Modern society, we’re so advanced aren’t we? With our two-in-one shampoo and conditioner and trendy high street café’s selling luxury iced coffee! Really, we’ve never had it so good. But all of this pampering has left us soft as a nation.

Back in the days of the Vikings and Romans, heated disputes were usually sorted with a punch-up whilst a baying crowd watched until one opponent cried blood.

Now feuding people take to media to vent their rage. If you’re Elton John, an American TV show to talk about Madonna, specifically.

Earlier this month, Madonna bagged an award in the best song category at the Golden Globe ceremony. We’ve heard neither track so have no feeling towards them. Rest assured though, we think they’re both terrible.

However, trophy-whore Elton wasn’t best pleased and didn’t disguise his displeasure at the result. Now he’s bringing out the bitchy comments ahead of Madonna’s Super Bowl performance on Sunday; get the handbags ready!

Sometimes it’s difficult to take Elton John seriously. After all, he is a fan of stupid clothing and this time proved no different. During this particular interview, he was dressed as a monarch. We’re not sure if he’d just been to Burger King and got into character, but none the less, he looked like an utter tit.

See for yourself.

Clearly still chewing on a bunch of sour grapes, Elton had the following to say about Madonna’s upcoming halftime performance at the Super Bowl:

“Make sure you lip-synch good. I’ve never seen a decent one. Never ever. You have to play live, but I don’t think you can. In all fairness to everyone who’s done one before, you may be able to sing live, but it’s really hard to play live.”

Hmm, we’re not entirely sure what Elton John wants Madonna to do. Perhaps he wants her to revisit her glory days when she tried to act sexy and wriggled around in various bondage outfits. But this won’t happen on two counts. Firstly, Madonna is old and saggy like a deflated dog-chew and, Americans get scared of naked flesh. Remember this?

WARNING PEOPLE TO THE PEOPLE OF AMERICA! DON’T SUE US IF YOU SEE THE NAKED BODYPART AT THE END OF THE VIDEO, OKAY?

Even though American football is for girls due to the amount of padding they use, we do have to give them some respect for the shows they put on.

In proper rugby where there’s no soft protective helmets or extra thick layers of clothing so nobody catches a cold, there isn’t a halftime spectacle to watch. The six nation halftime break has no excitement, at best, there’s a scramble as fans run to the burger kiosk to battle it out for that last remaining fattening treat.

Come Sunday evening, Madonna will be prancing around in clothes that she nicked from her daughters’ wardrobe whilst Elton John and his man wife David Furnish throw nacho hats at the TV in disgust.

Poor them.

When you’re in a position of note, it’s easy to get carried away and become an egotistical crack-shack. One need only look at Sting’s self-satisfied fizzog to see exactly what we mean.

Not everybody has it so easy once they’ve been elevated to a “status” – especially one they might not want. Who are we talking about? Why it’s none other than ol’ safe hands himself, ‘Sexy’ Dr. Conrad Murray. The man that, in the eyes of Michael Jackson fans, makes Harold Shipman look like a competent medical professional.

There’s a very good reason that whilst you’re reading this, Dr. Conrad Murray is being held in a prison somewhere. He was tried and convicted of manslaughter. Tsk tsk. Still, he’s looking forward to some time away from a depressing concrete cell. If he gets his way, you might be able to see him sooner rather than later!

Any medical textbook will tell you that if you give someone a bucket-load of industrial strength medication, it probably won’t make you feel overly chirpy in the morning. Then again, perhaps the people around him should have whispered “Michael, stop injecting yourself with that stuff and talking to your stuffed animals, they’re not real. Bubbles is gone.”

Even if Dr. Conrad Murray had been found innocent, the Jackson estate would have appealed the conviction, due to them worrying about where the next pay cheque was coming from. After all, it isn’t like Janet Jackson has stepped up and become the breadwinner has she? In the first of a million more trials, Dr. Conrad Murray is going to argue the original decision. He’ll be using the following utterly incomprehensible defense:

“Improper exclusion of defence evidence and witnesses that resulted in violating the defendant’s State and constitutional rights to due process, to present a defence and to the effective assistance of counsel.”

Because none of us are trained lawyers, we assume that Dr. Conrad Murray feels that some of the witnesses used against him were dodgy. Perhaps his argument does have a modicum of logic. Michael Jackson was getting quite deluded in his later life, so perhaps calling on the sworn testimony of Santa Claus wouldn’t be appropriate. After all, Murray’s lawyers have said that he’s living in:

“Maximum security conditions in jail and had exhausted virtually all of his available resources.”

