Chris Brown. What’s he going to be remembered for? Selling a load of lousy records? His pastel coloured blazers? Of course not. He’ll forever be remembered as the man that punched ten-shades out of Rihanna.

As yet, Breezy has failed to say anything approaching ‘sorry’ for the attack and, indeed, preferred to ‘forgive his enemies’ who keep bringing it up, like its our fault he thwacked his bony knuckles against RiRi’s skull repeatedly.

And thanks to him failing to show any kind of remorse, he’s been told that he must remain on probation. That’s not stopped the Grammies from booking him though. We can only hope for another ‘shirt-off, chair through a window’ episode, eh?

A judge in LA said that Brown should continue to report to an official in Virginia. If his actions are no longer criminal, his awful, awful records are worthy of official investigation all the same.

Despite the fact that Brown was sentenced to 180 hours community service and five years probation, which has been extended, he’ll still be appearing at this weekend’s Grammy show in LA… ALONGSIDE RIHANNA!

Hurray!

This has come about after a judge relaxed the restraining order that banned Brown from contacting Rihanna or getting within 10 yards of her. Basically, the judge wanted to ensure that Rihanna was just out of arm’s reach.

Rumours abound that Brown and Rihanna are something of an item again, which with any luck, will be career suicide for the pair of them. Seriously. We’re sick of the sight of either of them to be perfectly frank. However, such is the blind devotion of Team Breezy (that’s the self-appointed collective name for those ditheringly stupid enough to call themselves fans of ol’ Fisty McPunchy), it looks like he’s going to hang around a good while yet.

Also performing at this year’s Grammys are Paul McCartney, Adele, Nicki Minaj, Bruno Mars, Katy Perry, Coldplay, Foo Fighters and Taylor Swift.

Jesus wept.

Fresh from its victorious sinking of the Tumblr Trawler, Webthump is here to receive your adulation!

Well, not quite.  We’ve donned our fisherman’s waders to have a carcinogenic  rummage  in the foetid, elbow-deep cesspool that is the Internet.  All to bring you something to gawp at while fondling your shriveled genitals.  We could have been doing something useful with our time, like whittling voodoo dolls of Russell ‘new relationship’ Brand from old lolly sticks.

From the congealed masses of pornography and dead Myspace pages we’ve managed to dredge up a few sparkling gems of entertainment.  We’ve brought you 10 of the best, worst and weirdest that mankind’s collective intelligence can vomit up.

10. Remember childhood?  Unless you’ve repressed all memory it should be a golden hued, nostalgia filled delusion of possibilities and innocence.  Anything was possible, remember?  You were going to be a secret agent astronaut who had an infinite supply of pogs.  It’s all been a downward spiral of disappointment ending in erectile dysfunction and rubber pants from there.  If only you’d learnt to go out and grab what you want.  If only you weren’t afraid of breaking the rules.  If only you were Noah Jeffrey, a 3 year old so who said “bum-bum-poohead” to a life of dejection and scheduled nap times.  He’s so cool, we’d eat the dried, crusty snot from his top lip.

9. Bollocks.  Arty Bollocks to be precise.  This site serves no real purpose whatsoever. You click a button and it spouts some overblown shite about ‘consumerist fetishism’ and ‘constructed dialogues’.  It’s the sort of long worded drivel spouted in those ‘tastefully tatty’ bars full of tight trousered twats with ‘ironically terrible’ hair. We tried applying it to hecklerspray.  Apparently we’re an “undefined phenomena become undefined through undefined and critical practice, the viewer is left with a glimpse of the limits of our era.”  What the hell does that even mean?

8. More bollocks. Utter, total gonads.  Big, hairy surreal ones at that. Illogicopedia is fascinatingly bizarre, stocked to the gills with nonsensical babble and outrageous drivel.  Built on the same lines as Wikipedia, only twice as entertaining and infinitely less useful.  There is not a single true statement hiding anywhere in the vast mire of twaddle that is Illogicopedia, which make is hilariously entertaining for about 10 minutes.  William Shatner‘s entry is worth a look.

