Awesome or Off-Putting is a weekly delve into cryptozoology, ufology, aliens, medical marvels, scientific wonders, secret societies, government conspiracies, cults, ghosts, EVPs, ancient artifacts, strange facts, odd sightings or just the plain unexplainable.

The world of the paranormal can sometimes seem to be stuffed with mundane monsters. Anytime Bigfoot sees a camera he high steps it out of range. And Nessie – she’ll occasionally allow her floating-log looking hump to be photographed from a distance, but she’s far too shy for a close up.

Not so for the Brosno Dragon! It’s best known for eating Mongol armies and swallowing Nazi warplanes.

Until recently we’ve hated Russia with a deep resolve – what with their hours-long breadlines and throaty dialect. Can you blame us? Suddenly, however, we’re realising that as paranormal things go they seem to be the hub of everything great. Case in point – the Koranic kid and the crazy footage of the Communist army milling about the remnants of a crashed UFO.

Yes, awesomeness like that almost Earns Russia 15 minutes alone with Obama’s secret nuclear code briefcase. If anyone in authority can make this happen, we really think they’ve earned it.

Keep in mind it’s only OK because they’ve been such an Awesome or Off-Putting hotbed of late. We already gave you the two recent examples – and now let us present you with a third: The Brosno Dragon.

The locals lovingly refer to it as Brosnya, and as we understand it the thing is basically Nessie with a taste for musky human flesh and fine tuned German engineering. Confused? Wikipedia shall clarify:

“Rumors of a strange, giant creature living in Lake Brosno have existed for several centuries. One legend says that the lake monster scared to death the Tatar-Mongol army that headed for Novgorod in the 13th century. Batu Khan stopped the troops on the sides of Lake Brosno to rest. Horses were allowed to drink water from the lake. However, when the horses ventured down to the lake, a huge roaring creature emerged from the water and started devouring horses and soldiers. The Batu-khan troops were so terrified that they turned back, and Novgorod was saved. Old legends describe an “enormous mouth” devouring fishermen. Chronicles mention a “sand mountain” that appeared on the lake surface from time to time. According to another legend, some Varangians (Swedish mercenaries) wanted to hide stolen treasure in the lake. When they approached the small island, a dragon came to the surface from the lake and swallowed the island up.”

Now compare that, if you will, to this recent Nessie sighting:

“We rounded the corner and saw [Nessie] taking a dump and reading the sports section. Most unexpected.”

Nessie is a stupid pussy. If that quote is true at all Nessie is a stupid pussy. The Russian monster is way better – and to top it all off, Wikipedia goes on to say this about her:

“It is said that during WWII the beast swallowed up a German airplane.”

This is a fact that becomes all the more compelling when you note that a National Geographic photo-shoot of the incident clearly shows the propellers were still spinning.

That’s so neat.

We can’t actually say that the most noble NG was on site. In fact, we can definitely say that they weren’t. We can say that other people claim to have scientifically looked into the matter – as found on the site Unknown Explorers:

“In the summer of 2002, Experts from the Kosmopoisk Research Association along with members from Karavan Magazine, went on an expedition to Lake Brosno and did deep echo location sounding. Vadim Chernobroiv, the Kosmopoisk coordinator said in an interview to the Moscow newspaper that the sonar research registered an anomaly. There was a huge jelly like mass the size of a railway car roughly five meters above the bottom of the lake. The mass stood motionless, until the group decided to throw an underwater petard, a low capacity explosive devise, at the mass. When the device detonated the mass started going up and although nothing ever surfaced resembling a monster the test did return some interesting results.”

Now that Russian science has once and for all proved that they are good at things besides just making two-headed dogs and gorilla hybrid super soldiers, well, we really think they’ve earned a crack at that briefcase.

C’mon Obama. You’re just being stingy.

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That Michael Jackson, what a character. He barely went five minutes without getting into some sort of hilarious situation.

If he wasn’t buying all sorts of ridiculous crap that he couldn’t afford, he was probably skidding around in monkey poo. People complain when we call him Wacko Jacko, but how could you not?

One thing that really did make Michael less wacky was his relationship with children. There’s just something a little bit weird about a grown man who shares his bed with kids, no matter how innocently it’s done. But Michael Jackson is dead now, so that will no longer be a problem, right? Wrong – Michael Jackson has returned from beyond the grave, and once again he’s targeting the young. The very young.

Now, during an ultrascan, parents-to-be Dawn Kelley and William Hickman spotted something strange. Normally, people wouldn’t be excited by this, but the couple are from Sunderland. Usually, the town only gets excited when the giro cheques come in or the local chip shop runs a deal. But Dawn and William clearly saw dear old dead Michael Jackson on their unborn child’s face – that’s better than spending £20 on a fruit machine and winning a tenner back. Mr Hickhan told The Telegraph:

“I showed my daughter Ami, who’s six, and she saw it straight away, so I thought ‘well if she can see it too it’s not just me seeing things We were looking at the pictures again, and I just saw Jacko there.”