It’s well documented that before accidentally knocking off a pop star, Dr. Conrad Murray had no previous criminal conviction. So is it fair that he’s shackled around all day and spends most of his time inside on his own? What’s the ideal solution for team Murray? Living on a secret island with 2Pac? Oh no, it’s something much more quaint:

“He would live with the mother of his child, Nicole Alvarez, and would seek employment. He also is said to be willing to wear an electronic bracelet so his movements can be monitored.”

Michael Jackson fans could benefit! Imagine the Dr. Conrad Murray GPS tracking system app. The Jackson family could easily tap in and leech off that idea.

Americans have loads of stuff that’s essentially just for them, but occasionally seeps into the cultural mindset of others. Even though its just rounders for men, they call it the “world series” even though only American teams compete.

Then there’s the general extra injection of happiness and excitement that all Americans possess. Even going to the toilet to expel waste results in over enthusiastic whoops, screams and cheers, almost like they’ve passed a sparkly stool.

TV is, sometimes, America’s best export. But then again, this is the same nation that still churns out The Simpsons despite all its charm vanishing years ago. One giant success is Glee, even though it is essentially a TV version of High School Musical, but even more sweet and sickly. And the series is about to broadcast a tribute Michael Jackson episode. What could possibly go wrong?

Now, we don’t really want to bring this up, but if memory serves, there were a few incidents during Michael Jackson’s career where he was accused of being slightly inappropriate with children. Not by accidentally swearing in front of an infant, rather, he was accused of committing the last taboo – having a fiddle with a tot.

That made him bad, dangerous and totally off the wall when the world found out.

But who are we to accuse someone of a crime they didn’t commit? After all, not one, but two separate juries let him off all charges brought against him. Hooray! We’re sure he Michael Jackson celebrated with a Jesus Juice party inside a tree house. Of course we still make jokes about it, but then again, Michael Jackson fans are no better.

They’re still baying for the blood of ‘Sexy’ Dr. Conrad Murray. Nobody ever overlooks the fact that Jackson was a known addict to industrial strength drugs. And poor ‘Sexy’ Conrad was convicted of his manslaughter as he was the provider of said drugs. Great to Team Jackson – Jermaine, Tito, Randy and Janet all involved in the process of trying to save their brother. Not La Toya though. She’s too mental to care.

With the world more or less over the death of the pop star, there’s still another way for the Jackson estate to bore us about his career and see a mini surge in sales.

On January 31st, an episode will premiere featuring a bucket load of songs which will be praised by fans of the show and hated by Michael Jackon nutcases, who’ll be angered that someone dared emulate their hero. A teaser trailer has been released to promote the episode. LOOK:

This will all be interspliced with the following storyline that we have no idea about. Even the hecklerspray phantom couldn’t manage an episode:

“The rivalry between the New Directions and the Warblers intensifies en route to Regionals. Meanwhile, Kurt and Rachel receive news regarding their admissions process at NYADA, and things continue to heat up between Sam and Mercedes.”

2-4-6-8, what do we appreciate? A large bottle of gin and backstreet fried chicken.

Why do people care about The Oscars? The winners get a lousy statue that resembles a gold-plated bottle of bubble bath with a screw top head. Hollywood has run out of ideas and has realised that the game is up, badly remaking Japanese films and adapting stupid books.

But Generation Yoof won’t care about classic cinema being revisited will they? They’ve got Skins back on their worthless TVs.

And, worse still, sixth form politicians and literature geeks will all be going weak at the knees as skag wuss and all-round pus-factory Pete Doherty looks to cash in with a documentary based on run of the mill indie act, The Libertines. We expect no highs, just lows.

For some reason, The Libertines made it big despite sounding like every other band that was hanging around on the circuit. Perhaps excitable teenagers liked the spaced-out, brown-tooth look that Pete Doherty gave off as he constantly wandered around on a concoction of bad drugs and worse booze.

The Libertines essentially proved themselves to be a band version of Eastenders as Doherty decided to break into band mate Carl Barat’s flat to steal from him. Eventually he spent some time inside a nasty prison, which we all had a laugh over.

As we’ve said before, he’s not the sharpest spoon in the drawer.

Frankly, we have no idea what this documentary is going to be about. After all, it does seem to be the worst trailer we’ve ever seen for anything. Waste a minute of your life below as the camera continues to zoom out until the very end. Go GCSE media skills!

If anyone ever sits down to watch “There Are No Innocent Bystanders,” is it just going to be nothing but a scrap book of images featuring some muffled words by the band? Is anyone going to be able to tell what plastic cockney Pete Doherty is saying throughout?