7. This is just rotten stuff.  But we can’t stop reading it.  Tucker Max is an asshole.  The introduction to his website is “Hi, I’m Tucker Max and I am an asshole.”  He really is a terrible human being, we want to be him.  He’s rich, smart and gets laid.  A lot.  The website is a chronicle of the worst things Max has done in his 20-something years.  Most of them involve models and are told with lines such as…  Sorry, we’ve been searching the site for an hour and there isn’t a single quote we can put on even our sullied pages.  The trailer from an upcoming Tucker Max Movie might give you an idea what we mean.

6.  Another self-proclaimed sphincter here.  But this one is amusing rather than compulsively repulsive.  Emails from an Asshole pretty much does as it says.  Any chance to send irritating emails to someone is seized upon with impish glee and some poor sucker’s day is guaranteed to get worse.  It’s spawned an old fashioned paper compendium that’s probably done the rounds.  But who wants to read something you have to touch with you hands? What is this, 1993? Check out the archives for a few hours of amusement and in this case, kitten mangling horror.

5.  If that’s not enough time wasting archive dwelling for you, try B3ta.com.  This forum has been going since 5 minutes before the big bang and is populated with some of the best bad ideas we’ve ever seen.  The site is totally devoted to the sharing of ideas for products that is describes as “completely fucking useless shit”.  With the likes of the Salmon Cannon, “firing your salmon has never been easier” and Dr Glomp’s Turd Polish we can’t really argue.

4.  Enough time wasting for you? Fancy doing something constructive? Darksites.com tore themselves away from animated vampire girls for long enough to help you take over the world.  The Evil Guide Plan helps those of a world dominating but indecisive nature to plot their rise to power.  Simply enter your desired goals and preferred methods and the Evil Guide Plan breaks it all down into 3 easy steps with fashion advice an agreeable ego stroking.

3.  Lego men are always smiling.  What have the got to look so smug about?  They don’t even had elbows or knees and yet they grin at you with their cylindrical heads with an unsettling superiority.  We hate Lego men with such a passion we can forgive these boys for being Canadian after what they did to this happy yellow chappy.

2. We’ve all dreamt of having sex with a robot we built in our parent’s garage.  Good news! It can be done.  Thanks to a guy called Zoltan you can now hump a creepy fembot to your lonely heart’s content.  Which is a sentence we’ve been dying to write since we got our Journalism degree.  There’s many an article been penned about Zoltan and his android humping ways.  The best is an in-depth account of science meeting heartbreak and Zoltan’s technical genius being unleashed “with a doll and some hacked teledildonics”.  There’s another line we wished we’d written.  The worst article out there is not worth reprinting but is titled “A Motherfucking Robot I Tells Ya.”

1. Now, this video is hosted on a Christian video sharing site.  We are aware of the irony of us mentioning it on our pages.  Especially in an article that condones using children as pint sized agents of crime and sex with robots. Even with our heretical ways this clip came close to melting our cynical exteriors.  These guys are 90, they don’t have long left.  The Reaper’s grasping at their shirt collars, ready to yank them into the hereafter.   But not before they’ve had a jolly good sing-song.  Watch it, grin despite yourself and then wonder how much urine was spilled during the performance.

Webthump utilises a team of 10,000 trained chimpanzees to enter random searches into Google.  After sifting through millions of banana related results we are left with 10 items worth publishing.  If you wish to join our team of chimps drop suggestions on our Facebook page or message us on Twitter.

Do you have a dog? Word to the wise – no-one actually cares. It’s your stupid, gristle-munching crap-factory and no-one else wants to deal with it outside of occasional petting of it when we have to visit your fur covered home that smells like dog’s teeth.

That’s because dogs are stupid. They’re impressively stupid. They walk into things, frighten themselves when flatulent and will forever be fooled by someone pretending to throw a ball for them. Dogs, in short, are idiots.

With that, someone ought to tell Eva Mendes who is ten shades of thrilled that she talks to her dog in French and is bowled over that it knows what she’s on about. Or rather, it has no idea.

