It’s okay everybody, you can relax, there’s no more need to worry, Kevin Federline is fine.

We know, you were scared that K-Fed might be taken from us too soon, but we’re pleased to announce that all is well with Britney’s Baby Daddy and he didn’t actually suffer a heart attack that none of us would have cared about.

Federline was hospitalised earlier this week after he collapsed whilst filming a weight loss show in Australia, he was quickly rushed to hospital along with the paramedics who had initially tried to lift him onto the stretcher.

The world’s most favouritest douchebag spent much of the day in hospital, before being released to recover at home, probably in a soiled wife beater and a trucker cap.

At the peak of his girth, Federline had reached a whopping 17stone, which doesn’t sound like much for an American, but being – as he is – an American that was supposed to be vaguely famous for something, this a HUGE deal.

Admittedly that thing he was famous for was having sperm so polluted that it sent Britney Spears batshit insane enough for her to marry him, shave her head, attack a car with an umbrella and hole up in her Hollywood mansion, in a weird Waco 90210 stand off.

We should applaud Federline for attempting to get back into shape, but he’s just so annoying it’s hard for us to even care whether or not this little episode was an actual problem with his heart, or indigestion caused by the rapid consumption of a Big Mac.

It probably was indigestion anyway, it’s hard to imagine K-Fed, who’s now sporting a pony tail because he wasn’t white trash enough before, can even eat a simple burger without taking breaks from chewing with his mouth open to tell anyone and everyone who will listen how he totally nailed Britney Spears, whilst simultaneously humping and spanking the air in a display of chauvinism that borders on the retarded.

So next time you’re in a fast food chain, about to tuck in to that tasty burger you ordered, just remember this. Somewhere, out there in a restaurant just like the one you’re sat in, is Kevin Federline.

Hey! This story is so new that even Britney Spears doesn’t know about it and, crucially, it utterly regards to her possible happiness. Or indeed, the sobbing of a rejected beau. You don’t know what we’re talking about do you?

Sorry. We’re excited. Excited to utterly spoil a surprise.

See, tonight, Britney Spears’ boyfriend – Jason Trawick – will get down on one knee and propose to her. He wants to marry her. She might say no! We’ve no idea! He hasn’t asked her yet, but we’ve found out that he plans to and we’re shouting it from the rooftops to ensure that any romance or surprise is shat on.

As we all know, Britney LOVES wedding cake, having been married roughly 40 times in the past 2 years. Somewhere in the region of that figure. We can’t remember.

And now, she’ll have to plan a finger buffet, mobile disco and dry-clean one of her many wedding dresses that lie covered in cobwebs in her attic!

So how have a bunch of reprobates like us got hold of such JUICY information? We stole it from professional ambulance chasers, TMZ, of course!

They reckon that Jason will be popping the question tonight in Las Vegas, the scene of at least 34 of Britney’s previous marriages.

Sources, who are very trustworthy, say Britney’s conservators have given the whole thing their stamp of approval. Possibly because they don’t mind who Britney gets married to. She could marry a cushion for all they care.

Apparently, there’s going to be a prenup as well, which is just about the most romantic gesture a human can bestow on another.

If we don’t get an invite to the lavish bash, we’re going to cry. Hard. So hard that our organs erupt from our ducts. You’ve been warned.

Don’t you just hate it when someone you love, admire and possibly think about in a dirty way when you have at least one free hand, turns out to be nothing more than a former all singing, all dancing, would happily punch repeatedly in the face, jumper wearing, Mickey Mouse Club super brat?

We’re talking about YOU Ryan ‘I’m now highly respected and will sleep with everyone’ Gosling.

Yes, self harmingly bland Justin Timberlake went on the Ellen Show and ruined any credibility that Ryan Gosling ever had by announcing that not only were they both made in the evil Disney factory but that they even shared a house together aged 11, making us wish we were dead.

Timberlake gushed:

‘Funnily enough, his mother had to keep her job in Canada the second year that we were on the television show and my mom was like his guardian for six months.”

‘So we actually lived together at that age. So we were probably a little closer than the rest of the kids on that show were just because we had to share a bathroom.’

He didn’t shut up there. There was still a shred of Ryan’s dignity left.

‘We used to do terrible things. Looking back on them they weren’t as bad as I thought they were at the time. We thought we were so cool when we were on the Mickey Mouse Club.’

Well you weren’t. Not even a little bit. Shh.

So what did they do that was so bad? Snort lines off bald hookers? Set fire to Britney Spears? Oh no, it was worse.