Or will it just be one giant mockery of their career when we see how all of the members squandered away the money they received to reunite for hipster central festival, Leeds & Reading?

“There Are No Innocent Bystanders” will only be available in all bad cinemas, DVD shops and torrent sites still. Don’t bother asking us when it’s out.

The year 2012, what exactly does it mean to you? For enthusiasts of time, calendars and dates, 2012 means a leap year! That’s right, it isn’t one of those run of the mill 365 day occasions. Instead, we get an extra day that normally doesn’t exist! Roll on February 29th!

And this year, thuggish England football fans will be getting excited as they prepare to jet off to Poland and the Ukraine to witness our lads (© The Sun) losing in Euro 2012.

But the mass global event we’re all thoroughly bored of hearing about is the 2012 Olympics. Like a school sports day on a grander scale, millions from around the world will get to see London make a complete mess of it. With the help of an all singing, all dancing and all wrinkled Paul McCartney.

Recently, lizard-president of the UK, David Cameron wanted to see more support come from TV networks so the British film industry could rosily bloom like a bunch of flowers next to a cancer victim’s grave. We all laughed and scorned at the prime ministers suggestions, however, we wish that the same train of thought was suggested to the Olympics.

Us British like a good old piece of nostalgia. Honestly, it’s amazing that some trendy company haven’t found a way of sucking the fondest memories you possess out your brain and converted them into some awful glistening cupcake. Imagine if you ever felt sad or lonely; a delicious slice of nostalgia cake could be scoffed down to get that happy feeling back in your tummy.

Obviously, we’re obsessed about the past because the UK has nothing to look forward to. We’ve already peaked.

From winning the 1966 World Cup or remembering the time when one of our princesses got smushed to bits in a Paris tunnel, you’ll be guaranteed that a tabloid paper will mention it at any given opportunity. In the music world, Paul McCartney is someone that we supposedly can’t get enough of. As someone who played in a band named after his favourite type of insect that weren’t even as good as The Beach Boys, he is amazingly popular and at time of writing, hasn’t been put in a home for his own good.

Britain is a nation to afraid to even vaguely venture in to new territories, kind of like your average holiday maker who insists on getting chips instead of rice with his chicken korma. Once you get into a habit, it’s hard to break it. Think about it, we wheeled out Paul McCartney in 2002 when The Queen had her Golden Jubilee. Though we assume they’d have used Freddie Mercury if he hadn’t died of the AIDS. Speaking about any possible Olympic involvement, McCartney said:

“I am seeing the guy because there is something they want me to do. I might be doing something in the Olympics. I know until then.”

When do we get to vote him into the Dignitas house in Switzerland?

Only the mysterious hecklerspray phantom bothered reporting on the 69th annual Golden Globe ceremony that took place on Sunday evening. Of course, we were ready to take multiple notes on the ceremony and present you with a factual article about the winners, losers and which actress had slopped gravy down their dress.

However, broadcaster E! decided that viewers in the UK weren’t allowed to watch the actual ceremony. Instead of seeing Ricky Gervais offend Hollywood’s elite, viewers were instead treated to endless repeat of an advert featuring Kim Kardashian getting out a helicopter. If they couldn’t be bothered, then neither could we.

So, we still don’t know what happened at the Golden Globes. Nobody injured themselves from what we gather (shame), but following the ceremony, it looks like a bitchfest has kicked off between Mrs. Elton John and Mr. Madonna. A case of sour grapes after losing out in an awards category? Or a bout of jealousy because Madonna bagged herself the sparkly orphan that they both wanted?

Both Elton John and Madonna were nominated in the “Best Original Song” category at the Golden Globes. Other people probably were also there, but let’s be honest, none of them really had a chance did they?

Elton was hoping that his song Hello Hello would win, though it appeared in the appallingly titled film ‘Gnomeo and Juliet’ and therefore didn’t deserve any shred of credibility. Madonna won the award with her single Masterpiece, a song that appeared in her own film ‘W.E.’ We only assume this is a big screen Hollywood tale of the Nintendo Wii console.

Did Elton John take defeat graciously? Not particularly, instead of doing the mild mannered clapping thing, he decided to sit motionlessly and look like a man with a face resembling a rejected prune who also happens to be wearing a subbuteo football as an earring.