Talking to those bright folks at Marie Claire about a stupid hound, Mendes says:

“It sounds so pretentious, but he learned his commands in French.”

Are we’re supposed to coo and whoop because, as well you know, when a celebrity has a dog, we have to care like they’ve had a baby (which we also don’t care about).

Se, Mendes brought a Belgian Malinois and called it Hugo. That doesn’t matter though. She could’ve called it ‘Bestiality’ or ‘Spadooey’ or a low guttural howl, and it would’ve eventually answered to it. Either way, Hugo was apparently ”rather intimidating”, yet, instantly obeyed Mendes’s orders for him to lie down or ‘act stupid’.

This awful, wretched beast has also bought her dog a beeper-controlled behavior-modification collar, whatever that means.

And so, Hugo talks French, mainly because Mendes talks French at it. You could grab a puppy and shout ‘testicles’ at it while presenting its lead and, HEY PRESTO! It will be under the impression that the medical word for balls means it will be going for a walk.

You could shout “Sie lassen mich sich erbrechen wünschen!” at a dog while pointing at the cupboard where you keep the food, and lo! It will think that the unpleasant German phrase means its dinnertime!

In short – people who talk about dogs should be punched up the arse. Forever.

He’s got creepy beady eyes and the skin tone of a bad waxwork model.  And the expressive acting of a bad wax work model.  And always seems to be standing awkwardly… like a bad wax work model.

Robert Pattinson, human or wax work, is mind bogglingly famous, the sort of famous that makes teenage girls soil themselves in excited glee at the sound of his name.  Which is odd for someone so incredibly dull.

Showing himself to be surprisingly aware of the world outside of his corner Madame Tussauds Pattinson has made the least shocking revelation ever to make headlines.  The statement also runs the risk of bursting his own fame bubble as his fans realise just how unremarkable he his.  Unremarkable and likely to melt in hot conditions.

The quote which may be the most misguided statment since the mayor of Hiroshima said “it’s only one plane, how much damage can it do?” Pattinson is reported to have announced to the world;

“Doing something like Twilight opens doors and it closes others. You can say, ‘Oh if I was still unknown, then no one would judge me.’ But at the same time, nobody would give a shit either.”

Which is very, very true Mr Pattinson. We do judge you, to be rather uninteresting and impossibly pale for someone made of meat.

You only get that passing glimmer of attention because you were That Guy In Twilight.  And weren’t you shagging That Lass From Twilight?

You still are, but you’re keeping it secret from the world?  To appear more interesting?  Good luck with that.

See, Pattinson is half right.  We don’t really care that much. We give less of a shit, more of a skidmark.

Iggy Pop impersonator Jennifer Aniston has gone on record to pooh-pooh the constant merry-go-round of slack-jawed speculation about her six-year-dead marriage to professional handsomeness salesman Brad Pitt, and her supposed feud with terrifying hose beast Angelina Jolie.

When Instyle US magazine asked Jennifer which misconception about her she finds most irritating, they were probably expecting her to come out with a light hearted quip about “people think I’m really like Rachel from Friends LOL I’m still milking that dry dry udder!”

However, she actually went on a sort of rambly rant about her divorce.

Aniston said of her annoyance:

“Which one? There are so many. I would say the triangle with my ex-husband – and that there’s a feud there. It’s constant. It’s a story headline that won’t go away, but it’s a money thing – (people make money off) a story that has nothing to do with reality.”

As if to prove something, she then waffled interminably about her new lover, Justin cousin-of-Louis Theroux, just long enough that the interviewers didn’t notice the delicious irony in her flagrant perpetuation of the very misconception she professes to despise.

But we’re onto you, Aniston. We’re onto you because we are serious investigative journalists with a keen nose for delicious irony.

We suppose, though, in a way, we kind of sympathise. Lots of people think we are locked in a steamy love triangle with two Hollywood stars, when actually we haven’t felt the warm touch of another human hand for ages, so the jokes on them.

Losers.