‘We stole a golf cart. We were like “Yeah man we stole a golf cart. You know what it’s like on a back lot- there are golf carts everywhere.”‘

‘We drove into MGM studios which is totally illegal by the way.’

Finally, Timberlake hammered the final nail in Gosling’s coffin by revealing that the pair used to speak to each other in a version of hilarious faux gangster speak. According to Justin. Not us.

‘I was like, ‘What do you want to do thug?’ and he was like ‘I don’t know cus,’ because that’s definitely how we talked.’

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN????

‘I said ‘I don’t know man. I’m in the mood for some vanilla and he was like ‘I’m in the mood for some chocolate.’ So then we went and got milkshakes.’

That’s not ‘hilarious’,  it’s disturbingly lame.

BUT NOT AS LAME AS THIS VIDEO!!!

Shame on you Gosling.

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Right. RIGHT. So, the X Factor is still on.

Here are the opening titles. Here’s Dermot O Leary’s voice hurriedly aired in from Skype. It’s time to face the music. No, not time to face the music and dance. You are mistaken. Just time to face the music.  Just maintain eye contact with the music until you start feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed and just want to go home.

Look, there’s an X Factor helicopter. Okay, so let’s talk about X Factor helicopters.

X Factor helicopters. Here at Hecklerspray, we absolutely arse-rape X Factor helicopters.   There is literally no object in the universe that carries quite as much purpose as an X Factor branded helicopter gliding merrily over an open field system to an indeterminate location. X Factor helicopters. Just a really good idea.

Now, although the X Factor has always been achingly spontaneous and a bit like The Lady from Shanghai but with more Kelly Clarkson covers, it is still important to maintain the televisual rules of basic continuity, so we are treated to a conglomeration of young people with hairstyles and shirts and skin informing us that they will literally commit actual suicide if they don’t win the X Factor in the next five minutes because the prospect of not-winning makes them genuinely physically ill.

One young woman professes that when she thinks about not being a singer, her heart beats really fast, which is actually quite lovely and inspirational. Or Type 2 Diabetes.

Most Successful Person To Come Out of Manchester From Cheshire Gary Barlow has now regretfully downgraded his upbringing as simply being from the slightly more ambiguous ‘North West’ so he can champion the talent of Liverpool in this episode instead. God, it’s like Sophie’s Choice, but instead of a gassed rejected child, it’s a Merseytravel rail card.

So, as this is a double bill X Factor weekend – some pretty fucking special juju is most certainly going to go forth, wouldn’t you say? You couldn’t be more utterly right if you tried. It’s Tulisa’s birthday. How do we know? Because we care. Louis Walsh told us on an escalator.

Queue a whole massive chunk of quality TV about how Tulisa celebrated a birthday about three months ago, which is the most deserved celebration of someone’s life on television since ‘Living Lohan’. This sequence of Tulisa pretending to be happy goes on for about twenty years, which coincidently is the same amount of time it takes for Asbestos to embed into the typical human lung, which are obviously two radically different incidents, but still probably worth pointing out.

This is getting a little bit silly now. Let’s try a bit of reverse psychology. CAN WE HAVE SOME SINGING NOW PLEASE?

No we may not, apparently. What is available however is the brand new changing room segment of the show – where (we assume) contestants stand in a room holding up hair straighteners, and shoe boots and tampons and for some reason – dancing. Just constant, terrifying, disheartening dancing. It’s a really upsetting thing to try and put into words. How can we put this? We know. Did you ever see that documentary about that heroin addict whose veins were eventually rendered useless to the point he had to start injecting it into his groin? No? Oh. Okay. Have you ever seen Glee? Right. It’s exactly like Glee.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, it’s the first contestant of the show. His name is INEVITABLY Marcus Collins. Marcus coyly divulges to us that he has toned down his hair to a more ‘relaxed colour’ for his audition today, which interestingly enough is much closer to his natural shade anyway. He goes into this matter in further detail, but it’s a pretty sensitive topic to discuss so we don’t really know if we should speak about it so openly. How best to describe it? Right, did you ever see that docu-

Okay, never mind.

Marcus gets up on stage, and selfishly talks about his life aspirations and dreams for a whole 9 SECONDS before remembering to wish Tulisa a happy birthday. Marcus creates a Twitter parallel universe by uttering the not so immortal words: “I’d rather walk into Marks and Spencers than walk past it”, if ‘we know what he means’. We don’t – because that isn’t on any level a popular idiom to slip into conversation in front of 8 million people, let alone poor old Marks and Spencerally challenged Louis Walsh, who stares morosely into the distance, secretly wondering if his off-pink shirt has made any sort of an impact on anybody he’s bumped into that day.