Look at his miserable face in Madonna’s speech around the 1.07 mark:

So how did his man wife David Furnish react? In a calm, controlled and sensible matter? Don’t be stupid, Furnish is only human and he did what we’d all do in a time of sadness and anger; took to Facebook. No doubt he’ll blame the free bar at one of the Golden Globes after parties, but at the time he posted the following status:

“Madonna. Best song???? Fuck off!!!”

Don’t ever go messing with David Furnish, the boy knows how to spout his anger. Check out all of that punctuation. He must mean business. We can only imagine that his fingernails have been sharpened as he prepares to get all up in Madonna’s business and trade insults until he’s ran out of diva quips. Furnish continued his temper tantrum by commenting:

“Madonna winning Best Original Song truly shows how these awards have nothing to do with merit. Her acceptance speech was embarrassing in its narcissism.”

Surely Elton John and David Furnish didn’t think they’d walk this category did they? Oh wait, it looks like someone got a little cocky before the event even started with Elton saying:

“Madonna had “no fucking chance” of beating him in the category.”

Setting a lovely, lovely example to their new child aren’t they?

People have all sorts of warped ideas about what constitutes ‘sexy.’ Simply type a few random words into Google alongside the word ‘porn’ and you’re quite likely to find a result. Is anyone up for some hot and steamy ‘Pesticide Snorkelling Orgy’ action? Anyone? Okay…

Even we know that sordid fantasies are usually kept locked away in peoples’ sick imaginations. In reality, the common person needs something realistic to go weak at the knees over. For the majority of men, the briefest flash of a female boob will send their shrivelled members into arousal overdrive.

However, girls look for more than a gawp at the genitals of someone they fancy. Females from the comical Team Breezy gang seem slobber instantly when Chris Brown’s name is mentioned. Perhaps they all have a fetish for a domestic abuser. According to fellow rapper Fat Joe, Team Breezy couldn’t get enough of his fists at a recent video shoot.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that Chris Brown is the lowest of the low when it comes to humankind due to him using Rihanna’s face as a punch bag when the couple were together but because commercial rap and R&B foregoes morality in place of looks, body ink and how many cars you can fit in a garage, it’s been easy for Brown to restore his fanbase.

With a smile, a wink and a flick of his fists, girls have been swooning all over the place. Just like they’ve been given a left hook off the squirt himself.

When famous people fall from grace, they usually look at whoring themselves out to random products so they can make some cash. Sometimes it can work, just look at George Foreman and his Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine (other expensive toastie makers are available). A brief history lesson for those of you who have never heard of Mr Foreman, he was a boxer who used his fists for competitive sport, not for hitting women.

Let’s run that through again: top athlete & sportsman… convicted felon.

With a name like Fat Joe, which sounds like a New York Pizza Establishment (“Ey! Come to Fat Joe’s. He’ll sort you out with a Calzone. Best in the city!). Although the image of a dough chef named Fat Joe amuses us, he’s just another of those rapper types who hasn’t really done much since he grabbed our attention in 2002 with single ‘What’s Love’ that featured Ashanti – someone else who’s seemingly done a disappearing act.

If Fat Joe thinks the influence of Chris ‘Slugger’ Brown will help him, then he’s wrong. At best, Chris Brown will pass on beauty tips like “how to look like a buck toothed muppet that was kicked around a workshop by an irate Jim Henson”. Speaking on the set of a video that we’re not going to bother mentioning, Fat Joe said:

“You know, that guy, he’s like the ‘guy Beyoncé’. This guy takes his shirt off – I played it for a couple of chicks before we released it and they just start goin’ crazy and buggin’ out like, ‘Oh my God, yo’. You know, he’s a sex symbol.”

Remember everyone, Beyoncé now has a bit of a tummy scar and was temporarily covered in blood and might have a few stitches for a while but she’s still possibly the most attractive woman on earth. Chris has some serious thigh work to do before he can claim to come close.

Frankly, we’d happily volunteer to rub our body parts in glass covered nettles if it meant that Chris Brown couldn’t put imagine of his penis on the internet again. ONE IS ENOUGH!

By now, you should be back in the office and have run out of hilarious Christmas anecdotes about racist comments made by elderly relatives at the table, or how a pet urinated over the turkey. Like everyone, over-consumption via endless cheese-boards, chocolates and booze made everyone that little bit chubbier than they’d like, come 2012. So how do we combat this?

Whilst some might try and physically try and cry out the fat, others resort to more realistic methods.

Look at any supermarket shelf and you’ll be able to pick up an exercise DVD featuring completely unqualified instructors. From TOWIE to Babestation, they can all allegedly help us tone our cellulite. If you think it’s just the public who buy into fat melting DVD’s, you’d be wrong. Even reality show/model/super-injunction celebrity Imogen Thomas uses them. However, she’s been criticised for wanting to do so.