This was a guest post by Becca Day-Preston who in fact, is fighting them off with a large, shitty stick

Another week, another loosely adhered to theme for Dancing on Ice. This week the theme was “Pop”, although really it should’ve been “Katarina Disagrees”. But that wouldn’t have fitted in so well with One Direction’s appearance, so pop it was.

Some teenage boys with suits and sideways hair weren’t going to stop Katarina, though. She has monumental cleavage AND Olympic medals. Nothing’s getting in her way.

Not even fellow Olympian Chemmy Alcott, who Katarina infamously called “big” a few weeks back, before begging her not to ever do any lifts ever again. Chemmy wasn’t having any of it though, and decided to do a handstand on her partner’s leg. Queen Katarina tried to pretend that she only wanted to keep Chemmy safe for the next Olympics. Nobody believed her.

Unlike Rosemary, who everyone believes all the time, bcause she’s lovely. Which is why the evil overlords of ITV decided that she had to be tipped upside down and spun round in circles until she was nearly sick all over the ice. Katarina loved it and gave her a seven. Everyone else was deeply, deeply indifferent.

As they were when Jennifer Ellison took to the ice. According to her VT, she needed to “go for it”, which is becoming such a recurring theme that we expect it will soon be given its own show. What Jennifer went for this week was some seriously unfortunate hair, supposedly because she was skating to ‘Vogue’. Really, we think the stylist just hates her.

Still, at least Jennifer can take comfort in the fact that the stylist hates Sam more. He was given a very, very dodgy blonde wig and made to skate to Wham. Which was presumably punishment for dropping his partner repeatedly in practice. Or for forcing everyone to see him in bed, as he did at start of his routine. It’s one or the other.

Despite his best efforts to traumatise the entire country, Sam still lost out on his attempt to become “Most Disturbing Person on Dacing on Ice”. Because Chico and Heidi were there.

Heidi skated to the caterwauling wreck that is Jessie J, and decided to pay homage through her wardrobe. Which was a catsuit. With spangles. On the vadge. Again.

Chico said the word “fluidity” and then donned a skin-tight silver t-shirt, leaving the entire country feeling more queasy than Rosemary after her upside-down-vom-spin. Robin told Chico to “keep something for himself”. We assume he meant the t-shirt. Please, please, make Chico keep that t-shirt for himself.

Whilst the midfield were battling their wardrobes, Jorgi and Matt were continuing their ice dance war. Except that it was a bit one-sided this week, because while Jorgi was skating around in a paedophile’s dream of a school uniform and getting top scores, Matt had ruined his back a bit.

Not really ruined, you understand. Just ruined enough to make him miss two days of training and struggle a bit with the sexual assault that is the sit lift. Robin and Louie thought he pulled it off. Katarina, shockingly, disagreed. She gave him 6.5 and a shake of her shoulder pads.

And then she ruined all of her credibility.

It all started when Andy came out and did a weird stomping dance to the Proclaimers. We were expecting Katarina and her bosom to point out that it was an awkward crock of dung, but instead she tried to tell everyone that it was entertaining. The lying bitch.

And she didn’t even try and stop Robin and Louie from throwing endless clichés at Sebastian. Apparently, he is on a journey, and has a lot to offer, and various other inane and predictable things. We were mostly just annoyed with him for trying a strange new jump and not falling over.

Also trying very, very hard not to fall over was Charlene, who was given a fast routine and a Lady Gaga outfit, which she then used to terrify everyone. It turns out that Charlene can do the splits. So she did. In the air. With her ladybits pointing at the camera. It was part of her attempt to ditch her status as the “skate-off queen” and get straight through to next week.

It didn’t work.  At all. Not even a little bit. Because she didn’t just end up in the skate off with Sam, she got booted off the show. So now we know; when middle-aged women flash their lycra-clad bits at you, bad things happen.

Now can someone please tell Madonna?

The Mayans said that the World would end in 2012, December 21st in fact (so don’t be buying any Peacocks gifts vouchers), but those pesky Aztec ripoff neglected to mention that one the signs of the upcoming Apocalypse would be Helena Bonham-Carter not starring in a Tim Burton film.