Bloody hell! So will that finally put Sunderland on the tourist map? Will grieving Michael Jackson fans make pilgrimages Sunderland to see the unborn Jacko miracle in a town that has more branches of Greggs than people? The queues haven’t started to form as yet, and even the proud father-to-be doesn’t seem arsed that his future child is marked by Michael Jackson. Speaking again, Mr Hickhan said:

“None of us are really Michael Jackson fans. I mean I like him, but we’re not crazy about him or anything.”

Perhaps the couple could hatch a Balloon Boy-style plot and force the child to work until it belts out a number one hit. But since the newborn will be a girl, they run the risk of giving birth to a LaToya, and that’s the thing that all parents fear the most.

However, it does seem that the couple from Sunderland expected this birth to be all mystical and strange. Had they been watching the Michael Jackson séance with comedy medium Derek Acorah? Don’t be daft, the couple are from Sunderland remember. The happy mother said:

“But it is my seventh child, and they say seven is a mythical number.”

Why don’t you make up your own mind – here’s the spooky Michael Jackson ultrasound in all its glory.

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Obviously when we saw New Moon, we mean The Twilight Saga: New Moon. Because that’s the film’s official title.

Or we mean Omigod Omigod OMIGODDDD I TOTALLY JUST SAW EDWARD’S NIPPLES! SQUEEE! Because that’s what people who see the film are most likely to screech when asked about it. Anyway, New Moon is the new weekend box office number one, after opening to record-breaking success.

What records did New Moon break? Well, it officially had the highest opening day gross of any film in history, so that’s one. It’s also broken the record for the film that made us unfriend the most amount of people on Facebook for saying how much they enjoyed it. Go New Moon!

If you haven’t seen New Moon yet, then SPOILER ALERT – it’s rubbish. And about two hours too long. And made up exclusively of painfully drawn-out silences and close-up shots of boy nipples. And it’s rubbish. Did we mention that it’s rubbish?

But New Moon is also successful, which is why it’s number one at the US weekend box office this week. It’s already broken box office records. It’s already the biggest werewolf movie ever. It’s had the biggest-ever opening for an independent movie. It’s caused more involuntary urination than any other film this year and it’s the best-performing film about a pale, undead ghoul with a creepy fondness for people much younger than him since that Michael Jackson film. Here’s the US weekend box office top five…

1 - New Moon (If you liked New Moon, you’ll love watching its stars Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart in other hit films like, um, no. No, actually, we’ve got nothing) $140,700,000

2 - The Blind Side (Sandra Bullock plays a southern woman who adopts an impoverished young black boy from a broken home and, against the odds, falls in love with him. We made that last bit up based on the plot of every other Sandra Bullock film. We’re probably right) $34,510,000

3 - 2012 (Where John Cusack almost causes the total extinction of the human species. Which we thought he almost did when he made Serendipity. Are we right? Huh? HUH?) $26,500,000

4 - Planet 51 (Where Dwayne The Rock Johnson goes on a fun-filled family adventure and blah blah blah blah blah blah hilarious consequences) $12,600,000

5 - A Christmas Carol (The first of Robert Zemeckis‘ computer animated films where you’re not overwhelmingly creeped out by the almost-human characters. That’s because this is a Jim Carrey film and you’re bound to be more freaked out by the almost-human voices) $12,230,000

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We’re thrilled to announce that this might just be the last thing we ever write about Jon and Kate Gosselin.

The signs are certainly good. The last episode of Jon & Kate Plus 8 is broadcast tonight. Jon and Kate Gosselin have thrashed out a surprisingly amicable divorce settlement. That’s it. Now both Jon and Kate can fade into the background and we’ll never hear from them again.

That is, unless one of Jon Gosselin’s sexual partners sells their story to the press, or Kate Gosselin’s relentless desire for attention culminates in her taking out strangers from a clock tower with a sniper rifle. Both of which are quite likely to happen. This isn’t the last we’ve heard of Jon and Kate Gosselin at all, is it? Bollocks.

So much of the Jon and Kate Gosselin story is mired in such all-encompassing depression that even thinking of words that rhyme with their surname – like ‘nozzling’ or whatever – make us want to slash away at our wrists and throat with a set of nail scissors. Honestly, their life is just a never-ending catalogue of misery. There’s the divorce, the televised breakdowns, the slow collapse of their TV show, the fact that their children are going to grow up to hate them, Kate’s stupid hair – the gloom simply refuses to let up.

Having said that, two tiny chinks of sunlight have broken through the clouds today. First, today marks the final-ever episode of Jon & Kate Plus 8. True, this is only a partial victory because it’s likely to be replaced by a show called Kate Plus 8 or, failing that, Kate Gosselin: I Can Do This On My Own or, failing that, Some Other Awful Bastards With Too Many Poxy Children, but let’s soak in what little pleasure this gives us while we can.

