WATCH THIS! Gingers, Spies and Sexy Giles Coren

Well. What a week THAT was, are we right avid reader? There’s been things going down; the Titanic, Heather Trott, Tulisa Contro-Contos-Whatever, things coming up; the price of pasties, petrol and penises in front of Tulisa (we’ve reached the quota of Tulisa blowjob jokes, worry not).

We’re very surprised that any has any eye fluid left after seeing such awful things going on in the World, and that’s not even taking into Tim Lovejoy and Simon Rimmer moving channel and effectively upsetting all the hungover teens in the country.

All the terrible things that have happened this week don’t mean an iota because y’know what happens soon? It’s only Easter time isn’t it! The time of year that we come together as a united force to perform the rites that make the zombie carpenter’s son stay dead for another year. We’ll all be so full of chocolate and other various sugar riddled carcinogens that we won’t care about anything other than what is playing out before your very eyes: not the scenes of your elderly grandmother silently squeaking out farts before demurely wafting her handkerchief to dispel the noxious fumes, or your young niece vomiting loudly after eating a little too much chocolate, but what is on the telly box.

Hecklerscopes: Psychic Sally Pops In To Say Hello And Ends Up Doing A Poo

Did you all have an uneventful, but correctly predicted week? Obviously the ones who aren’t replying must be dead, so we’ll chalk that one up to us being absolute fantastic diviners and not because you’re all stupid people who don’t die when we tell you to.

Last week we had a visit from Psychic Sally, who in the hecklerspray bedsit we call ‘Not So Psychic Sally’ because we’re total jokers, and think that she’s got as much ability to tell the future as Tulisa does fellating young men. Sally wanted us to write a column for her in this week’s Sun on Sunday about various things that are going to happen during the week.

At first, we were all for it, a writer can’t live on Pot Noodle alone and the bedsit does need the rot looking at (we’re not sure what’s in the settee, but it’s rotting the material now. And looks like it’s breathing). But she said that she wanted to put her name on the top of the it. Imagine that! Psychic Sally phoning things in and not putting the effort in!

WATCH THIS! The Pick Of The Week’s Televisual Dreck

Hidden away at the back of everyone’s consciousness is the worry that they’ll miss out on something important. It’s a normal part of the human condition we’re told and shouldn’t feel too bad about getting onto buses that we don’t need just because there are two people having an animated conversation about something and we want to be a part of it, even if it’s just vicariously.

This is the same thing as what happens on Twitter most nights. People attempt to one up each other by tweeting the funniest thing that they can think of during a show. Sometimes it goes horribly wrong with comments that are verging on racism but would be alright during Allo Allo, whereas sometimes it can bring a programme to life.

Watching Eastenders, for example, can be a tedious task that only a hardened professional should attempt, but seeing people tweeting about McKlunkys or commenting on Shirley Carter’s ever receding skirt hem can really bring a new facet to a normally boring show.

Ten Things To Expect From The Voice; Contains Full Frontal Jessie J

The day we’ve all dreaded has finally arrived at the hecklerspray bedsit: The day when Jessie J finally strong arms her way into our primetime TV schedule and makes a complete fool of herself in her quest for some sort of acceptance from everyone.

And all the while, making Will. I. Am look normal. Which is an achievement. Even Fergie didn’t manage that and she looks like a duck mated with Jennifer Lopez. That’s one freaky looking woman.

Undoubtedly Jessie J is going to be the one to watch on The Voice for a number of reasons. She loves the sound of own voice so much rumour has it that they’re going to elope this Summer and sell the rights to OK! magazine. She always wears totally ridiculous outfits that, if nothing else, frame her vagina. Why would anyone want to do that? It’s like putting Predator in an Elizabethan ruff. She also likes to think that she’s down with the kids so we’ll have lots of stupid catchphrases that will break Twitter at some point during Saturday night.

Ten Things We’ve Learnt From Last Night’s Apprentice

We’d like to say that seeing another group of self obsessed diehard Conservatives hog our TV’s for the next twelve weeks will be torture. We’d also like to say that seeing them get into every possible problem when dealing with sausage rolls/balloons/bread (delete as appropriate) won’t make our funny bones tingle with what we can only presume osteoporosis feels like.

We’d also like to say that seeing the man who resembles a distended scrotum playing God with people’s lives isn’t a thrilling act of voyeurism.

But we can’t. From start to end The Apprentice is a fantastic hour of TV that, if nothing else, reminds people from the North that people who want to better themselves by fannying around with Profit and Loss sheets and “marketing” will ultimately get slapped down by a man who’s hair could grease enough frying pans to make a million bacon sandwiches. And make him into the modern day equivalent of Jesus and his Amazing Fish Trick.