And here we are, like the nose on your plain face, looking right at the factual evidence that Bonham-Carter is going to be elsewhere when they film ‘Big Eyes.’

Instead of the massively haired weirdo, Burton has picked the insufferable Reese Witherspoon and the equally insufferable but slightly more fanciable, Ryan Reynolds to play the parts of indie artists, Margaret and Walter Keane respectively.

For those who don’t know and can’t be bothered to look on Wikipedia, the Keane’s are responsible for some of the scariest artwork, and surely an inspiration for Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s face. Massive, doe eyed women wearing clown leotards, or lying down next to tigers.

Whether you’ve heard of them or not makes no odds, because we doubt anyone will be going to see this film. There’s no Bonham-Carter in it, is there?!

The film depicts the court case where Margaret disputed the claims her husband, Walter, made about their paintings. Turns out that Maggie had allowed Walter to use his name to sell them but when it came to their divorce, she wanted them back. To prove to a judge that she was the true creator of the scary looking paintings, she knocked one up whereas he cried off claiming that he had a sore shoulder.

Loser.

The whole film sounds dreadful doesn’t it, like it should be Legally Blonde 5: The Peroxide Is Starting To Make My Hair Fall Out.

What’s more important is where will Bonham-Carter be during the filming? Probably stashing weapons grade uranium into her hair and smuggling it out of North Korea. Or continuing her research into antibiotic resistant influenza in the Burt Cave.

Apart from the myriad of famous people, the insane volumes of high quality Class A drugs, the alcoholism, casting couches, gangster dollars, movie productions and deviant sexual tastes, Hollywood is a bit of a snoozefest isn’t it?

NOT NOW!

See, there’s a massive investigation under way in LA after two dogs found a human head in a plastic bag next to the Hollywood sign! And of course, because only celebrities live in Hollywood, everyone who has ever been in a film is now very much a suspect!

The Police (no, not Sting’s group) said two dog walkers with about nine dogs (only in Hollywood, arf!) came across the bag on a trail near the Hollywood sign in the Hollywood Hills yesterday.

Sergeant Mitzi Fierro told KCAL-TV that two dogs began playing with the bag. Then, brilliantly, an object fell out and the dog walkers realised it was a severed head!

Dogs eh? Always messing around with decapitated heads!

Sgt Fierro, who really does have a wonderful, wonderful name, said the bag was visible from the trail and it did not appear to have been in the area for very long. Of course, coroners will attempt to identify the victim through dental records and detectives are expected to search the area today.

Meanwhile, someone else will be hastily battering out a script based on the Head In A Bag and firing out to everyone in Hollywood in the hope that it will become a quality daytime straight-to-TV movie where everyone in the entertainment industry is a suspect!

Of course, anyone who doesn’t put an option on it is obviously guilty as hell! This is a sure-fire winner! Happy pitching writers!

Befanged, alt.lifestyle tourist, Avril Lavigne, long ago decided that being a skatergirl wasn’t for her because acne, greasy hair and ill-fitting jeans wasn’t at all attractive. And so, she promptly went mental, spat at some photographers and became airbrushed.

Losing her raison d’être, she tottered off into some pop-twilight, only getting column inches for her clearly tedious private life.

Things livened up briefly when she got into a bar-room brawl with some women, which left her bozo hunk of a fella – Brody Jenner (how is that not a girl’s name?) – with a bit gash on his face. No, we’re not talking about him fellating Lavigne. Alas, now, she’s got nothing as the pair have decided to wave ta-ta to their relationship.

A source confirms to E! News (the people who did an amazingly lousy job of covering the Golden Globes) that the cod-rocker and Jenner have split, after courting for almost two years.

The funny thing is, is that shortly after this pair got together, they got tattoos of each other’s names on their pale, healthless skin. It’d be fun watching Lavigne trying to bite said branding off with her weird, pointed teeth.

