as a shock to people used to the gritty realism of documentaries like Eastenders, Coronation Street, and Strictly Come Dancing - but it’s pretty much all smoke and mirrors. Even the bits that look really real, like the copious twirling. It’s all staged and you’re being played like a fiddle.

There’s a show that’s two episodes in, called Made in Chelsea. It’s basically The Only Way is Essex but with more-abrasive accents and less fake tan. The show centres around the entirely contrived lives of a group of people we’re no longer convinced even know each other.

Let’s start at the beginning – the show follows wealthy 20-somethings as they walk around Chelsea in circles, occasionally making passive-aggressive remarks toward each other. Producers fill any awkward gaps with scenery or shots of the cast wishing they were somewhere else. An hour long show contains about 30 minutes of the cast, mouths agape and struggling to find some witty put down for the asshole who crossed their paths while wearing Topshop.

Because we hecklers all live together, we like each other, and we occasionally go to the loo together, we’ve been watching this show together. It’s more out of morbid curiosity than anything. Kind of like watching a snuff film, we guess. And we think there has never been so many unlikeable people in one British reality show before. And we’re including all Big Brother contestants, so that’s a lot of people we’re counting.

And this isn’t random rich people-hating. It’s plain old fashioned people-hating. As we gather most of the people from the show lack the social standing that supposedly informs the narrative. The Daily Mail, who started off gleefully planting a positive story before watching the show, has since turned against it. They were so desperate for negative material that they crafted an entire report based on nothing but a dozen Twitter reactions from after the pilot aired.

At this point The Mail is fishing a little, but what they’re finding is shedding light on the level of deception that goes into creating, scripting, and conjuring parts of this show.

The cast is, incidentally, of a lower social standing than the show suggests because no better socialites would agree to be filmed. The Mail notes that some were signed up, but then ‘many of the genuine socialites and high-society members [who] signed up dropped out when they realised it could affect their social standing.’

More to the point, most of the cast aren’t important enough to be members of the fancy pants places in which they film. For example, episode one shows an event in a nightclub: scenes show club-goers and bar staff who are fairly sparsely spaced, a door man, one of the cast, who stands outdoors during what’s clearly early evening. Turns out the indoors scenes were shot during the day, with only paid extras and cast, with the venue hired for the purpose.

None of the cast were even members of the £400 to join, an additional £400-per-year to remain a member, Raffles nightclub.

When real members learned of the scenes that essentially peed all over their fees they complained, forcing the hand of the management who issued a statement.

We would like to confirm that the production company for Made In Chelsea have rented our venue on a few occasions – during the day – to film scenes for their television programme. The hire-outs were standard day-time venue hire that we were very happy to accommodate. We wish them and the cast the best of luck with the TV programme. We will be maintaining our strict policy of allowing access for members and their friends only during normal evening trading hours.

Fun times: partying with other unimportant people, in the daytime, while surrounded by extras.

We’re pretty sure the cast physically exist, as in you could reach right out and punch them, but don’t hold us to that.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

Lindsay Lohan will probably receive no real punishment for allegedly stealing a $2,500 necklace – even though there were multiple witnesses and there’s surveillance video of the entire thing. Instead of going to prison on a theft charge, she’s going to be the first official visitor of the Britney Spears Prison Of Awesome ™.

We’re a little bitter, if we’re honest. We spent all last week, in shifts, trying desperately to get arrested for something. Anything. We even held someone’s pet gerbil for ransom. Yet, nothing.

We’re bloody free and have to suffer the indignity of peeing in a toilet rather than a hole in the floor in front of two dozen other people. In case you’re wondering where that sobbing is coming from, yes, that’s us.

After learning last week that train wrecks got to be prisoners of their enormous homes, we were determined to join them behind bars. Not a real bars, mind you. Because celebrities don’t usually go to real prison. Not even if they’ve offed someone. No, instead it’s some kind of glorified house arrest situation taking place in a Californian McMansion.

Whee!

It’s being reported that Lindsay’s only going to be serving 14 days or less of an 84 sentence – 84 already being reduced from 120. Sheesh.