So what has Imogen Thomas done to annoy so many people?

Well, bugger all in our mind, it seems like an overly dramatic reaction to the following, which she posted on that ever-loving oracle, Twitter:

If anything, this blows open the whole debate about what the perfect body should look like. Like loads of questions in the universe such as why birds crap on a car after its just been washed and what’s the meaning of life, there’s no definitive answer. But then again, Imogen Thomas makes her living from taking her clothes off. She won’t want to look like a porker unless she’s posing for a specialist magazine, right?

Did people feel sorry for her? No, not really. And as usual, the kind supportive hand of Twitter came out to support her. Maybe they were all Manchester Utd fans. Choice comments included:

“Talk about attention seeking Jesus christtttt.”

Someone else moaned:

“You idiot it’s tweets like that which make young girls think they’re fat when they’re not. Irresponsible tweeting.”

Evidently it seems, the horror of somebody going on a diet after a Christmas binge and wanting to make themselves feel comfortable about their body seemed a shocking prospect. So much so, that Imogen Thomas had to defend her actions again via Twitter. All whilst crying in to a carrot cake and a full fat can of cola:

Christ knows why people had a go at her. Everyone knows that roughly six days into the New Year, everyone fails a diet pan when McDonalds announces their January sale.

EDITOR’S NOTE: MATTHEW LAIDLOW HAS BEEN GIVEN A WRITTEN WARNING FOR SHOWING SIGNS OF SENSITIVITY OVER A NO-MARK LIKE IMOGEN THOMAS. WE APOLOGISE AND PROMISE THAT THIS WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN.

When an ex-serial sex pest and constantly touring pop star get married, you can be assured that everything will end happily ever after, can’t you? With constant media coverage covering their every move like they’re some sort of wild animal, what could go wrong for Katy Perry and Russell Brand?

You have to question the actions of a couple who haven’t been together long since their Hindu ceremony just over a year ago. Not because we have anything against a religion that prays to elephants, but Katy Perry’s parents are devout Christians. So you’d at least think that her folks would want God to give the thumbs up over Ganesha.

As of yet, there have been no reasons given as to why the marriage collapsed. But before anyone suggests that the two simply drifted apart, wild theories are already being thrown around. Of course, we’re inclined to believe them, so imagine our surprise that Rihanna’s name has been named as one of the rotters who messed everything up.

Doing a piece of detective work based on pure lyrical logic, we are going on a hunch that Katy Perry kissed a girl and liked it. Presumably, her husband Russell Brand didn’t and subsequently filed for divorce. Though we imagine it was done by his PA or faxed through.

So where does Rihanna fit into all of this? 2011 saw her release a new single every 36 seconds and tour a record number of cities that she’d never heard of. HELLO MANCHESTSHIRE! Well it appears the crazy and up-for-anything Russell Brand has calmed down a helluva lot. Gone are the days when he shot junk and dressed as Osama Bin Laden for work. Instead, free range organic tea is his poison of chance. Rihanna doesn’t approach life calmly. In fact, she might have been partying too hard with Katy Perry leading her to a path that Brand disapproved of. According to reports:

“Russell didn’t like his wife hanging out with the sexy singer because the women used to party together. And Russell, being a recovering heroin and sex addict, didn’t think the friendship between Katy and the singer from Barbados was good for their marriage.”

Everybody likes a good party don’t they? Even we’ll try and hide the usual miserable expression on our faces for something people call a “smile” when the opening shapes of the conga are thrown. But if the same reports are to be believed, the situation might be a little awkward:

“Rihanna called and texted Katy all throughout the New Year’s Eve weekend, perhaps influencing her on what to do and where to go to stay out of the limelight. If this is the case, the superstar may have influenced Katy to give up on her marriage and move on as a single woman. And maybe that’s why Katy has been spotted happy in Hawaii, while Russell is looking gloom in London.”

Trust us; they’ll be some sort of musical retort to this marriage breakdown. There’s no doubt that Katy Perry will enlist her pal Rihanna to re-record this nineties classic with directly altered lyrics to show Russell Brand who’s boss:

Bugger. A new year is nearly upon us which means award ceremonies will soon be in full swing. February will see Adele win every award she’s nominated for at The Brits because quantity of sales rules over quality of music these days.

The Brit awards are so dull that the most mind shattering event to have ever happened was when Labour politician John Prescott got a bucket of ice water tipped over him. Imagine if he’d froze to death or got his suit ruined?