Alas, the only person Avril has in her life now is her stalker. That’s it. There’s not only someone sad enough to stalk a barely famous person, but now, he’s the leading man in her desperate life.

In fairness, this could get really good for us leeches who write about celeb-misery.

See, when Tatu stopped being famous, they paraded around their videos naked and had photoshoots while naked and pregnant. The more desperate they became, the more outlandish their neediness was.

And so, we hope the same for Avril Lavigne. We fully expect to see some kind of leaked nude (she’s been holding that particular top-trump since she first appeared on the pop radar) and potentially some kind of drink-induced nervous breakdown, before finding solace in rehab (America’s confession booth).

Countdown to Avrilageddon starts…

…NOW!

(Just don’t tell her that Taylor Momsen has already beaten her to every attention seeking trick that a supposedly alt.girl can do, okay?)

Only the mysterious hecklerspray phantom bothered reporting on the 69th annual Golden Globe ceremony that took place on Sunday evening. Of course, we were ready to take multiple notes on the ceremony and present you with a factual article about the winners, losers and which actress had slopped gravy down their dress.

However, broadcaster E! decided that viewers in the UK weren’t allowed to watch the actual ceremony. Instead of seeing Ricky Gervais offend Hollywood’s elite, viewers were instead treated to endless repeat of an advert featuring Kim Kardashian getting out a helicopter. If they couldn’t be bothered, then neither could we.

So, we still don’t know what happened at the Golden Globes. Nobody injured themselves from what we gather (shame), but following the ceremony, it looks like a bitchfest has kicked off between Mrs. Elton John and Mr. Madonna. A case of sour grapes after losing out in an awards category? Or a bout of jealousy because Madonna bagged herself the sparkly orphan that they both wanted?

Both Elton John and Madonna were nominated in the “Best Original Song” category at the Golden Globes. Other people probably were also there, but let’s be honest, none of them really had a chance did they?

Elton was hoping that his song Hello Hello would win, though it appeared in the appallingly titled film ‘Gnomeo and Juliet’ and therefore didn’t deserve any shred of credibility. Madonna won the award with her single Masterpiece, a song that appeared in her own film ‘W.E.’ We only assume this is a big screen Hollywood tale of the Nintendo Wii console.

Did Elton John take defeat graciously? Not particularly, instead of doing the mild mannered clapping thing, he decided to sit motionlessly and look like a man with a face resembling a rejected prune who also happens to be wearing a subbuteo football as an earring.

Look at his miserable face in Madonna’s speech around the 1.07 mark:

So how did his man wife David Furnish react? In a calm, controlled and sensible matter? Don’t be stupid, Furnish is only human and he did what we’d all do in a time of sadness and anger; took to Facebook. No doubt he’ll blame the free bar at one of the Golden Globes after parties, but at the time he posted the following status:

“Madonna. Best song???? Fuck off!!!”

Don’t ever go messing with David Furnish, the boy knows how to spout his anger. Check out all of that punctuation. He must mean business. We can only imagine that his fingernails have been sharpened as he prepares to get all up in Madonna’s business and trade insults until he’s ran out of diva quips. Furnish continued his temper tantrum by commenting:

“Madonna winning Best Original Song truly shows how these awards have nothing to do with merit. Her acceptance speech was embarrassing in its narcissism.”

Surely Elton John and David Furnish didn’t think they’d walk this category did they? Oh wait, it looks like someone got a little cocky before the event even started with Elton saying:

“Madonna had “no fucking chance” of beating him in the category.”

Setting a lovely, lovely example to their new child aren’t they?

Mumm-Ra of pop, Madonna, with her face like an elephant’s knee… with her forehead like Bob Hope’s elbow scrag… with a neck like a deflated basketball’s scrotum, has been asked about the secret of her youthful face.

Yes, feel free to wipe the contents of your mouth off your computer monitor.

So what keeps Madge’s face looking the way it does? Is she gorging on young men, draining all their blood through some vicious, veiny proboscis that fires out of her lower mandible? Or maybe she bathes in teenage semen?