Marcus sings Signed Sealed Delivered, I’m Yours – by Lee Ryan. This is presumably the obnoxious Stevie Wonder cover that everyone tried to ignore. Marcus sings the song with a jaunty spring in his step and at no point does he try and throw the microphone into his other hand and then back into his previous hand and then return the microphone to the original hand to the rhythm of the bass line, which is something that happened on the X Factor once, and it wasn’t very good. Marcus gets through. Kelly Rowland says ‘Marks and Spencers’. We cuddle our own knees.

The editors put their 2005 British Comedy Award to good use in a small segment where a man is forced to strip naked and serve drinks to Tulisa and the judges, whilst Tulisa makes inappropriate comments about how she’d like to spend ‘an hour in her room with him’. Louis giggles, because he suspects Tulisa may be alluding to violent, clammy mutual masturbation.

A man in a wanky hat is up next. He is unemployed, he is called James Micheal, and seems to be trying to give off the impression that he is a real, verified human being regardless. James sings the Adele version of Make me Feel My Love OBVIOUSLY. And when we say ‘sings the Adele version’, I mean properly ties his testicles in a Windsor knot and hits every nuance and modulation that you could ever hope to hit to achieve faux-emotion in a song you lyrically probably don’t give much of a shit about. (Come on – “I could hold you for a MILLION years?” That’s AGES.) Nonetheless, James gets through.

It’s time for the Dermot O Leary wearing a navy blue turtle neck section of the program, which isn’t everyone’s particular FAVOURITE bit, granted – but eventually everyone kind of grows to love it, like when Demi Moore and Bruce Willis had that daughter with the chin that looked like a root vegetable, but kept her anyway.

As is customary with the Dermot O Leary Navy Blue Turtle Neck portion – the next contestant is a middle aged man who ‘goes to the gym’ and has aspirations despite a little thing called LIFE trying to diffuse them on a day to day basis. His name is Graham Bennett, although the catheter hanging out of the ankle of his jean clearly says ‘Paul Weller’, so we’re not trusting anybody. He has the voice of a man who should be deep in conversation with Suggs in a Wetherspoons about how he once voiced a badger on a CBeebies ident.

Sorry, what? Graham professes that the only reason he is auditioning for X Factor is so that he can get off with Sandra Bullock. This is the greatest excuse for auditioning X Factor in the world. He better be good. He better be bloody good, so he can attend to the broken heart of Sandra Bullock as quickly as is fucking possible. Like THAT’S not been looming over our heads on every waking minute of the day. Shit. He isn’t very good. How can one woman endure so much pain?

Turtleneck Hour on the X Factor drags on slowly and bitterly on as A Woman From Dublin performs a song not to the best of her abilities. Louis Walsh makes a big deal about saying no to her, despite HIM BEING FROM DUBLIN HIMSELF! Loveable scouser from Take That Gary Barlow makes the exact same joke. This is followed by a man who wants to be a pop star not being granted the wish of being a pop star, and a black woman not singing exactly the same as Beyonce despite ALL THE ODDS. Meanwhile, Charles Darwin shrugs.

The next segment is Sunday night television at it’s most droll (Unlike Saturday night television which will never quite be able to scrub off the whole ‘Don’t Scare the Hare’ thing) – as every single X Factor contestant spontaneously loses their confidence and can’t sing properly, one after the other in perfect chronological order. Jesus, fucking Disney – isn’t this incredibly unlucky? This low self esteem bonanza drags on about as long as talking to someone subtly alluding to the fact they have low self esteem.

Ie: ALL OF THE YEARS IN EXISTENCE. The dramatic crescendo of this section is brought to you by ‘Jonjo Kerr’ (Which is pretty much the exact phonetic spelling of how Hecklerspray writers project feelings of lust on to the opposite sex) Jonjo is an Infantry soldier (IMPORTANT JOBS ARE IMPORTANT) and has successfully inseminated his wife with a child much to the gormless delight of Kelly, who is increasingly striking us as the sort of person who’d joyfully contract dementia if she ever got hold of the ‘Woohoo’ feature on any Sims PC game.

Quick run-through of the really boring event that happens next: Jonjo sings a Rod Stewart song, and messes it up. The judges remind Jonjo that he is a soldier and has a foetus developing in his wife, so obviously has to sing well, because if the past 3 years of horrific Mariah Carey cover singles are anything to go by – the X Factor really love soldiers, presumably because they are big and strong and good at fighting lots. JUST like Frank Sinatra.