In a case that’s going to be heard live Wednesday morning in Los Angeles, Lindsay will plead no contest to her reduced misdemeanor charges. After which she’s probably going to be tagged for a fortnight while she relaxes at her house.

Lindsay will not have to serve more than the 120-day sentence for the probation violation. L..A. County Spokesperson Steve Whitmore tells TMZ, based on what the Department has done in the past, Lindsay may not get the credit jail inmates get based on overcrowding. Short story, for a 120-day sentence, without giving Lindsay the overcrowding credit, she’d have to serve roughly 84 days. Lindsay would still get her 36 days credit for good time, but that means she couldn’t leave her home for 84 days.

So Wednesday, after Lindsay pleads no contest to misdemeanor theft, it’s likely she’ll end up with electronic monitoring at home, and she’s at the beach fercryinoutloud!

The beach? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WON’T SOMEONE ARREST US?!

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

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Britney Spears is a prisoner in her own home. Haven’t you heard? The enormous mansions she owns in California and Louisiana are basically ‘prisons’. Really large prisons where the chairs still have padding.

While we go and pick the neighbourhood locks in hopes of being thrown into A Britney Spears Prison of Awesome, you may like to know the latest on the singer. She’s being controlled by the people around her, according to the latest reports out of America.

She’s watched, monitored, followed, and still has to ask to spend her own money. Her calls are screened and she probably has to ask before she wees too. In Touch Magazine in the U.S. alleges that Britney is under a literal lock-down. She has to ask before spending time with other adults. And she basically interacts with no one outside her team.

The magazine alleges that conditions for Britney have worsened, since the 2006 meltdown where she spent the year alternating between coffee breaks and squatting for excitable paparazzi (yes, that pretty much happened).

The singer is under conservatorship, with little-to-no chance of it being lifted in the near future. In fact, it’s alleged she’s un-insurable without being under the thumb of her management – the same team working her until she’s dead behind the eyes and lethargically wheezing around stage.

Because it’s more important to milk the cash cow than give it a tea break, Britney’s going to be asking her father for pocket money right into her 40s at this rate.

InTouch Weekly print edition reports (via Celebitchy)

Three years after the meltdown that landed her in a mental health facility, Britney lives like a prisoner in her own home, with virtually every aspect of her life under the control of her father/conservator, Jamie Spears.

“She isn’t allowed to have a cell phone, and she’s not allowed to take incoming calls to her home unless security screens them first,” reveals an insider. “If she wants to make outgoing calls, security has to dial the numbers for her. She still has an allowance, and if she wants extra cash, she must submit a formal request…

Allowed contact with few people other than Jamie, her sons Jayden, 4, and Sean, 5, and her boyfriend, talent agent Jason Trawick – with whom she frequently fights – the onetime party girl is “incredibly lonely,” says the insider.

She has no privacy and yet at the same time, she has no time to herself. “Most people don’t know this, but Britney has a sober companion who is with her constantly, whenever Jason isn’t,” shares another close source. “The companion follows her everywhere she goes – even to the bathroom in restaurants or other public places – to ensure there’s no way anyone can slip her drugs.”

We’re done picking those locks, but the police are nowhere to be found. Slackers. While we pinch sweets from the local Tesco, would someone mind dialing 999 so we can bloody get thrown in one of these giant, luxury prisons already?

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

Gwyneth Paltrow is the love of our lives. She’s adored more than every single one of the people we drunkenly fumbled around with behind the bike sheds in heckler high school. More than the assorted people we’ve since collectively married in Las Vegas – none of whom we’ve bothered to divorce because we each yelled ‘Take backsies!’ She’s the site’s #1. Because, to be blunt, she’s a b*tch.

And she provides a disproportionate amount of fodder in the form of obnoxious quotes. In this case, she even sounds sanctimonious when talking about how her c**t grandmother is more of a c**t than your peasant grandmother.

Wait what?