Now the 853-year-old singer, actress, film director and living-fossil has FINALLY revealed the secret behind her (apparently) ever-youthful allure… or at least that’s what sycophantic bozos keep saying to her.

Speaking at the London premiere of her latest movie, Wallis Simpson biopic W.E., Madonna said:

“What’s my secret? Love.”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a secret. The most important thing is being happy.”

Effectively then, if you want to look like Mick Jagger’s current buttock situation, be happy and in love with a 24-year-old dancer called Brahim Zaibat. Make sure you find time to have it off with someone called Jesus and have a Guy Ritchie to punch when needed.

That is, if you want to have a body that looks like a bag of scar tissue.

If this is the case, then us bitter miserablists will look as youthful as can be long into our twilight years, lonely but astonishingly beautiful.

Alas, you could live for a thousand years and, somehow, Madonna will still outlive you. Essentially, despite looking like a withered pug puppy, she’ll outlive ever other human on Earth and end up creating a super race with our future simian leaders.

And they’ll all end up buying the Immaculate Collection as well. CURSES!

Christina Aguilera has a problem. That problem is not knowing when to tone it down when she’s singing. That’s it. That’s the only thing that is truly wearisome about her. Even when she flubbed her lines while singing the American National Anthem, only bozos got narked.

However, there’s another thing that people keep mentioning – her weight.

See, Xtina has put a bit of chub on lately and pretty much no-one gives three hoots. And why would they? She’s not stealing food from your plate. However, women appear to be obsessed with the breadth of female celebrities with the caveat of ‘not that it matters of course!’ Either way, by not caring, Aguilera has been asked about her dress size. Again. Apparently, she’s thrilled.

Speculation that has come almost entirely from women’s magazines (who simultaneously complain about an imagined obsession with girl’s weight from men) about Christina’s weight has floated around for years now, and to address this notion with an air of ‘solidarity’, Aguilera has revealed she’s happy with her fuller figure. Naturally, all correspondence reveals that her boyfriend Matt Rutler is crazy for her curves as well!

This message is as follows: “Yeah, I’ve noticed that you’ve noticed my change in weight, but I’m cool with it and my boyfriend is also cool with it. See? It’s okay to be a little heavier. You can totally get the affirmation from men too because, ostensibly, that’s what it’s all about… right?”

Speaking to the press, she said:

“I have a boyfriend that loves my body. I love my body, my son is healthy and happy and that is all that matters.”

She added:

“Women, we are definitely under a microscope and under massive scrutiny. As long as I am happy in my own skin, that is all that is all the confirmation I need.”

She’s right. Women are under the microscope. From other women. Women who can’t make their minds up whether to bitch about cellulite or constantly mention the size of a woman, regardless of whether she’s too thin or too fat. In addition to this, young feminists can bring the weight issue up to each other, saying how great it is that Christina is more ‘curvy’ now, thereby judging her on her appearance with the addendum of ‘she looks much better than she did when she was a stick-thin waif.’

In other news: Shut up.

Mariah Carey isn’t a woman to retire from the limelight too readily. In fact, even in the case of her husband – Nick Cannon – being all drug-eyed and dripped in hospital, recovering from kidney failure, she still wants in on the action.

Sweet, sweet fantasy babeh.

That’s right! She’s snapped her poorly husband and leapt on the bed with him while he looks half-dead in a bobble-hat, unintentionally creating the finest photograph ever taken in human history. And yes, you can see it over the jump.

The pair were apparently on holiday in Aspen for a break with their twins with stupid names (Morroccan and Monroe if you’re wondering) and suddenly, the America’s Got Talent presenter got sick.

Presumably, Mariah gave him a load of hassle and demanded to know why she wasn’t the focus of attention, before realising something was actually wrong and got him to a hospital.

Mariah tweeted the picture, along with the caption:

“Please pray for Nick as he’s fighting to recover from a mild kidney failure. #mybraveman.”

It has been reported that the hospital staff were very keen for Mariah to leave. We suspect she was oblivious to the reasons why this would be a good idea.