So, Jonjo sings the song again, sings it exactly as terribly as the first time, and gets through because he is a soldier and has a foetus developing in his wife. The whole point of ending on Jonjo of course is to display the Aesop-esque moral that sometimes people get nervous, and that’s totally okay. But you won’t get through to the second stage of X Factor unless you’ve had a certain degree of lead pumped into your internal organs at some point.

And with that, we close on the final contestant, Amelia Lily. Let’s just wind things up really swiftly, because there is nothing more to say about Amelia other than the following three things.

• It’s just Pixie Lott, isn’t it. What’s the point in attempting to make a joke. She’s a girl that looks like Pixie Lott, and is going to get rewarded for this.
• Her name sounds like a character that would talk to a badger on a CBeebies Ident.
• If you missed Amelia’s audition and have simultaneously forgotten what rock music is: Hopefully this handy video will kill two birds with one stone.

Next week is another double bill. We’re not even fucking joking.

PS: Hey – did anyone see Antony Costa’s brother audition on Xtra Factor the other week? No, us neither. But still…  what a horrifically discouraging piece of information.

Do you know who Jo Calderone is? No. Well it’s Lady Gaga in men’s underpants. Okay? And when GaGa dons some skiddy briefs, drops the ‘s’ from ‘she’, all kinds of mischief can be had, including trying to molest Britney Spears who still has the look of a mental ward about her.

Great scenes, especially given that Jo Calderone is an anagram of ‘Cajole Drone’ – the only sensible suggestion we’ve got for an analogy concerning this pair mating (or ‘Re: Jade Colon’).

Calderone presented Britney Spears with the Michael Jackson Video Vanguard award (no idea what that means) and tried to dry-hump the awardee on-stage before nipping off to the men’s toilets do urinate everywhere that isn’t the urinal itself. That’s impressive staying in character.

Spears said of the Calderone encounter:

“We got onstage and felt it out.”

So that’s what it’s called these days. Oddly enough, Spears told the crowd that she resisted Calderone because she didn’t want to upset Gaga.

Kissing Madonna is fine though, apparently.

And where was GaGa?

Calderone says:

“She’s really fucking pissed at me. Gaga said ‘Fuck you,’ she said, ‘If you really love me you’ll go instead of me and get in that spotlight.’ So I did.”

He added, talking about humping Britters:

“She’s fucking hot, Britney. Gaga’s my girl, but Britney’s fucking Britney Spears. Didn’t you jerk off to Britney when you were a kid?”

We have absolutely no idea what’s going on, but we think we kinda like it.

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Remember Britney Spears bending over whilst sporting nothing but a short nightie, showing her meat to a security guard? Remember? She also sent him naked pictures of herself? Honestly. A security guard who worked for her said it, so it must be true.

That’s because, as Kevin Costner showed us, security guards are just about the only people you can really trust on this awful planet.

Britney’s old guard is so trustworthy that he’s been telling us all about Dirty Spears. She’s a bad apple. She pestered him for sex when he was just trying to do an honest day’s work. And there she was, flashing her stinking undercarriage at him and reeking like an ashtray. You think we’re making this up? Read on for the undeniable proof.

See, this man, who it is fair to say we can trust implicitly, has spoken about Britney more.

New court papers filed by Fernando Flores claim that Britney has poor personal hygiene as well as repeatedly hitting on him. The poor thing.

He stated:

“The sexual advances were unwanted for a variety of reasons. Spears had obnoxious habits, such as chain-smoking – making her smell continually of stale tobacco.

“She broke wind or picked her nose unselfconsciously and unapologetically and she was constantly and gratuitously loud and profane. She did not bathe for days, did not use deodorant, did not brush her teeth, did not fix her hair, did not wear shoes or socks.”

The filthy git! Although, in fairness, this could be a description of just about any of you readers.

And while Flores, who is seeking £6m in damages, may well be utterly trustworthy, it does seem like he’s the wettest security guard in the universe.

If he’s ‘suffered from depression, insomnia and anxiety whilst working for the singer’, mainly because of some nasty teeth, the odd bogey and fart, then what is he going to do when faced with a mad gunman?

Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s the battle we’ve all been waiting for! BO versus cowardice!

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You may think of Britney Spears as some kind of pop-star who made a handful of decent records (backed by astonishing, saccharine dross), but really, she’s a wedding machine. She’s in danger of being remembered like Liz Taylor – Mad as a hatter and a loft filled with wedding dresses.