Secondly, Jon and Kate Gosselin have finalised their divorce settlement. This means that they won’t insist on weeping into the nearest camera about how unreasonable the other one is all the time. People has divorce details:

“This was the proceeding that essentially ended their marriage,” says the source.”Kate is just relieved that a very painful chapter of her life is nearly over, and she is looking forward to building a better, brighter future for herself and her kids.” During the hearing, Jon “didn’t dispute Kate having primary custody of the kids,” says the source, which came as no surprise to Kate.

So Kate’s getting primary custody of the kids, huh? That makes sense – if that kiss and tell story from a few months ago was anything to go by, then Jon’s idea of considerate parenting is closing the bathroom door before having it off with the nanny in the hot tub. Meanwhile Kate only hits her children, deprives them of water and scares the living daylights out of them with her dreadful haircut, which is markedly more considerate.

But quality of parenting doesn’t matter any more. The only thing that matters is that this is the full stop that the Jon and Kate story needs. Or, if not a full stop, then an asterisk that’s followed by a footnote reading ‘Then they were all eaten by lions. Nobody cried.’ One or the other.

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The American Music Awards – like the Grammys, but more likely to make you lose total faith in humanity – always surprise.

And last night they surprised. The two biggest winners at last night’s AMAs were Taylor Swift (who wasn’t there) and Michael Jackson (who hasn’t released an album of new material since 2001) (and was nominated for a Greatest Hits album that’s over six years old) (and who is quite conclusively dead).

That wasn’t the surprise, though. No, the big surprise was that Black Eyed Peas won the prize for Best Pop Group. Honestly, what’s wrong with these people? Don’t they have ears?

Oh good. It’s the American Music Awards. You know what this means, don’t you? It means that awards season is here. Soon we’ll be up to our necks in 150 different types of award shows, all doling out meaningless baubles to films that nobody watched, music that nobody paid for and TV shows that people only put on because they’re afraid of silence. Joy.

And if the American Music Awards are any indication, the theme of this year’s award season is going to be Let’s Give Loads Of Stuff To Michael Jackson. Last night at the AMAs, Michael Jackson won Best Soul Artist, Best Pop Male, Best Pop Album and Best Soul Album, even though he didn’t release anything within the allotted time period for nominations. Or within any of the last eight allotted time periods for nominations, in fact. People reports:

“It’s not just about the winnings, the awards,” his brother Jermaine said in an acceptance speech. “It’s mainly the message. The message Michael had will live on forever. He saw good in everyone. … Start with love and let’s love each other.” Sister Janet Jackson got a standing ovation when she opened the show with a choreographed-heavy medley of her hits.

Jermaine Jackson is right – the continued love for Michael Jackson isn’t about winning the awards. It’s about being nominated for the awards, because that way Jermaine Jackson gets to spend his evenings somewhere warm where there’s free food. It’s going to be a cold winter, and he’ll need to stock up before people start forgetting about his brother.

It’s no surprise that Michael Jackson won so many American Music Awards – he was nominated for several of them, after all – but we’re praying that this doesn’t start a trend. Sure, a handful of AMAs are one thing, but nobody wants the Oscars to follow suit and award Moonwalker the Best Picture trophy, do they? Nobody wants the Best Supporting Actor Golden Globe to go to Michael Jackson for his role in The Wiz, do they? Nobody wants Michael Jackson to win a retroactive British Comedy Award for that time he hilariously dangled his baby from a balcony, do they? What? They do? Weird.

But just because Michael Jackson won so many prizes, it doesn’t mean that the American Music Awards only honour washed-up shells of their former selves out of nothing more than a mixture of guilt and nostalgia, even though the acts are thoroughly undeserving of them, does it? Just take a look at who won the AMA Artist Of The Year award last night.

It was Whitney Houston. OK, you may have a point.

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Jesus, we know when we’re being outdone. Most of the time, it’s when an unborn Japanese child severely beats us on FIFA. And we don’t mean by using the hand of God in extra time.

And then there’s Morrissey. Somehow, Morrissey is classed as a genius despite still singing songs that an old band of his wrote years ago and releasing solo albums that are properly gash.

Recently, Morrissey has had a bit of problems on the gig scene. He passed out in Swindon and then got twatted in the face with a cup in Liverpool. Surely it’s full steam ahead from here, right? Wrong! Continuing his tour to Hamburg, Morrissey got narked off with a fan who dared boo his miserable rant on meat-eaters. And what happened? Find out after the jump!

See what Morrissey did there? What word does Hamburg sound like? Go on, have a quick think about it, we won’t rush you. Almost there? Excellent, by now even your child should have answered ‘hamburger’. If they said hammers, then they’re probably dyslexic.

Morrissey, of course, is a vegan type person who doesn’t like people chomping on cows or drinking their milk. We don’t know what the fuss is personally – have you ever tried to make your own chocolate milk? If it wasn’t for cows producing strawberry, vanilla or chocolate flavours, we’d never get through a working day. According to NME.com, the singer became annoyed after someone mocked his shit joke on hamburgers:

“Morrissey was speaking about how “Hamburgers” should be called “Hamburgists” when the audience member shouted “fuck you” at him.”