For real controversy, you can always count on America. Back in 2009, Rihanna and Chris Brown were scheduled to individually perform at the Grammys, the only ceremony in the world where people honour country & western music. Sadly for Rihanna, Chris Brown got a little excited about the evening ahead and started fist bumping her repeatedly in the face. But hey, that happened years ago and it seems the organisers of the Grammys have completely forgotten this.

It’s hard to work out why anyone, apart from boxers, needs to use their fists for work purposes. Perhaps Chris Brown had convinced a record label executive that he should be allowed near a studio again, so he could record a poxy album for members of Team Breezy to go nuts over. At least it’s refreshing to see the gap in the market left by Michael Jackson fans is being filled by a new brand of hardcore extremists.

Once again, it shows that the world of showbiz is a much more forgiving place than the grim world the majority of people live in. When the Grammys come, you’ll see a large room that’ll be full of people who’ve committed all sorts of illicit activities’ from pro-sportsmen, actors and musicians. They’d still be applauded because they’re famous. Stick them in a rough council estate in Hull and soon good old fashioned public justice would quickly deflate a lot of egos.

It seems that, despite Chris Brown’s brutality rearranging somebody’s face, this hasn’t stopped him from being nominated for a number of awards. Just like all other artists in Brown’s genre, we can assume that he sang about issues such as bling, bitches, fast cars and his mega sized crib. But not why he posted photos of his penis on the internet. We’ve been told he’s up for:

“Best R&B album, best rap performance and best rap song.”

Because Rihanna is either upsetting Irish farmers or releasing a new single every other hour, she’s never been out of the world of music and has been nominated for best pop vocal album, album of the year amongst others. How’s it going to work at the Grammys? After only receiving community service work, there were other stipulations placed upon him which ordered him to have:

“No contact with Rihanna, barring him from appearing in any venue as she, and effectively banning him from awards ceremonies at which she appeared.”

But remember, Rihanna is all edgy and in your face. She’d change her middle name to danger if she could. Back in February she modified the restraining order so that:

“The two could be in the same room.”

We can only expect small talk over at the fondue stand or more realistically, anger from Chris Brown when Rihanna takes the cocktail sausage from under his nose at the buffet. Let’s hope the rumours that they’re sexting each other again aren’t true.

Alongside all the presents and sherry we receive at this time of year, it’s also a time of year where we have to put up with a variety of seasonal music. Why we only get terrible holiday songs at Christmas is a mystery to us. Surely someone would have exploited the magic of Jesus rising from the dead at Easter.

There isn’t a happy medium with Christmas music. Traditional carols are essentially reserved for Church goers, or children who knock on your door and expect some sort of payment as their angelic attempts at singing fail miserably. As for people like Slade and The Pogues? They’re laughing all the way to the bank.

Younger children now associate X Factor with Christmas and for those left in limbo, there’s really nothing there to inspire. Because all Christmas songs are essentially nothing but novelty records, someone has decided to at least merge the current popular sound of dubstep with a traditional seasonal image.

Visit a club that’s blasting out dubstep and you’ll be met with a strange sight. You’ll see hoards of people who’ll think they know everything about any topic. Grouping together in various corners of a room, these folk will send visual daggers flying across to those who don’t know the latest trend of wearing braces as a belt or drinking lighter fuel mixed with pineapple juice [don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Ed].

If Benny Hill was alive, he’d have loved dubstep. Because he liked to run aimlessly and used slow motion techniques, he was essentially a pioneer of the genres unique dancing style. Watch anyone attempt to move around to a wobbly synth, you’ll be confused as to whether they’re suffering from sort of disease where all of their actions are thirty seconds behind the rest of us, or if a stroke is kicking in

An image of Christmas always whips up the same boring picture, such as Santa, snow covered fields and a tree that is decorated much better than yours. Once a tree is up and the pine needles haven’t cut you open, attaching a set of twinkling lights can look a bit tedious and the best you can literally do to spruce your Christmas centre piece.

Realising this, the Cadger family have decided to spruce up their neighbourhood with a musical lightshow that reflects the various elements in a song. Using Skrillex – the dubstep equivalent of Nickleback -  here are the lights in full action. For those familiar with The Chemical Brothers video for Star Guitar, it’s the same sort of idea, but on a amateur level:

Epileptic people attempting to get home on a night must hate running that gauntlet of seizure inducing traumas.

Just want Santa would have wanted.