That’s right! Ol’ Britters is getting married again, meaning that she possibly doesn’t take the whole wedding vows thing seriously at all (which should be applauded really – what a stupid, stupid institution marriage is) or, she really can’t get enough of the marzipan in wedding cake (it just doesn’t taste right on its own, obviously).

So now we approach wedding number three (and of course, imminent divorce number three), we can coo about her plans and try and figure out who it is she’s actually going with at the moment because we don’t recall anyone being mentioned outside of lawsuits and sexual harassment cases.

The last husband Spears had was the now very fat Kevin Federline who she had two children with called Sean Preston and Jayden James with.

However, that all went wrong and will be forever remembered by That Video which showcased a Britney quite clearly out of her box where she burped her way through a garbled missive about the possibility of time-travel and such…

…or alternatively, she was putting it on and the ‘leaked’ video did exactly what it was supposed to do and get Spears a lot of attention, cost-free.

Anyway, Britney is now engaged to someone called Jason Trawick who proposed to the singer by writing the pop star a romantic poem.

After filling the ground floor of the couple’s mansion with roses and candles, Jason reportedly presented Britney with a flower-shaped diamond ring, and said:

“There once was a singer called Spears

Who dances like a newborn steer

She showed her holes

To security proles

But I’d still like to marry you, dear”

So thrilled was Britney that she said yes, probably cried, then asked her family if she was allowed to get married because no-one trusts her to look after herself anymore, and promptly went about asking Jason to impregnate her as soon as possible.

A source says:

‘Britney is desperate to settle down again and have more children. But she is very traditional and didn’t want to start a family with Jason until they’d tie the knot.’

We can only hope that, for the sake of our collective amusement, this wedding lasts about as long as Britney’s first marriage to childhood friend Jason Alexander, which lasted an impressive 55 hours after a Vegas ceremony in 2004.

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Anyone who saw Rihanna and Britney Spears’ performance of ‘S&M’ on the Billboard awards will surely agree that it was one of the most tedious examples of sexuality ever aired on television. Both singers vaguely gyrated in their bondage-lite gear while going through the motions.

It was roughly as sexy as a sock drawer. Sock fetishes need not apply to that analogy, although we do welcome readers to laugh at the world ‘anal’ in ‘analogy’ because we’re incredibly childish.

However, despite making millions limp, there’s a group of parents (aka ‘scumbags’) who are apoplectic with angry arousal at the whole thing. They’re furious that they should feel a twitch in their pants, despite not morally agreeing with what they saw on the stage.

That’s right – some stupid parents group have lambasted Britney Spears and Rihanna’s barely-risque performance a “profanity-laced sex show”.

On paper, a show that features two young women pole-dancing in leather bodices with their hands clamped with handcuffs, sounds kinda raunchy… however, the spectacle itself was more akin to two confused pensioners in a sex shop, trembling with Parkinson’s Disease.

Not that this concerns the Parents Television Council (PTC) who are doing their utmost to make people go on YouTube and watch the performance again, just to see how disgusting it all was.

A statement from PTC President Tim Winter reads:

“The song title alone reeks of the adult entertainment industry and last night’s performance wasn’t far from it. What happened in Vegas should have stayed in Vegas, as the saying goes. It certainly has no place at 8pm on the publicly-owned broadcast airwaves.

“I cannot imagine what would possibly lead the ABC television network to air a profanity-laced, S&M sex show on primetime broadcast television.

“The overtly sexualized performance by Rihanna and Britney Spears was no accident or mishap, but a deliberate effort to target teens with images and lyrics that that glamorize whips, chains and other sexual fetishes.”

Winter presumably bashed that out on his keyboard before running off to the lavatory for a cry-wank, shouting “FORGIVE ME MAMA! FORGIIIIVVVEE MEEEE” at the point of ejaculation. He probably mopped himself up, pulled up his lady’s stockings, admired them briefly in the mirror before concealing them once more under his slacks, before standing in the garden and indulging in flagellation, which is essentially bondage for religious types.

We’re making all this up of course, but you can just imagine what all that pent-up sexual tension can do to a man. That energy has to release itself one way or another.

Meanwhile, all the teens he’s so worried about briefly looked up from their computers with ten different tabs of porn opened, shrugged at the rendition of S&M and went back to blankly staring at naked humans with all the fervour of a colonel in a coma.

And yes, we advise you laugh at the word ‘colon’ in ‘colonel’ too.