Oh Morrissey, you are one crazy carrot-crunching vegan loon. We understand your opinion on us evil meat-eaters, but so buggery. We’re as happy as a butcher’s dog who’s just found some mouldy sausages behind the freezer when we tuck into a lunchtime sandwich that’s oozing with something that’s come from an animal.

All we can suggest to the constantly peed-off singer is to assemble an audience made completely out of fruit and vegetables. There they’ll have a wonderful time and no-one will attempt to rebel. Though they’ll stop short of burning a piece of bacon at the steak in vegan anger. It could result in a mini BBQ and cause all sorts of unwanted trouble from savages.

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Chris Brown can’t change the past – if he could, he would have done a better job on Rihanna and then fled to Mexico.

But he can change the future. And that’s Chris Brown’s prime directive right now. He doesn’t want to be known as the big-toothed singer who beat up his girlfriend in a moment of staggering violence any more – he wants to be known as the big-toothed singer who beat up his girlfriend in a moment of staggering violence and then cleaned up some rubbish quite well.

And that’s what he is. A judge has just given Chris Brown an ‘extremely favourable’ community service progress report. Now that’s being a role-model. For people who hit women and then have to pick up trash.

In all seriousness, there’s something slightly heartbreaking about Chris Brown’s efforts to atone for his attack on Rihanna in February. It’s the little touches – the slightly forlorn-looking bowtie he keeps wearing, the way he’s titled his new tour Fan Appreciaton, the videos of him playing with a young relative with a pitiful look of desperate neediness plastered all over his face – that do it. It’s tragic. We preferred Chris Brown before any of this happened. Because we didn’t really know who he was back then.

But Rihanna’s been allowed to move on with her life – apart from all the songs about violence, all the violent videos to accompany the songs and the uncomfortably graphic interviews about domestic abuse that she’s used to promote it, there’s barely a mention of the attack on her new album – and that seems as though Chris Brown wants that more than anything, too.

To prove it, Chris Brown isn’t just completing the 180 days of community service that he was sentenced with for beating up Rihanna – he’s apparently completing it really ruddy well. MTV reports:

Chris Brown appeared in a Los Angeles courtroom for a progress hearing on his probation — and in the eyes of officials, the singer has earned an “extremely favorable” report. Brown attorney Mark Geragos said in the courtroom that Brown has already completed 100 hours of community service in Richmond, Virginia. Brown has also completed seven of his 52 domestic-violence classes.

It’s a good start, but Chris Brown isn’t out of the woods yet. His community service still has a long way to run, and he’s still got 45 more domestic-violence classes to go. Right now he’s only good at domestic violence. 45 lessons down the line, though, and he’s going to be great at it.

So should we start to forgive Chris Brown for his past behaviour? It would certainly be the civilised thing to do given his level of remorse and dedication to bettering himself. Then again, if we forgive Chris Brown, he’ll probably go on to have a fairly successful long-term musical career, and we’ll have to keep writing about him all the time. So no. No we won’t forgive him. The big-toothed git.

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Having watched the last season of 24, we’re fully aware that you can never trust a politician’s offspring.

Statistically, they’re all quite likely to blow up Jon Voight, and that’s a fact. They’ll blow up Jon Voight and then they’ll make their mother, President Moonface, quite sad. But it’s not just fictional political children who are trouble – Alexandra Kerry, the daughter of failed 2004 presidential candidate John Kerry, was arrested early yesterday morning on suspicion of DUI.

But don’t worry – she wasn’t quite drunk enough for it to be illegal. It’s funny, because if we were Alexandra Kerry we’d have stopped going to bars long ago. There are only so many times you can put up with people saying “Why the long face?” after all.

Millions of people want to be famous, but we think they’ve got this all the wrong way round. Being famous is rubbish. All that intrusion and pressure and recognition can really wear you down. No, it’s much better to be related to someone famous. That way you can pretty much drive around like a massively irresponsible tool whenever you like. It’s why Paris Hilton’s little brother was arrested for driving drunk, why Al Gore’s son was arrested for driving around on pot, why Hulk Hogan’s son wrapped his car around a tree and why John Kerry’s daughter was arrested for DUI this week.

Oh, come on. You remember John Kerry. He was going to be president of America in 2004, until people decided that he wasn’t even as good as George Bush. Dull man. Face shaped like a coffin. You remember him. Anyway, early on Thursday morning his 36-year-old daughter Alexandra was arrested on suspicion of DUI in Hollywood. And, yes, you’re right, this is an incredibly slow news day.

However, even though we think that Alexandra Kerry would actually make quite a good jailbird, on the basis that her chin is so narrow and pointy that she could easily use it to shank a nonce in the ribs, that’s not going to happen. Because, although Alexandra Kerry was drunk, she wasn’t quite drunk enough for it to be illegal. The New York Daily News reports:

Alexandra Forbes Kerry, the older of the senator’s two daughters, was pulled over for a traffic violation. “She was arrested for driving under the influence,” said Officer Sara Faden, who added that Kerry was released on $5,000 bail. Kerry refused to take Breathalyzer test at the scene. A later test showed a level of 0.06, under the legal limit of 0.08.

