Disturbing Friday Fun, then: a weekly 'feature' in which we provide you with a link to a baffling, unsettling, odd or - as the title says - downright disturbing thing we've found on the interweb.

Look - we never said originality was in our remit. Okay?

Anyway. Settle down. This week we've got a treat for you. If felt

Not being able to cover basic living expenses is awful - we should know, and all we need each day is a new plastic bag roof for our cardboard shelter and three individual Space Raiders - so imagine how Heather Mills feels; she needs £10,000 every day.

In a new - although somewhat unsurprising - twist to the already interminable Paul McCartney/ Heather Mills divorce, Heather Mills is said to be considering an offer of a quickie divorce, but only on the condition that Paul McCartney gives her £3.5 million every year until she's racked up £40 million. That works out at £10,000 a day, which is what Heather Mills claims she needs just to get by. It sounds like a lot of money, but it doesn't come cheap if - like Heather Mills - you want to diamond-coat your entire body to protect you from future elderly millionaire husbands stabbing you in the arm repeatedly with a sawn-off wineglass in a drug-fuelled rage because you're so fucking annoying. 

Last night Celebrity Fame Academy lost Linda Robson, officially the only Celebrity Fame Academy hopeful to have sung the theme-tune to a 1990s sitcom about two glum women with prisoners for husbands and a shrieking Jewish nympho neighbour.

For the second night on the trot, Linda Robson faced the Celebrity Fame Academy sing-out or song-off or survivo-bawl or whatever it's supposed to be called. And, really, she probably didn't deserve to be eliminated either - Linda Robson's Celebrity Fame Academy version of Crazy was her most in-tune yet, and far better than Angellica Bell's pitchless Madonna caterwauling. It's just a shame you're only allowed to vote off the Celebrity Fame Academy singers - because frankly Comic Relief would make a load more money if you could give Kielty the shove. Or Fringe-o The Co-Presenter. Or that awful Scottish judge for that matter...

Here's the final dollop of Celebrity Fame Academy betting odds for the week - for Colin Murray, Mel Giedroyc, Tricia Penrose and Shaun Williamson - with betting odds from the ever-wonderful Paddy Power...

It's a scientifically-proven fact that every broken-up band in the world will reunite this year. Highlights will include The Police, Crowded House and Paul McCartney And The Half-Zombie Beatle Allstars - but one non-highlight will be the Genesis reunion.

Phil Collins and Genesis were amongst the first charge of tatty old money-grabbing bands who realised they could coin it in by playing the hits in some European sports arenas for a couple of months. Although the last few months have seen bigger bands reform to greater acclaim, the idea of watching Phil Collins pound out a 16-hour drum solo in the middle of an interminable I Can't Dance/ You're No Son Of Mine medley still wakes us up screaming in the middle of the night. And Americans have no reason to be smug about it any more either - because Phil Collins has announced that the Genesis reunion is hitting the US too.

MySpace Trawl is our weekly feature where we attempt to offer you a band that we believe is doing something interesting and not knocking out the same stuff as everyone else so they can appear on the cover of the NME.

Like you, we once believed the NME was a bible for discovering new stuff that we'd then pretend we'd discovered ourselves. But sadly, the days of it being a credible magazine have now gone in our eyes. The amount of boring English indie music has reached saturation point. We may not be a music magazine, but we know what we like, and we know what utter bollocks sounds like. After ignoring all the messages in our inbox from bands saying we’ll like them, we finally came across a group that reminded us there is good stuff out there. This week's band is Tempo No Tempo. 

Everyone's been so busy watching Britney Spears slowly unspool over the last few weeks that one question seems to have been lost in all the hubbub: just who the hell is ever going to want to buy a piece of music by Britney Spears ever again?

Even if Britney Spears lets her hair grow back, calms down a bit and stops telling people that she thinks she's the devil, she's got a long way to go to restore her reputation in the eyes of her once-adoring fans. But super producer Timbaland seems to think he's the man to save Britney Spears - and he could be right. After all, we've lost count of the number of bald young women with suicidal tendencies that have been rescued by being made to sing Nelly Furtado cast-offs.

Captain America, better known as Corporal England in the UK and First Lieutenant Botswana in some African country that we think starts with like an 'F', is dead.

Captain America was trying his best to get a cat out of a tree when a muscle spasm caused him to twitch into a particularly inhabited hornet's nest. That's not where he died though. The hornets chased him onto a construction site where another muscle spasm caused him to fix himself to the wall with a loose-triggered nail gun.

That's not how he died though. He lasted there through the winter, but when the spring thaw came several winged creatures melted back to life in a cave, they flew out and found the good Captain in a very hungry but attractive state. That's not how he died though. The monsters made him pregnant, and upon child birth he couldn't dilate all-the-way because he's a man.

A few days later he died in a hospital bed with several pieces of drywall still stuck to his forearm and thighs, and stitches in secret places. And that, we have on good authority, is how Captain America died. Or he got shot by a malicious sniper, we've never been good at reading speech bubbles.