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We’re not American, though plenty of people think we are. Notably, Americans. If you hadn’t noticed, America is very different to the UK. Our portion sizes are smaller, we don’t pointlessly wander around with firearms and we have a healthcare system that kind of works.

Despite being a nation that loves a good war, America doesn’t approve of naked flesh being shown on TV. From what we gather, American parents want their children to believe in the magic of Mickey Mouse and the tooth fairy until they turn forty.

Once again, American networks recoiled in horror as Rihanna and Britney Spears – two performers known for not being overly liberal, decided to have a friendly kiss at the country music awards, otherwise known as the Billboard Music Award Show.

It seems to be a reoccurring nightmare for broadcasters in America when dealing with live performances and artists who aren’t exactly prudish.

Rihanna recently told us all that she likes to indulge in S&M whilst Britney Spears has a glittering CV full of crazy, confusing and weird moments. Spears herself has already indulged in some faux lesbianism when she appeared at an MTV awards ceremony with Christina Aquilera and grandma in disguise, Madonna in 2003. The kiss might have been a brief peck on the lips, but this was enough to rally up all parental groups in America. All because they believed that their precious daughters would turn into raging lesbians and lock lips with anyone of the same gender who saw the three seconds of footage.

This initial incident feathers to fly across America with pressure on networks to be more careful on what content was broadcast during live shows. However, nothing could prepare us for what happened a year later when Janet Jackson made an appearance at the Super Bowl.

Supposedly, there was a “wardrobe malfunction” and this caused one of Janet Jacksons baps to be left on display. Fans of American Football probably loved seeing her boob, though this once again upset more people who presumably are afraid of looking at their own naked body. Perhaps they expected more from Janet Jackson, not just in terms of exposing herself but from what they saw. Maybe the nose of Michael Jackson covering her nipple? We’d have been impressed.

Risk free for a couple years, Americans could tuck into their cheeseburgers, knowing that evil things such as nudity and homosexuality were banned from TV. This was of course until the Billboard awards the other night. Like every other generic ceremony, the winners didn’t come as a surprise, but nobody realised that more rubbish lesbianism was about to unfold! During a revamped version of Rihanna’s S&M track, she and Britney Spears got millions of blokes excited by donning outfits that suited the songs title and ending it with a kiss. Americans would want us to believe it was a full on snog with tongues, but it was a smooch on the cheek.

That’s right. TV hastily looked away while someone pecked someone of the same sex on the cheek. It’s a good thing Americans don’t have to film in Europe where a peck on the cheek is as common as a handshake, or shows would be filled with little more than cutaway shots of nothing.

Proving that America is still a very hung-up nation, they were more than happy to show pop runt Justin Bieber giving girlfriend Selena Gomez a kiss when he won an award for being the best singing toddler. Something tells us that if he was called Justine Bieber, another crowd shot would have greeted viewers.

Silly America.

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What do we think about Amanda Holden? Not a great deal to be honest – she’s just sort of ‘there’. Although it is difficult to look at her without remembering that she used to have regular sex with chicken enthusiast Les Dennis which is, frankly, horrible.

The fact that she also let Neil Morrissey push his winky into her foo-foo is also deeply harrowing to us. Although we suspect not as upsetting as it was to Les, who was still married to her at the time and probably still thinks about it as he sits in his damp-ridden bedsit eating cold baked beans straight from the tin before spending his evenings with a brown paper bag on his head weeping and masturbating.

Anyway.

She has landed herself a job on what we assume is the ironically-titled Britain’s Got Talent due to her extensive experience of, well, just being around and that.

And on said job, some contestant – a Britney Spears looky-likey with her ‘twins’ on display due to an ill-judged transparent body stocking – named Lorna Bliss (we’re still trying to verify the surname) gave Amanda ‘No We Shouldn’t, I’m Married’ Holden a great big lesbian snog on her nose this Saturday. As a result of the ‘lip-plumper’ Bliss (no confirmation as yet) was wearing, Holden’s conk swelled-up like Neil Morrissey’s penis and filming had to be halted, according to reports.

At least, that is Amanda ‘Those Vows Mean Something’ Holden’s take on events. Remember all those pap shots of her atrocious squid’s anus of a mouth after she “didn’t” have collagen implants last year? That she attributed to bad lighting?

Yeah. We’re saying nowt. Her swollen conk was as a result of a lip-gloss laden lesbian fake-Britney Spears kiss. No problem.

Still no confirmation on the veracity of the surname of Lorna Bliss, who sounds like she should be ‘working the tables’ at your local Madame Choo-Choos, but – according to her website – Eamonn Holmes is quite the fan.