We’ll have her know our collective grandmothers are entirely as c**ty as they want to be, thank you very much. Moreover, being a pauper’s the best thing since sliced bread because you have an excuse for living in your pyjama bottoms and existing on a diet of pizza and fizzy pop. It’s like, economics or something. We’re pretty sure that thing in that book about economics mentions pizza and Jeremy Kyle. Yeah, it’s on that page where Mof doodled in the margin.

Back to the point, Gwyneth gave an interview with the U.S.’s Chelsea Lately with Chelsea Handler and spoke about what an annoying bunch of a**holes her extended family were. Or something. Or she could have just been trying to one-up also-German Chelsea with her name-calling.

Appearing on “Chelsea Lately” Monday night, Paltrow spoke about the tough time she had relating to her mutti. Both Handler and Paltrow reminisced about their German grandmoms, and when Handler called hers a “b**ch,” Paltrow one-upped her. “My grandmother was a real c**t,” Paltrow laughed. “She basically hated my guts. She tried to poison my mother against me, but it didn’t work because I have a great mother. She was just tough, just tough. You look back and you think she must not have been very happy and she must have had a lot of pain because she was mean as hell.”

As a side note, screaming ‘Take backsies!’ and running like the wind is a totally valid substitute for divorce. Right? If not, um, if any one calls the hecklerspray hovel, we’re in the loo. Together. Where it’s safe.There are about a dozen jilted wives and husbands out there somewhere and we’ll be damned if they’re getting half the beer, the hovel, and the commenters in the divorces.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse and she’s the biggest c*nt going.

Vanessa Hudgens was one of the many celebrities this past weekend to forget she’s not a homeless person, and stop washing long enough to attend Coachella. Not washing yourself, taking special care never to wash your hands, is as integral to the experience as foraging for berries and burying your poop.

Reports from the weekend noted Vanessa had done something during the American music festival that involved no nude photos of any kind. Of course, this required reporting with urgency; with titles reading ‘ZOMG, Vanessa went 48 hours and her iPad wasn’t hacked for MySpace-face pictures.’

She attended the event with whomever she’d been sleeping with the past few weeks. That guy, you know. That bloke whose name we’re refusing to learn on principle (of celebrities treating their sex lives like some herpes-infected game of Russian Roulette… if she marries him, we’ll consider learning his name). At some point, hanging out and listening to the bands in the burning hot sun, Vanessa was seen eating something. But what?!

Pictures revealed it was a salad. Scandal! But then she went and licked something off her finger.

Something that was either salad dressing or a booger. We were betting our week’s milk money on the latter. Which is problematic, as now we’re eating our cornflakes dry.

What Vanessa licked off her fingers wasn’t salad dressing, or any one of the illegal drugs she was irresponsibly accused of taking – it was reported, as fact, she’d taken a pure form of Ecstasy called ‘Molly’ based on nothing but pictures of her poor attention to basic hygiene. Rather than stick with the ready-made excuse about dressing, her spokesperson told the media it was chocolate.

We know, we know.

The rep further explained the baggie of chocolate that passed for drugs had melted because of the heat. The drugs story was far more interesting and she should have revealed a non-existent cocaine addiction or something. That way, we’d still be talking about that the next time she leaked her own nudes.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, who doesn’t mind being photographed while binging on Class Z drugs, so show your props you ungrateful gits.

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Kim Kardashian would like you to know you have a bum. She really does! We’re actually not making fun of her. Yet. She really did make the throw away comment, during a recent interview, that everyone has a bum. We’ll build back up to that, we wouldn’t want you to overheat from that revelation.

Kim Kardashian is one of the three Kardashian sisters; who’re only famous because this one here got peed on, in a video we’re not allowed to talk about without notifying our lawyers first. Moreover, this one’s only really famous because of her preternaturally large backside.

It’s so large, in fact, there have been all kinds of weird conspiracies about her getting it insured and that it’s some kind of implant. Some kind of stunt bum. Or something. We tried to read up on it and got distracted by the pictures, pop-up ads and malware. So, heck if we know more than that.

