Is there nothing that Peter Andre?s chest cannot do?
It made him a star after he exposed it while singing under a waterfall, it can feed a family of five, he can fashion the muscles into a rough smiling face to cheer up his children (not coming in too handy lately, but it can still scare children at bus stops), it can absorb his tears when he breaks down on TV, it's related to the King of Spain, it can tell when footballs have actually crossed the bloody line, it's an expert metal worker and cooper, it's responsible for his laughable writing career, if you tickle it just right it'll do a passable impersonation of mid-seventies Woody Allen and it can emit no fewer than nine quality liqueurs from it's nipples ? which is four more than Lily Allen can do even though she's got a 50% head start.
OK, most of that was outright lies. Everything was in fact, apart from the writing thing. Yes, really.
First of all, hands up those of you who knew that Peter Andre had released a book? Nobody? OK, here?s an easier one: hands up who knew that Peter Andre could write? And didn't just use pens as brightly-coloured friends who?ll never ever leave him.
Never, unless he should leave them in the foyer of a Harwich Travelodge, which, by the way, he never did, and you should just shut up, because even if he did he'd totally drove back there the same night even though it was over a hundred miles out of his way just to go back to rescue it and he definitely wouldn't cry if the desk clerk said they hadn?t seen it, and was it a special pen? And he wouldn't sit in his car and cry and cry and cry until his eyes were raw and the slow dawn was breaking in the east making the sky look ghostly pale, like a patient coming out of? a life-changing operation and oh, Christ, he misses them so much it hurts just to look at the world.
Because he totally doesn't by the way.
Anyway, the point is that he has written a book, and now he isn't going to promote it because he's hurt his chest. Digital Spy barks:
Peter Andre has been forced to cancel a book signing in Dublin due to his recent illness. The star, who feared he was having a heart attack after collapsing during a morning run, was told by paramedics that he had injured muscles in his chest.
Ah, bless, they called him a ?star?. Also, apparently he uses his chest muscles to write his name, ergo, it's his chest that did the writing for the whole book.
Jeez, that at was a rather flimsy premise to spend close to 500 words on, wasn?t it? Sorry.
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