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Now that Britney Spears can once again experience the delights of waking in up in the middle of the night because her kids are crying, it's time for a rethink.

You see, Britney Spears has recently been told that her children are now allowed to spend overnight visits with her, an important step towards regaining custody. But Britney doesn't want to keep her kids in squashed-together, paparazzi-filled Beverly Hills any more - she wants them to live somewhere safer, somewhere cleaner, somewhere with a huge garden that the children can play in.

That's right, Britney Spears is preparing to move house, which means that Britney's current abode could soon be up for sale. We hear it's the perfect place for anyone who likes their houses huge, reeking of cigarette smoke and full of fun character features like puddles of tears and disturbing fingernail scratches gouged into every available surface.

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You know how you’re always wishing that there were more beverages named after perspiration from objectionable areas of the body?  

Well, wish no more! Paramount Pictures is introducing a new, cherry-licious drink called Booty Sweat. The drink comes from the upcoming Ben Stiller fiasco, Tropic Thunder, and is being marketed in conjunction with the film.   

And for the calorie-conscious, like ourselves who strive to keep our girlish figure for our lovely readers, we’re anxiously hoping for Diet Booty Sweat. Same great taste, new fruit flavor, but lower in Back Sauce! 

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Jessica Simpson says her dad didn’t fit her for her first training bra.

Let’s face it, no one ever thought that he did. In fact, we all went about blissfully without ever having thought about it at all. But now that the topic has been broached and your day has been ruined by the mental image, all we can think is “Joe Simpson fit his daughter for a training bra?? Ewwww…” That, and, “We missed a story about Joe Simpson fitting his daughter for a training bra??”

We apologise for missing such an important, vomit-inducing piece of journalism. It shall not happen again. We will be the first to supply you with details when Joe Simpson details accounts of fitting his daughter for her second and third training bras, as well as every subsequent regular bra up to the present.

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Soap operas are brilliant, aren’t they? They all give a retrospective insight into life in the various locations where they are all filmed.

In Emmerdale for instance, all the characters belong to rival farming tribes and live in the middle of nowhere. Coronation Street is full of a variety of characters, from the old, young and transsexual. But the best has to be EastEnders. It's attempt at showing murky gangster activity is hilarious. All these soaps also have one thing in common. 

It doesn't matter how legendary a soap character is, as soon as they've been killed off they'll never work on television again. For one unlucky EastEnders character, their 14-year stint is soon to be over. But who is it? Find out after the jump.

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The Christie Brinkley divorce has been such a long time coming that we were starting to think there had been an amicable settlement or something equally horrific.

Thankfully, though, there hasn't - and next week Christie Brinkley's soon-to-be ex-husband Peter Cook will find out that revenge is a dish best served cold. In public. That gets as legally close to indelibly branding 'I cheated on my wealthy former supermodel wife with a girl I met in a toystore' across his big stupid head as possible.

And what's more, the toystore girl in question - Diana Bianchi - is ready to truthfully testify if she's called to the divorce court. But only if she's called at certain times of the day - you won't get a peep out of her if the testimony clashes with Teletubbies.

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19 days in the Big Brother house and what's happened so far? God knows, frankly, but at least we've got a lovely suntan.

Oh, we're just kidding - thanks to the delight of catch-up on demand TV we're all up to date on the Big Brother shenanigans. There was a mouthy woman who got kicked out, a smug orange man who got put in as her replacement and literally nothing else. Simple. But it's the start of a new week, and that means it's time for a fresh new batch of Big Brother betting odds.

So who'll win Big Brother? Here are the Big Brother betting odds for Dennis, Lisa, Sylvia, Mario and Jennifer, with help from Paddy Power …

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In one thousand years nobody will even know we were here.

This depresses us greatly, and fuels our determination to freeze ourselves so that when the time comes, we can tell people exactly who we were. Before we can do that, though, we have to find a place to put our ice cube trays and figure out how to shut the upper compartment freezer-door with us inside it.

Not everyone has to worry about such things though - 25 new superstars have just been listed as the ones about to get their names on a Hollywood Walk of Fame slot. At least one of them is a cartoon. How does that make you feel? In 1000 years you will be nothing but dust blowing through the stratosphere, and Tinkerbell will still be a fairly regular topic of California-conversation.

Oh, this is gonna be a hard day.

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Generally when the Incredible Hulk smites his enemies, he has a small arsenal of weapons - his triceps, his biceps, and if rumors circulating about the 2011 sequel are to be believed - a golden machete.

He doesn’t need anything else - but that doesn’t mean he’s unwilling to consider all his options. Lung cancer, for instance, can be a highly effective super-tool in the hands of something so powerful and good.

With it, the demise of Magneto could be 20 minutes into a chemo treatment rather than smashing his brains through the side of John Deere headquarters.

Also the Hulk could use it to kill his hardest-core fans. Who needs them, right? He’s already started, you know - at least according to a legion of physicians. They’re so mad, and they will find a way to defeat him no matter what.

Actually, that sounds pretty good. Maybe someone should work that into an actual comic book.

We’re willing to letter it.

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Remember the old music teacher at school calling you a fat useless shit who’d amount to nothing? As you tried to get those chubby fingers of yours around the holes in the recorder, the evil teacher cackled as you ran out of breath and collapsed on the floor through failing to utter a single note.

Times have changed. Granted, you may be obese through to an addiction of Ginsters pasties, but that doesn’t matter. Back in the old days you may have had no musical ability, but all that has changed due to the creation of Guitar Hero. You can almost be as good as Slash as you press a few coloured buttons in time to the ones on the screen. Now sodden Coldplay have only donated a couple of songs. Preaching about the environment is optional.

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Usher, or Raymond when he wears those plaid jackets, is struggling not to bonk everything that moves now he is married and has a baby son to bring up. Poor, rich bastard.

Whether you like Usher’s music or not, it must be said that the boy can dance; predominantly he dances like a spaz, but he sure can throw some crazy moves together. And it’s perhaps these slinky footsteps that have gotten his erect penis into trouble before. His reputation for banging broads like a horny puppy is well known in celebrity land.

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Sometimes adverts just totally miss the point.

Take this little doozy for example: a woefully misguided anti-drugs PSA in which a talking dog decides to harrass a teenage girl about her drug use.

So - what has she been doing? Snorting three lines of coke over breakfast every morning? Jacking up a speedball during SAT revision? Rubbing blotter paper soaked in acid against her cherubic face? No. She’s … well … been smoking the odd joint. Seriously. Smoking weed. That’s it.

All of which is very ironic, because if the events in this commercial happened to us, we’d either:

a) Scream ‘Jesus Christ, a talking dog’, and immediately run to the nearest heroin dealer in order to get so dosed up we forgot this nightmare/

b) Give him a slap and shout ’shut the fuck up, you furry little bastard! Might I remind you whose house this is? I’ll lie on the sofa all day smoking bongs if I want to, thank you very much, you condescending shitwad. Any more of this nonsense and you might find your next bowl of Winalot laced with arsenic. Clear?’

Anyway. See what you think.

Bobby Brown’s son Brandon Brown has revealed he was once seduced by Lindsay Lohan in a bathroom.

It’s a typical (Bobby Brown-like) boy meets (Lindsay Lohan-like) girl story: They meet at a party. They both think ‘ooh, he/she’s fit’. Boy goes to the toilet for a piss. Girl, perhaps aroused by the potential to orgasm while simultaneously inhaling men’s stale urine, follows him in. They have sex. They are now primed to have their first conversation:

Lindsay: Pass us some tissue. Cheers. So, what’s your name and what do you do?

Brandon: My name’s Brandon. My official job title is ’son’. And you?

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