In an official statement on her website, Mariah said:

“This is us in the hospital – role reversal; Last year it was me attached to the machines (after having dembabies) and Nick was there with me through it, and now here we are.

“We’re trying to be as festive as possible under the circumstances but please keep Nick in your thoughts because this is very painful. They tried to kick me out of the hospital but here I am pon de bed with Mr. C.”

Wanna see?

If you haven’t heard of rapper Drake, firstly, well done. Secondly, if you’re wondering what he’s like, then imagine a depressed divorcee listlessly cooing at a microwave meal for one, and you’re somewhere close.

Basically, Drake is the Michael Bolton of hip hop. He’s so lame that chocolate fireguards pity him, and we all know how useless they are.

Yet, somehow, Drake has amassed a number of fans. One of them has done something more ridiculously dim that even Drake himself would have to crack a smile. A very worried, OH MY SWEET JESUS ON CRUTCHES, IS THAT A MASSIVE TATTOO ON YOUR FACE?, smile. Wanna see? Course you do.

Some dimwit in LA has decided to have ‘DRAKE’ inked onto her forehead in the biggest, stupidest font that could possibly fit on her brain-devoid head.

The fan entered Kevin Campbell’s tattoo shop (Will Rise, if you’re interested) with her head and eyebrows already shaved, ready for her tribute to a rapper who is about as sensitive an a Christmas party for eczema sufferers.

The tattooist used to reside in the ‘Crip’ area of Harbour City so would be more used to doing things a bit more meaningful or dangerous. Alas, there was an idiot stood before him and he’s got bills to pay.

He asked the girl three times whether she was sure she wanted the terrible tattoo and explained the consequences of having a giant tattoo on her face.

“After that, the bad decision is on them”

When finding out it wasn’t a ‘gang thing’, tattooist Campbell found it pretty hilarious, commenting:

“I guess I feel bad that this dumbass got the name of the softest motherfucker in hip-hop tattooed on her forehead.”

Drake has announced a UK tour for March and April next year. The dates are:

Shut up you idiot, everywhere.

Here’s the photo of the tattoo.

Just imagine how BRILLIANT it must be to be held responsible for the break-up of a really famous celebrity couple. Just think about that. You. There in your soiled dungarees, aimlessly chewing your hand. You. Breaking up some really famous people and making them HATE each other.

God. That’d be amazing.

However, Sara Leal – the lass who is being blamed for Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore’s split when really, it is quite obviously Kutcher’s fault -  isn’t too thrilled about the whole thing, offering mealy mouthed musings on the whole circus that followed her allowing the Two And A Half Men star to put his thingy in her doo-dah. NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

Leal says that she had “no idea” what would happen after she ALLEGEDLY (yes, we still have to say that, regrettably) sexed with Ashton and claims her life has fallen apart in the aftermath.

She told Fox News:

“It was insane. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. It might have seemed like I was asking for it, but I wasn’t. My dad wouldn’t even talk to me, and I got a lot of disturbing phone calls, even from my friends’ parents.”

“I got fired from my job. I am no longer friends with my best friend who was my roommate because it caused so many problems and I had to move out.”

“I wasn’t working for two months, and I only just started working three weeks ago.”

Waa! Boohoo! If that were us, we’d be touting ourselves around to the highest bidder and generally lording it up like nobodies business! Apparently, she wouldn’t have had sex with him if she’d known the truth:

“I don’t watch television and I read very few magazines. It never crossed my mind that he was married. But then he said he was separated, which still doesn’t make things okay, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“He was a good looking guy and it was stupid. When people say to me ‘I can’t believe you did that’, I want to say back that most 22-year-old girls in my position would have done the same thing.”

Or, more appropriately and justly, if she DID know who he was and fancied having sex with someone famous, and to hell with his dumb marriage, she was quite right to go ahead and rag his peabrains out. She doesn’t owe Demi Moore a damn thing.

Ashton Kutcher, crucially, did.

So, Sara Leal, can we have a bit more sass and bile please? Sod Christian America. They probably hate you anyway.