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Lindsay Lohan will probably receive no real punishment for allegedly stealing a $2,500 necklace – even though there were multiple witnesses and there’s surveillance video of the entire thing. Instead of going to prison on a theft charge, she’s going to be the first official visitor of the Britney Spears Prison Of Awesome ™.

We’re a little bitter, if we’re honest. We spent all last week, in shifts, trying desperately to get arrested for something. Anything. We even held someone’s pet gerbil for ransom. Yet, nothing.

We’re bloody free and have to suffer the indignity of peeing in a toilet rather than a hole in the floor in front of two dozen other people. In case you’re wondering where that sobbing is coming from, yes, that’s us.

After learning last week that train wrecks got to be prisoners of their enormous homes, we were determined to join them behind bars. Not a real bars, mind you. Because celebrities don’t usually go to real prison. Not even if they’ve offed someone. No, instead it’s some kind of glorified house arrest situation taking place in a Californian McMansion.

Whee!

It’s being reported that Lindsay’s only going to be serving 14 days or less of an 84 sentence – 84 already being reduced from 120. Sheesh.

In a case that’s going to be heard live Wednesday morning in Los Angeles, Lindsay will plead no contest to her reduced misdemeanor charges. After which she’s probably going to be tagged for a fortnight while she relaxes at her house.

Lindsay will not have to serve more than the 120-day sentence for the probation violation. L..A. County Spokesperson Steve Whitmore tells TMZ, based on what the Department has done in the past, Lindsay may not get the credit jail inmates get based on overcrowding. Short story, for a 120-day sentence, without giving Lindsay the overcrowding credit, she’d have to serve roughly 84 days. Lindsay would still get her 36 days credit for good time, but that means she couldn’t leave her home for 84 days.

So Wednesday, after Lindsay pleads no contest to misdemeanor theft, it’s likely she’ll end up with electronic monitoring at home, and she’s at the beach fercryinoutloud!

The beach? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WON’T SOMEONE ARREST US?!

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

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Britney Spears has been called a lot of things in her time. Oh yes, insults ranging from ‘tuneless’ and ‘ fruiter’ to ‘baldy’ have been hurled in her direction over the years and no-one really cared to set the record straight as they were all probably pretty spot on.

However, one recent slur, cruelly branding Britney a ‘corporate puppet’ has outraged songwriter Savan Kotecha so much he opened his mouth and said something which sounded exactly like this:

“No.  I think these big artists don’t get where they are unless them and their team are running the show. Simple as that”. Is it? IS IT???

We don’t think so and to be honest we don’t trust anyone who’s written hits for Geri Halliwell and Westlife that didn’t include subliminal messages to make them mysteriously vanish off the face of the earth.

An insider from, presumably, ‘the inside’ said:

“From what I saw, she does nothing more than lend her name as celebrity to the production.  That’s all she seems either willing or able to contribute…Britney’s job is basically to follow other people’s instructions.”

“When Britney gets home, she does not appear to have much interest in music. The whole time I was with her, she would spend most of her free time doing nothing but watching  TV and smoking cigarettes. “

So she’d fit in tremendously well at the hecklerspray bedsit then.

We’re positive that anyone made from Uncle Walt’s  jam at a Disney factory, then ‘convinced’ to dance around as a schoolgirl in front of millions of one handed viewers, before kissing Madonna, shaving her head and going effing mental with a baseball bat is completely in control of their own destiny.

Probably.

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Britney Spears is a prisoner in her own home. Haven’t you heard? The enormous mansions she owns in California and Louisiana are basically ‘prisons’. Really large prisons where the chairs still have padding.

While we go and pick the neighbourhood locks in hopes of being thrown into A Britney Spears Prison of Awesome, you may like to know the latest on the singer. She’s being controlled by the people around her, according to the latest reports out of America.

She’s watched, monitored, followed, and still has to ask to spend her own money. Her calls are screened and she probably has to ask before she wees too. In Touch Magazine in the U.S. alleges that Britney is under a literal lock-down. She has to ask before spending time with other adults. And she basically interacts with no one outside her team.

The magazine alleges that conditions for Britney have worsened, since the 2006 meltdown where she spent the year alternating between coffee breaks and squatting for excitable paparazzi (yes, that pretty much happened).

The singer is under conservatorship, with little-to-no chance of it being lifted in the near future. In fact, it’s alleged she’s un-insurable without being under the thumb of her management – the same team working her until she’s dead behind the eyes and lethargically wheezing around stage.