Good for Alexandra Kerry. She’s a model citizen who knows her limit – drunk enough to be pulled over by the police, but not drunk enough to be arrested for it. Well done, Alexandra. Well done indeed. And don’t think for a moment that her father’s status helped Alexandra Kerry escape punishment, because if you take that into consideration, you also have to take the fact that she directed the pilot episode of The Hills into consideration as well, and most right-minded people would react to that news by jamming a lethal injection straight into her neck.

Anyway, join us next week when – unless the news gets any more interesting – we’ll break the hot news that Iain Duncan Smith’s cat has got trapped in a bloody suitcase or whatever.

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After two decades, several free cars and enough weight fluctuation to sculpt a small cellulite army, Oprah is done.

Sort of done. Oprah Winfrey is leaving her show. But not until 2011. And then she’s going to immediately start a new show somewhere else. But it’s still sad news – without Oprah Winfrey around, where will we know which treacly, middle-brow books to read? Where will we discover what people look like after they’ve had their face torn off by monkeys? Where will we get our fill of needlessly excited women unintentionally screeching bizarre non-sequiturs at a roomful of strangers? Where will we be able to slowly lose the will to live?

What? Tyra Banks? Oh, OK.

At this point in time, Oprah Winfrey has accomplished everything she can with her show. She’s given away cars to her audience. She’s watched dumbstruck as Tom Cruise leapt around on her furniture. She’s hit out at French stores that don’t recognise her greatness. She’s mildly annoyed 50 Cent. And, as with any show that’s been running since the mid-1980s, it’s all become slightly formulaic.

We know that Oprah Winfrey will whoop and encourage her guests to sob and appear in a pair of skinny jeans to boast about how much weight she’s lost every 18 months, and then spend the following year gradually swelling up like an infected blister again. And so does she. And that’s why Oprah Winfrey has done the unthinkable. She’s decided to quit her show in September 2011. ABC News reports:

Oprah Winfrey, one of the most influential and highly paid women on television, will announce on Friday she is ending her popular daytime talk show in 2011. Winfrey’s production company, Harpo Inc, said on Thursday she would make the official announcement on Friday’s live program from Chicago and talk about the reasons behind the decision to end it after 25 years on the air.

Well good for Oprah Winfrey. She’s earnt all the money she could ever need, and it’s better for her to bow out while she’s on top. We wonder what she’ll do with all her free time – maybe she’ll focus on her charitable work or take up knitting. What’s that? She’s starting her own network? Christ alive, that’s terrifying.

But at least Oprah’s new network will be good for anyone who wants to catch up with Oprah Winfrey at any given moment of the day. Or anyone who loves watching dozens of touchy-feely celebrity interviews. Or anyone who wants to spend upwards of 16 hours a day staring slack-jawed at a giant image of Oprah Winfrey’s head that’s made out of fire and does nothing but scream the word “REPENT” at them again and again. Probably.

But we’ve got all that to look forward to. For now we just have to wait for the official announcement on Oprah’s show later today. We can’t imagine what it’ll be like. Actually, we can – Oprah will cry, there’ll be a 15-minute VT montage of celebrities describing how brilliant she is and then Oprah will repeat the phrase “You guys!” 48 times in a row – but we meant to say that we don’t want to imagine what it’ll be like. Subtle difference.

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This is just a hunch, but we’re expecting Will Ferrell to be named as People’s sexiest man alive next year.

Because, seriously, that man is loaded. He gets paid so much money. Too much money, in fact. And he doesn’t deserve a bloody penny of it. That’s according to Forbes, at least – Will Ferrell has come out on top of a list 0f Hollywood’s most overpaid stars. The list claims that Will Ferrell only earns his investors a return of $3.29 for every dollar he’s paid.

Why such a poor figure? Well, it’s partly because Land Of The Lost flopped, partly because comedy is notoriously difficult to sell around the world and partly because Will Ferrell has cold dead eyes and a rapist’s haircut. Possibly.

What makes a good actor? Commitment? Research? An ability to emotionally connect with an audience? No, you idiot. What makes a good actor is the comparative financial return that they make for investors based on their salary. That’s why Matt Damon is a great actor and Will Ferrell is the worst, stupidest, actor to have ever walked the Earth.

According to a new Forbes list, Will Ferrell is the most overpaid star in Hollywood because he only makes $3.29 back for each dollar he’s paid. Compare this to Naomi Watts, who earns investors $44 for every dollar she’s paid, and you can see what an underwhelming amount that is.

That’s not necessarily a helpful comparison – Naomi Watts’ figure is so much higher because she’s generally paid less than Will Ferrell, her films cost less to make and she rarely carries movies by herself, plus the fact that her name is a guarantee that you’re either going to see her boobs or the outline of at least one of her nipples through a skimpy top at some point – but it must still be a worry for Will. ABC reports:

Ferrell took first place largely due to the flop of his summer 2009 movie “Land of the Lost”, which Forbes said cost an estimated $100 million to make but earned just $65 million at box offices worldwide for movie studio Universal Pictures. The movie followed a disappointing $43 million box office for Ferrell’s 2008 outing “Semi-Pro”, and $128 million for “Step Brothers”.