Spare a thought for Justin Bieber this Christmas won’t you? It’s not because he’s can’t reach high shelves and get to his presents early. Instead, he’s still got mentalist stalker Mariah Yeater claiming that he leaked some sperm inside of her and created a baby.

Instead of this matter being kept private due to its libel claim, it’s great to know that Mariah Yeater has become something of a minor celebrity out of the whole ordeal. With various magazine and TV interviews, the money Yeater received will probably be used to pay damages towards Bieber when the negative result comes back on the DNA test.

Even though there are more holes in Mariah Yeater’s story than a blind cowboy, she’s back again to protest how she’s the innocent victim in all of this. Tristyn , the stupidly named child in question will be able to tell all its classmates in the future that he has a mentalist for a mother. We should say ‘allegedly’ now. Allegedly at absolutely everything.

The story reads for the perfect episode of daytime trash TV where bickering couples call each other names. In one corner, we have Mariah Yeater who is a young unemployed single mum. Ouch, she has nothing going for her at all does she? Opposing her is Justin Bieber, a young Canadian singing foetus who has made a fortune from swindling young girls into buying his music.

It makes for some sort of sinister Disney film doesn’t it? So far, we’re at the midpoint of the movie where we’re under the impression that romance is dead. The father is out the picture and the mother is left on her own to look after a child with no money. Will it result in a happy ending and the couple being united as one? Probably not, in an interview with Mariah Yeater she was asked if Bieber was the father and she responded by saying:

“I do believe he is the father.”

Yeater is either trying her hand at being a cracking pun writer, or she has realised that she doesn’t know who put their penis inside of her. If she’d used a better choice of words such as “I know that he wriggled around inside of me and released his seed,” then her claim would have more weight to it.

How about the supposed father Robbie Powell who has publicly stated that the child was his? In a weird baby three way, Powell has signalled that he wants to donate most of his earnings/state handouts to the child, where Bieber wouldn’t give a penny. Easily deflecting this question when asking, Yeater said:

“Yes, I know him. He is not the father and he’s locked up and out of the picture.”

Locked up? It seems that Bieber really is dealing with some sort of psycho who’ll even do bad stuff to those who dare speak out against her. We don’t know… is she’s some sort of BDSM practiser, or “she mentally blocked him from her mind,” and we don’t want to either. It seems that the proceedings in this case have been delayed by the Bieber camp. A lawyer for Yeater said:

“Bieber’s counsel has not provided me documentation supporting that the DNA test occurred.”

Hopefully a decision will be announced soon. Then the next single teenage girl can come along and start the process all over again.

Being a prince must be one of the best things in the world. It must be almost as good as being Prince. You can literally do anything you want. Life is one long breeze and you can absolutely abuse the power bestowed upon you. All the time. You can probably have people killed.

Sadly, Americans don’t have any royalty, so they naturally look towards Britain for their royal kicks. Or the Kardashians. It’s a mystery why: gone are the days when the King or Queen took part in a battle. Somehow we can’t see Prince Charles plotting genocide in Malta.

These days, those in line to the throne are perceived as everyday common folk who we can all relate to. Kate Middleton for example shuns her royal tiara and instead wears frocks from the highstreet. Third in line to the throne – Prince Harry -  also indulges in an activity we all like to do, drinking booze. Granted, you’ll never see him in a Wetherspoons, but he will be there to look after his mates if it all kicks off.

Everyone’s been there. Its 3am, you’re stumbling around in the hunt for a taxi when all of a sudden, someone who can’t handle their drink will randomly hurl abuse. It’ll either end in a dignified walking-away like Craig David or, more likely, it’ll end in a gracious punch-up.

It can happen to anyone, including the upper class of society:

“The flame haired royal was talking to his friend Thomas van Straubenzee on the phone at the exact moment a robber stole his BlackBerry.”

With a name liked Thomas van Straubenzee, it makes you wonder what sort of area he was hanging around in. Somehow, the story of him waiting at a takeaway while staff boxed-up a batch of greasy chicken doesn’t add up.

Quite likely, he was berating the homeless or the working class. So we don’t feel sorry for him in the slightest as someone got narked off with him and pinched his phone. It seems that posh people stick together and upon hearing his mate getting duffed up, Harry rushed to the scene.

We don’t quite know if Prince Harry ran to the nearest phonebox and morphed into a superhero, however, the image of him running through the streets of London like some sort of action hero is slightly dashed when it was revealed that:

“Harry drove to the scene with his protection officer. When he was unable to find Thomas, the Prince drove to the nearest police station. There he found his pal reporting the crime, and as he had overheard everything, Harry was required to give a statement.”