Because it’s more important to milk the cash cow than give it a tea break, Britney’s going to be asking her father for pocket money right into her 40s at this rate.

InTouch Weekly print edition reports (via Celebitchy)

Three years after the meltdown that landed her in a mental health facility, Britney lives like a prisoner in her own home, with virtually every aspect of her life under the control of her father/conservator, Jamie Spears.

“She isn’t allowed to have a cell phone, and she’s not allowed to take incoming calls to her home unless security screens them first,” reveals an insider. “If she wants to make outgoing calls, security has to dial the numbers for her. She still has an allowance, and if she wants extra cash, she must submit a formal request…

Allowed contact with few people other than Jamie, her sons Jayden, 4, and Sean, 5, and her boyfriend, talent agent Jason Trawick – with whom she frequently fights – the onetime party girl is “incredibly lonely,” says the insider.

She has no privacy and yet at the same time, she has no time to herself. “Most people don’t know this, but Britney has a sober companion who is with her constantly, whenever Jason isn’t,” shares another close source. “The companion follows her everywhere she goes – even to the bathroom in restaurants or other public places – to ensure there’s no way anyone can slip her drugs.”

We’re done picking those locks, but the police are nowhere to be found. Slackers. While we pinch sweets from the local Tesco, would someone mind dialing 999 so we can bloody get thrown in one of these giant, luxury prisons already?

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

Rihanna is no longer a mere popstar. By design, she’s become pop-culture’s newest Bettie Page. By flirting with a sado-mas0chistic image and talking about spanking all the time, she’s become the poster girl for those too shy to actually ever try it out in the bedroom themselves.

As such, this has seen spectacular idiots equating consensual slap and tickle with its safe words and boundaries to Chris Brown being dead-on for banjoing her in the face with his incredibly bony knuckles.

But let us not think about Chris Brown and his long, thin member. Instead, fill your mind with the thought of Rihanna spanking Britney Spears’ wobbly posterior.

Of course, whenever a popstar saying something vaguely sexual, there’s a section of people who can barely contain their glee at the notion, adding 2+2 and getting They Are Definitely Going To Do The Sexy Thing They Talked About.

However, the wise-money is on the fact that, when a popstar alludes to saucy activities, it is actually more akin to the girl in the schoolyard who uses her looks to wrap people round their little fingers, hinting at untold filth while getting everyone to scurry around them and pander to their every whim.

We should know. We’ve pander to dead-eyed people’s whims and got nowhere, apart from an endless pool of tar-coloured resentment which we can summon at a moment’s notice.

Anyway, where has all this talk of spanking come from? Well, Rihanna asked Britney to collaborate with her, expecting her to say no.

“It’s very strange. Britney never does features. It was really amazing that she really wanted to be part of this song.

“She really liked the song to begin with, but it was a different story when she had to sing it, and she really wanted to be a part of it. It made it really, really special, because you never see two pop female artists doing songs together anymore.”

So far, so not particularly interesting. The thing is, this new version of S&M will need a video and RiRi really wants to shoot a sexual promotional vid for it with Spears. She added:

“I want to spank Britney.”

In fairness, Britney has the look of a haunted shed at the moment, so she might just agree to anything Rihanna says. We suggests that she goes further and makes the most explicit video ever made, just for the craic.

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Of late, pop music seems to have left Britney Spears behind. She’s looking slow, old and lacking in the vitality that once made her so much fun to have around. A string of disastrous romances, leaked druggy-looking videos and court cases have left Britney wobbling around with the grace of a mop bucket.

And so, even though her last two singles have been pretty decent dancefloor fodder, there’s still that magic missing from previous years.

So, to make her tour fun, vital and action packed, she’s reportedly hiring Nicki Minaj to be her opening act, which should liven things up before Spears appears on-stage looking like a tired boxer.

Apparently, a deal was signed several days ago and Britney is thrilled, because it means that her fans will be able to see some dance moves in what was promising to be a routineless tour.

Fans should be chuffed too because the other rumoured support act was the insipid Enrique Iglasias, who is about as much fun as finding a spent condom in your pocket. We suspect his tender little ego couldn’t handle opening for Spears anyway.

Minaj is on tour with Lil Wayne, which is all well and good, but gigging with Britney could see her propelled into genuine superstardom… provided of course, she actually makes some records that are as weird and fun as Minaj’s persona promises (she’s been a little too tame for our liking thus far).

The tour kicks off June 17 in Sacramento, which is a fun word to say.

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