We should probably point out that Will Ferrell was part of a list of overpaid actors, but we’re trying not to mention that because it’ll only depress Ferrell further. For instance, Ewan McGregor came second in the list. And when was the last time you ever got excited about a Ewan McGregor film? This year? Last year? This decade? Ewan McGregor is awful, and he’s still better value for money than Will Ferrell.

Other actors on the list include Tom Cruise – a man who only makes films so that people can tell him how rubbish he is in them – and Billy Bob Thornton. Billy Bob Thornton, for crying out loud. He can’t even do an interview properly, let alone a bloody film. Seriously, Will Ferrell must be feeling terrible.

There’s only one thing for it. To turn this around, Will Ferrell will have to start taking on Naomi Watts-style roles before it’s too late. He should sign up for impossibly minor roles in bad Clive Owen films, harrowing remakes of brutally amoral German horror films and London-set films where members of the Lord Of The Rings cast beat a large number Russian gangsters to death with their bare penises. That will definitely revive Will Ferrell’s fortunes as a Hollywood commodity.

We expect a consultancy fee for this advice.

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Oh People magazine, you’re such terrible sluts. Don’t bother trying to hide it – we can see straight through you.

Look at how you’re treating poor Johnny Depp. According to that list you published yesterday, Johnny Depp is the sexiest man alive. But what happened the day before yesterday? That’s right, it was announced that Johnny Depp was going to earn at least $35 million from Pirates Of The Caribbean 4. Coincidence? HARDLY.

You only love Johnny Depp for his money don’t you, People magazine? Not his easygoing charm or his faultless complexion – it’s his money. We’ll never be good enough for you will we, People magazine? Even though we love you SO MUCH. Well stuff you, People magazine. Stuff you in your MOUTH.

Now we know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “But hecklerspray, surely Johnny Depp isn’t the sexiest man alive. Surely it’s you or – at a push – Robert Pattinson. But not Johnny Depp.” And that’s where you’d be wrong. Firstly, we’ve been ruled ineligible for People’s Sexiest Man Alive title on account of our bizarre face and horrible personality. And secondly, Robert Pattinson isn’t sexy. Yes, he makes people involuntarily wet themselves, but so does diabetes and that’s not especially sexy, is it?

So no. Forget Robert Pattinson. It’s Johnny Depp who’s the sexiest man alive. People magazine said so yesterday, so it must be true. And, yes, we know that People magazine also once said that Matt Damon and Matthew McConaughey were also the sexiest men alive, but you have to forgive it for those years – it was going through a lot at work and was probably on some sort of antibiotics that impaired its judgement or something. But that’s all in the past now.

So when People magazine says that Johnny Depp is the sexiest man alive, you have to believe it. Especially when it can back up its claims with stone-cold reasoning like this:

From a sexy swashbuckler in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise to quirkier roles like Edward Scissorhands, the 46-year-old star has had women swooning since his days as a teen detective on 21 Jump Street. Yet it’s his devotion to his family that really makes the actor so endearing. “I could sit there all day and do nothing but watch them grow,” he’s said of children. “I’m totally inspired by them.”

You see, men? What’s really sexy is being dependable and devoted to your family. And if that describes you, then deep down you’re as sexy as Johnny Depp. True, less people will want to sleep with you because you only wear tatty old clothes that are covered in baby sick and you generally don’t seem very motivated, plus you aren’t able to earn $35 million for dressing up in a silly costume and running around in a funny way, plus you’re flabby and pallid and balding whereas Johnny Depp is none of those things despite being much older than you. But aside from that, you’re just as sexy.

You’re not. You’re nowhere near as sexy as Johnny Depp. In a line-up comprised of you, Johnny Depp and a toilet that’s full of tramp sick, women would always pick you last. All women. Even your own wife. We think that’s what People magazine is getting at, anyway.

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Winning that Oscar for Dreamgirls didn’t just make Jennifer Hudson a household name, it also changed her life forever.

Not in a particularly good way, either. When Jennifer Hudson started acting, she probably thought that she’d do Dreamgirls and then maybe a couple of comedies or a big summer action flick. But no. Jennifer Hudson has won an Oscar now, so every film she stars in from now on is legally entitled to be overlong, dreary and so relentlessly worthy that you feel like scrubbing yourself clean with a dry brush afterwards.

And that’s why Jennifer Hudson is about to play Winnie Mandela in what promises to be a right old bundle of bloody laughs.

One of the main things that worries us about Jennifer Hudson is that she used to be an American Idol contestant, and that it wouldn’t take much for other Simon Cowell-approved singers to follow her lead. Sure, it might be OK for Jennifer Hudson to play a notorious historical figure in a transparently Oscar-baiting biopic, but what if it sparks a trend?