The Anti-Social Network: Where Richard Bacon Goes All Highlander

Online bullying, or “trolling” as people have been calling it, has been major news over the past few months. Not quite moral panic stage, but definitely creeping up to become a major worry for parents and adults alike.

For some reason parents will insist that their children aren’t harassed and bullied when they’re at home. Madness, we know. It seems that as the number of facebook users quickly escalates towards billions, that more and more people are interacting with each other’s lives; they’re seeing what people like and dislike, experiencing the dizzying heights and soul crushing lows through a distorted lens of ‘shared experience’ that, pre-facebook, would only be shared with friends and family.

But what happens when inconsiderate wankmonkeys decide to ruin a solemn family occasion and post obscenities on an RIP page for a teenager who died?

WATCH THIS! The One With Falklands, Sally Webster And Murderers

People ruin everything. Not you per se, but probably at some point you’ve ruined something for someone else. Perhaps unintentionally, or perhaps with a glint in your eye that would make Janine Butcher move house, change her name and start working in a technical pattiserie store.

Just to get away from you. Possibly.

Obviously some things that get ruined for other people are good. Like the NHS reforms that are making Twitter a mega bore lately. The glans with a wig on, David Cameron seems happy to ruin the NHS for everyone, so what do the angered masses of Twitter do? Get sand right up their vaginas and get the reforms stopped once and for all. Effectively ruining things for Cameron, and he was looking forward to making everyone hate him more than Margaret Thatcher could.

Hecklerscopes: 13 March 2012

Isn’t it funny when people hold the strangest things as a bastion of superstition? Like rabbit’s feet, for instance. Who carries around the severed paw of a dead animal as a sign of good luck? It clearly hasn’t done the rabbit any good, and he had four. Or she. We don’t discriminate here at hecklerspray. We have an equal level of dismay for all colours, genders and sexualities. You all are generally awful.

Like walking under ladders as well. That’s only good luck because you’re actively removing yourself from positions of danger. In that vein, we might as well say, not crossing rail lines is good luck. Or making sure you don’t lick plugs is good luck. Or never wearing a foot cast on in front of Jessie J is good luck. Because once she gets talking about that bloody injury she forgets when to stop.

There is no such thing as luck; the only thing that is a certainty in life are our Hecklerscopes. Divined by hipster’s favourite tea and swirled in a Cath Kidston mug to unlock the mystery of the afterlife, currentlife and soontobelife, this is the only way that you can definitely find out what is going to happen in the next week. Trust us, you’ll be surprised by the things we’ve seen. Here’s one for free: The Voice? Not going to be that popular.

Jason Donovan Gets TV Work: A Guide To Donovitis

It’s time to invest heavily in padded panty liners and cod liver oil tablets because Jason Donovan has just been announced as one of the new judges set to fill Andrew Lloyd Webber’s new talent search show. Tentatively entitled Superstar because it looks for the leads in Lloyd Webber’s newest obsession; trying to make money from Jesus.

As if Easter wasn’t enough.

Donovan is the housewife’s favourite with a career heavily reliant on his good looks and charming, inoffensive words, churning out album after album of mediocre covers and books to satiate the hidden desires of women who regret their decision to marry your father and want to run away and live on Ramsay Street with Donovan and Craig McLachlan and Harold Bishop.

WATCH THIS! The One Where Jessica Fletcher Is Mentioned Four Times

How great is TV? It encompasses many different things for many different people. It can be the only friend to an elderly person, or the sole teacher for parents who can’t be bothered with children. But more often than not, TV is generally what normal people like us at the hecklerspray bedsit and you use to while away the hours until you need to return to work.

It’s a grim old life isn’t it, but for those few hours a week, where characters prance around for our entertainment, every problem seems less important, and can be dealt with tomorrow. It’s one of the reasons that Glee was so popular; the dancing and brightly arranged songs were a happy alternative to credit card bills and that Patricia in Human Resources.

Sometimes TV fails us, just look at Something For The Week, although people may say they like it, if it was popular it would still be commissioned and not destined to TV limbo. It traversed the popular hangover slot that June Sarpong ruled with her filthy laugh and iron grip, introduced the more successful elements of Jamie Oliver’s career and folded it over to keep the air in. Like a meringue. And sometimes TV can be better than what that girl did behind the loos at Download Festival. There’s countless light hearted police procedural shows that should be held in the annals of history as ‘great’, and a list of comedies that are so ‘loltastic’ that they’ll probably be timeless. You can see yourself watching Friends in twenty years time. We all can. Although it’d be between shifts stacking shelves at Tesco for £2.56 an hour, it’ll still be fantastic.