Gossip for grown-ups
Digestives and Rich Teas. Folded: Modern Warfare 2: Price War (the supermarket battle royale) Salt (reads kinda cack; looks kinda Bourne) Planes, Trains and Automobiles (revisit this classic, particularly the sweary rental car bit, and understand why Steve Martin is going to make a hilarious host at next year’s Oscar’s) Dark nights (cosy...or cold, lonely and miserable. We’re going with cosy) The Greggs (time to reconsider that application form maybe?) Creased: Queuing at midnight to buy Modern Warfare 2 (never has Shaun of the Dead been so vividly recreated in reality. ...
With 2009 kicking and screaming to a close, many magazines and other publications often spit out their best-of lists. Usually it’s the opinion of one person sat in an office. Most of the time, people with any sense flick past them as they don’t need someone else telling them what is considered to be good. Though we could use the arse end of 2009 to go over the artists we’ve looked at, we won’t. Instead, we’ll still try to at least bring you something creatively different and worth investing in. This week, we couldn’t pick a better artist for mixing things up than Bibio. Whilst we don’t know if it’s pronounced Bi-bio or Bib-io, the records released by him are bloody fantastic.
Oh yeah, everyone’s gone crazy bananas ever since Simon Cowell allowed the public to cast Lucie Jones back to her dreary Welsh village, where she can forever plat people’s hair, and regale them with tales about the time she wore razor-cut denim, and sung a song that no one had ever heard of. “I’m sorry, but who the hell are you?” they will ask. “I’m Lucie Jones,” she will declare, standing up from her seat, imagining the warmth of a spotlight once again caressing her stupid Welsh face. “Lucie Jones, the lonely girl from Wales, who went on to national fame and stardom… for about a month.” She’ll then either start frenziedly hacking at her own arms, or take up board and lodgings in whichever dumpster Shane Ward and Leon Jackson have now decided to call home. The point being that it doesn’t matter one jot that Cowell saved those turdish Irish twins at the weekend. Like the rest of them, fast forward a few months, and they will be touching themselves for coins in some rancid little corner of the internet. This is an early-evening variety show - Leona Lewis and JLS aside, it doesn’t produce actual stars. So everyone should just shut up. Plus it’s not the first time that the important X Factor judges/general public have cocked things up anyway. Read on, and we’ll tell you some more…
If you had to extort one former supermodel, chances are Cindy Crawford would be last on your list. What could you possibly extort her with? Naked pictures? Everyone's already seen Cindy Crawford naked. Embarrassing videos? She starred in a mid-1990s erotic thriller with William Baldwin - it's scientifically impossible to get any more embarrassing than that. Then what could possibly be left to extort Cindy Crawford with? A photo of her seven-year-old-daughter tied to a chair and dressed in revealing clothes? And someone's already beaten you to the idea by trying to extort Cindy Crawford with that exact thing? Oh. And, also: yeurgh.
If you're new to this, here's a recap: Carrie Prejean made a sex tape when she was 17 and sent it to Larry King. Or something. What with all the on-air tantrums and over-use of the word 'inappropriate' and solo sex tapes that are either illegal or just plain sexy, this Carrie Prejean kerfuffle is exploding off in so many directions that it's become impossible to contain. What we need is someone to simplify everyone. Someone with an air of natural authority. Someone with a haircut that looks like a monkey's matted stab wound. That's right, we need Donald Trump. And, because this is a thing that has happened and Donald Trump will shrivel up and die unless someone's constantly paying attention to him, he's obliged. Hooray.
Wake Up The Box is a real fairytale of a game. We say that because - like all good fairytales - it’s simple, charming and liable to give you terrifying nightmares. At heart, Wake Up The Box is a physics game, where you place items on a level in the hope that they’ll interact. The frightening part comes when you realise that you’re only doing it to wake up a sleeping cardboard box. And ‘wake up’ seems like a sanitised description - ...
Hey, remember that time that Josh Duhamel was accused of cheating on Fergie by boning a stripper? Sure you do. It only happened a week ago. What? You've forgotten already, on the basis that Josh Duhamel is the dullest man who's ever lived? You think that wasting even a drop of brainpower on someone as inherently dreary as Josh Duhamel is a criminal misuse of humanity's potential? Yeah, us too, actually. But tough, because the stripper who Josh Duhamel allegedly had his ferociously mundane way with isn't letting go of her moment in the spotlight. She's publicly apologised to Fergie for having sex with her husband, whatever his name is. We've forgotten already. That's how boring he is.
Forget that 10k run in your local park - how about this for an insanely ambitious challenge: flying across the North Atlantic Ocean strapped to a jetwing. Yes, I did say a jetwing, and no, I'm guessing there's no in-flight entertainment. Admittedly, the aeronaut who's making the flight (Yves Rossy) is a Jetwing veteran and has a team of choppers, planes, search and rescue specialists and doubtless hordes of media pundits to catch him if he falls (the flight is the brainchild of Webtel.mobi, who are sponsoring the event), but a walk in the park it ain't. It promises to be a spectacular, if a little insane, challenge - and one for the history books regardless of how it ends. But how does flying between continents strapped to a sheet of carbon fibre stack up in terms of stupidity against the history of human flight? Luckily for you, we have some prime examples all lined up...