A bloody protection officer!

Everyone knows that, if anything was to have happened to Prince Harry, the perpetrator would have had a state execution with his placed on a pike.

Which would’ve made for excellent television.

Just think of a man who makes a career out of punching people. Now, think of WWF wrestlers, who are paid to pretend to punch people. Now think of someone who is paid to be repeatedly punched.

Hi there Alex Reid!

Of course, when he’s not in heels, Alex Reid gets battered in the realm of UFC, a so called sport that combines multiple styles of combat. And that sense of relentless, punishing beatings stood Alex in good stead when he got with Katie Price. Mercifully, he left her behind and got with Chantelle Houghton, a girl so dim that you couldn’t even describe her as the sharpest spoon in the drawer.

And now, for some inexplicable reason, Reid and Chantelle have been given a reality show on the television. Presumably, they’re being paid in Haribo because they’re really not worth the money.

Despite the fact they’ve only been courting each other for five seconds, everyone seems to be in their corner, thanks largely to them both giving off an air of being manipulated by previous partners. We’ve mentioned Jordan and Reid, but Chantelle was cynically wooed by Preston from The Ordinary Boys.

That’s right. Someone thought it would be a good idea to form a ska-lite band and underline just how crashingly ordinary they are.

Reid and Houghton have managed to be dumb enough to have a child together and, concerning that, Chantelle even said:

“I’m 11 weeks gone. I don’t know exactly when the baby was conceived. I can’t even believe I’m pregnant.”

You conceived it 11 weeks ago, you idiot.

Still, the best thing about all this, is that the child will have taken it’s first lung of air and carry forth into this cruel, unforgiving world and… HEY PRESTO! It’ll have a camera jammed into its face!

HURRAY FOR PARENTING!

If anybody tells you that car boot sales and charity shops are pointless, they clearly don’t know what they’re talking about. Nothing beats the wonders of rummaging through boxes on a cold early morning with a ropey £1 polystyrene cup of tea whilst searching for hidden gems.

The high street charity shop is a haven for those sourcing everything from old records to a piece of clothing that would sell for bucket loads in a vintage boutique. Granted, someone might have died in the blazer you’re donning for a night out, but a few washes and squirt of Lynx Africa will cover that death musk.

Whilst second hand goods of the common man and woman change hands for a handful of pounds, the rules change when famous people are involved. One particular auction has been on the cards for ages with Michael Jackson extremists squealing in their droves as they get the chance to own items that they probably already have.

One of the more bizarre items that was rumoured to have been up for sale was the bed where poor Michael Jackson did his last boogie in. After Dr. Conrad Murray had administered a dose of sexy medical help and had been unable to save him, the bed could have wound up as a weird shrine to Jackson nutters everywhere.

In a way, we’re sad that it wasn’t up for auction. We’d have just published rumours that if 10,000 litres of tears where poured on the bed, the ghost of Jackson would reappear. Thrilling.

The pre-auction estimate of what was on offer ranged from $200,000 to $400,000 which would have filled the pockets of the Jackson estate quite well. Instead, this figure was blown out of the water with the final total being close to $1million. For that amount of money, Joe Jackson could customise all of his famous beating belts with the finest gemstones in the world. So what exactly was on offer?

“A kitchen chalkboard where Jackson’s children wrote ‘I love daddy,’ which sold for $5,000, and an armoire upon which Jackson wrote a message to himself on the mirror that fetched $25,750.”

It’s important to note that the chalkboard came from one of Jackson’s kids and not from one of his alleged child abuse victims when he bought their love with Jesus Juice and extreme sleepovers. However, it does make us wonder what a chalkboard with a message saying “HELP, HE TOUCHED MY SPECIAL AREA” would be worth.

Whilst it might seem creepy that someone purchased items with personal family messages on, you can always count on Michael Jackson weirdness to go that one extra step:

“The headboard from the bed where Jackson died at age 50 was removed from the auction at the family’s request, but the rug that was beneath the bed sold for $15,360. The estimate had been $400 to $600.”

Yeah! Maximum respect for the headboard there. Who knows what someone would do it if they purchased it? Christ, they might replace it with their bedroom rug, so that  Michael can almost be watching over them whilst they sleep and search for the sweetest of dreams. Who wouldn’t want their very own drug addicted skin morphing guardian angel looking after them?

With the auctions all over, how refreshing is it to know that grown adults will be going to bed and cuddling objects that Michael Jackson either touched, licked, rubbed or got aroused over?