What if Leona Lewis suddenly decides that she wants to play Rosa Luxemburg in a film about the 1919 Spartakusbund uprising? Or what if Jedward signs up to play Dmitry Ivanovsky in a biopic about pioneering microbiology? You’d try to hammer yourself unconscious with whatever’s nearest to you, that’s what.

And it’d all be Jennifer Hudson’s fault for playing Winnie Mandela in an upcoming biopic based on the book Winnie Mandela: A Life. Variety reports:

Jennifer Hudson is set to star in Winnie, a drama that casts her as the former wife of South Africa’s first black president, Nelson Mandela. “I was compelled and moved when I read the script,” Hudson said. “Winnie Mandela is a complex and extraordinary woman and I’m honored to be the actress asked to portray her. This is a powerful part of history that should be told.”

Of course, Jennifer Hudson didn’t need to say any of that. She could have just shouted “I WANT ANOTHER OSCAR!” directly into the face of the Variety editor through a megaphone while repeadedly bonking him on the head with an oversized polystyrene Oscar, since that’s what she obviously means, but where would be the fun in that?

That’s assuming that Jennifer Hudson will win an Oscar for playing Winnie Mandela, of course, and there’s no guarantee that she will. Remember, she only won the Oscar for Dreamgirls because she was able to channel the emotions of her character through a number of painfully schmaltzy showtunes. So if Jennifer Hudson wants to win another Oscar for Winnie, there’s only one thing for it: it’s going to have to be a musical.

No, bear with us. A Winnie Mandela musical would be awesome. Imagine Jennifer Hudson, standing against the backdrop of Apartheid-ravaged South Africa, belting out the timeless Orange Free State (Is Something I Hate). Or winking her way through the ribald crowd-pleaser Let’s Burn Our Enemies With Tyres And Petrol! Or closing the whole thing with the heartfelt show-stopper Election (It’s Fifth Place For Me). It’d be awesome. Or terrible. Probably terrible.

But anything that stops Jennifer Hudson from making any more Sex And The City films, eh?

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In every episode of EastEnders, you can be guaranteed of a few things. For a start, you’ll never sit through the full 30 minutes without hearing an ear-piercing screech or cackle.

Peggy’s bra will have pinged off and blinded a child like in her Carry On days and then she’ll slop a warm pint all over Pat, causing fisticuffs at the bar.

There’s also the iconic music that accompanies the programme. Without those drum beats at the beginning and end of the show, EastEnders wouldn’t have any charm left at all. Kind of like the service in Ian Beale’s café. But things are changing in Albert Square. Soon, a spin off show dubbed E20 will launch, and the team behind the show want you to create the theme tune by doing up the original song.

Of course, there is already a remix of the recognisably anthemic EastEnders theme-tune. Frizzy haired guitar chimp Brian May’s wife Anita Dobson created a version of the song by simply singing over the top of it. She released it and thousands of morons purchased it, thus making her famous. Sadly, you can’t rip off her efforts as the producers of the show want you to make a thirty second remix that captures the sound and feel of living in East London.

For the majority of the population living outside of London, this may be hard to imagine. However, from our knowledge of London, we believe samples of people complaining about late tubes, recordings of coughing from inhaling smog and the sound of pigeon shit hitting the floor will be quite apt. Or as the competition page puts it:

“E20 is to encourage and develop exciting new talent. All the writers and cast are newcomers – and we want to extend this approach to the music production. For that, we need your help. We’re therefore looking for a fresh take on the classic EastEnders theme tune – one that will become the fanfare for a show which celebrates London life, and what it’s like to be young in the capital. All in the space of 30 seconds!”

Awesome, we all we have to do is chop up the beats and splice up the main tune to win the prize? Doesn’t sound too difficult to us. We can already imagine the look of surprise on the judge’s face as present a glitched-up gabba version complete with touches of white noise. Or if we forget the closing date and need to knock something up quick, we’ll just reverse the tune, steal some vocals from YouTube and plonk it on top. Easier than cooking, that is.

Of course, out made up genre of Fizzcorkcore probably won’t win as the current climate of wonky-sounding baselines and big beats will probably clinch it for some nerdy bedroom DJ. But good luck to you all, after winning the competition you’ll then be asked what you’d do to make the show watchable.

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Heidi Pratt and her husband with a flesh-coloured beard, Spencer Pratt, are making the world’s least threatening threat.

The couple – full of their usual annoying shenanigans and fakery – are pitching the world’s least watchable reality show.

Not content with blighting the world three minutes at a time to a Natasha Bedingfield soundtrack, the gruesome twosome now think it would be a larf to have a reality show entirely their own.

Heidi and Spencer closely resemble a couple of Real Dolls who have come to life and accidentally been cast on MTV’s The Hills. The past-its-best show is only watched by a handful of tweenagers at a time. No more than two or three at any minute of the day.  The only reason they would ever watch a whole episode of The Hills would be that the ruddy remote control buttons got stuck/ the batteries ran out/ the only other thing on was the news.