Kim’s on some kind of publicity tour to promote her latest reality show; her television spin-off with sister Kourtney. It’s entirely uneventful, but while people are talking about a staged reality show, with nary a spontaneous word spoken, they’re not questioning the faint smell of urine in the room. And we have it on good authority, from people better than us at getting rid of horrible smells, that’s a good thing.

As the television show winds down and reaches its finale – also uneventful – we’re left with Kim’s magazine covers and sponsorship deals geared towards, essentially, keeping the world’s most marketable porn star in clean knickers. One of the magazines with whom she spoke this month was Cosmopolitan’s May issue.

Kim goes on the defensive about her bum dimples, for at least the second time in two weeks.

“When I was criticised for it, I said, ‘I have cellulite. So what!,’” she tells the magazine. “I’ve never claimed to be perfect. It’s crazy anyone should assume that just because you’re in the spotlight, you’re flawless. Sometimes I pig out and I still feel great, and think, ‘That was so worth it!’ That’s how I feel a lot of the time. I think, ‘See this little dimple of cellulite here? It was so worth it for that cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream!’”

Then she writes the Internet a strongly-worded letter about the same bum.

“I see ridiculous stories about my butt, like how it has been insured,” Kardashian says, referring to a long line of rumours. “I feel like saying, ‘Hey, everyone has a butt. It’s not that big a deal!’ But I suppose it’s flattering. Personally, I’ve always loved the curvy look. Even when I was a little girl and all my friends would be like, ‘Oh, my god, your butt’s so big.’ And I’d say, ‘I love it.’”

We’ve the feeling someone needs to keep that written down. So we’re not reminded of it again. We’ve no pens, nor paper, in the hecklerspray hovel, as its rationed and, Misery-style, we’re kept on a short leash. So, we’ll need one of you lot to write this down… ‘We’ve all got bums. Bums for everyone!’

Thanks.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so a huge congratulatory slap on the anus for that!

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It’s a good thing that Britney Spears and Kevin Federline separated; his Sperm of Steel would have wrecked her womb for good.

Britney filed for divorce from Kevin on 7 November, 2007; only days before her entire reproductive system would have caved in, from the constant sperm attacks and the overuse. We’re not even kidding. Somewhere in their legal papers, ‘tired womb’ is listed in crayon as the reason for the split.

Maybe we’re exaggerating. Maybe it’s not entirely fair to blame Kevin for knocking-up a third woman, with his fifth child, in eight years. He can hardly be expected to account for every individual one of his swimmers. That’d be madness.

Or, you know, cheaper.

Kevin’s spokesperson isn’t making an official comment about whether his client is going to be parent to a fifth child – a baby who’d be half-sibling to the sons of Britney.

However, it’s being reported, by just about every American outlet who enjoys schadenfreude as much as we, that Kevin impregnated his girlfriend-of-two-years, Victoria Prince. Add to that, pictures from the weekend of Britney’s eldest son protectively clinging to his father’s girlfriend’s stomach as the paparazzi looked on. And ba-zing! We’ve got a baby!

From People:

It’s Papa Zao time again for Kevin Federline.  The former backup dancer and onetime rapper is expecting his fifth child this summer – his first baby with girlfriend Victoria Prince, a source tells PEOPLE. Federline is already a father of four: sons Jayden, 4, and Preston, 5, with ex-wife Britney Spears; and son Kaleb, 6, and daughter Kori, 8, with ex-girlfriend Shar Jackson.  This will be Prince’s first child. Federline, 33, and Prince, 28, a former professional volleyball player, have been dating for more than two years.

We guess this is no different at all than Scary Spice, Mel B, getting pregnant by a third guy; already having children by Eddie Murphy and her first husband. But it’s still alarming.

Wait. Should we, at hecklerspray, all be breeding and producing babies with at least three of the other writers? Egads!

We’re getting no younger… we’ll be back in five minutes. No, six minutes. All that sexy turkey baster action isn’t going to botch itself.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, who has thus far not had one of K-Feds babies growing inside her. So hurray to that then.

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