Before the threat of a reality show – dedicated to their insipid brand of fame-loving – the couple were actually pimping out their new book. A book that details how one can also become a fame-loving Z-Lister of epic proportions. A book that probably came into the world after one or both had their bowel movements recorded on audio tape and then passed on to some poor soul to commit to transcript. It’ll be thirty pages of pictures, to every one paragraph in font size 45 of “Brrrf, faart, buuuurp”, over and over.

Second to the book comes the couple’s dream of their own reality show. A show that is the consummate nightmare of anyone who knows that not all television leaves you with pink eye and a nasty itching sensation in your delicate areas.

Heidi said that viewers of The Hills don’t get to see enough of her and her husband’s creepy flesh-coloured beard. The only way we could see more of her specifically is to buy those indecent images of her from Playboy magazine – and no one here wants to waste their spare coins on that.

Watching them attempting to construct entire sentences onscreen, without the aid of hair twirling, is tiresome enough in small doses. It would be torturous to indulge their shenanigans a full 30-minutes at a time. Well okay, that’s a little harsh…

Heidi isn’t so bad, not really. So long as you don’t mind My Little Pony’s straw-coloured-weave being flicked in the direction of the camera every third minute. She’s one of the less annoying cast members on The Hills, as at least she seems to know that she’s an insufferable, insignificant Barbie doll.

Her husband Spencer is the more annoying of the two. Mainly as he seems to have no idea just how off-putting his facial hair is. It’s awful. It scares small children. It’s all bristles and is probably the only thing coarse enough for Heidi to brush her pony mane with.

In spite of being distinctly intolerable, they seem to be allowed to find new ways to inflict pain on the public. First a book, then a reality show of their own. Before we know it, they’ll be releasing the obligatory clothing line of ill-fitting sweatshop gear and a perfume that smells of despair.

From The Huffington Post:

In an interview [...] the couple told The Associated Press they’re shopping the idea around to various networks. They said that while “The Hills” – which doesn’t acknowledge its cast members’ fame – only focuses on a small part of their lives, their own show would reveal everything that happens to them. They also said they’d be even be willing to include live segments. “You don’t get to see our everyday lives and what we do,” Heidi Pratt said.  But the Pratts also said they don’t plan to leave “The Hills” and hope to appear in both shows.

This was a guest blog by Amy Grindhouse, the sweetheart.

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Let’s play a quick game. Things that Miley Cyrus likes: parties, the USA, money, the sound of her own voice.

Things that Miley Cyrus doesn’t like: Twilight. There must be other things too – like having a dad whose beard is shaped like a stripper’s vagina, probably – but Twilight is the main one. Miley Cyrus really doesn’t like Twilight. We know this because Miley Cyrus told someone that she didn’t like Twilight and now it’s news. Because that’s how news works.

In fact, Miley Cyrus says that she doesn’t even believe in Twilight, which is silly because it clearly exists. A damning indictment of the homeschool curriculum from Miley Cyrus, there.

This is a difficult time for Miley Cyrus. She’s clearly desperate to break free from the shackles of Hannah Montana and become a more adult-oriented performer, but how? Taking her clothes off for magazines? She’s already done that. Releasing singles that sound like tenth-rate Red Hot Chili Pepper rip-offs instead of tenth-rate High School Musical rip-offs? She’s already done that too. What else can Miley do to deliberately distance herself from her tween fanbase?

We know! Why doesn’t Miley Cyrus take every opportunity to badmouth everything that tweens traditionally like? It’s a perfect idea. Tweens like Twitter, so why doesn’t Miley Cyrus suddenly decide that she hates Twitter? What? She’s already done that? Brilliant? What next? What else do tweens like? Heelies? Too niche. Ice cream? Too broad. Talking about themselves endless in gratingly rasping voices under the profound misapprehension that anybody cares? But Miley likes that too! Oh, this is SO HARD!

Hang on, what about Twilight? That’s perfect. Tweens don’t just like Twilight, they love Twilight. They love Twilight so much that all they want to do when they grow up is get pregnant from a 108-year-old man who’ll gnaw through her guts to get the baby out. So why doesn’t Miley Cyrus just trash that? It’s a DEAL! MTV reports:

“I’ve never seen it and nor will I ever,” Miley [said]. The starlet went on to elaborate on what exactly it is about “Twilight” that offends her. “I don’t believe in it. I don’t like vampires. … I don’t like the wolf that pops out of the screen when I’m watching my TV at night. I don’t like it. I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t like the shirts. I don’t like any of it,” she said.

Well, gee Miley, we knew that you didn’t like shirts – because you take enough photos of yourself without them – but to say that you don’t like Twilight a few days before the release of New Moon is put thousands of young fans in a quandary. What are they supposed to do now?

Do they side with Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart, the effortlessly dishevelled stars of New Moon who inspire lust and devotion everywhere they go? Or do the side with the annoying 16-year-old who’s probably best known for holding hands with a Jonas Brother and singing songs like Ice Cream Freeze (Let’s Chill)?

Yeah, it’s a toughie.

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