It has been 8 months now, since we all obligingly sat down with a couple of friends, some choice lunch meats, and self loathing, and watched Matt Cardle furiously leaking into his corduroy jeans.

Oh, and won X Factor 2010.

Some would say the healing process after viewing this will need a considerably longer time frame. Every daily tabloid feature for the entire of 2011 would possibly argue otherwise. Yes, that’s it. X Factor is certifiably, and unequivocally ‘BACK’. Which is just as well, because the hysteria over rivals down at C5 Celebrity Big Brother completely died the moment Kerry Katona earnestly admitted to Brian Dowling that her ‘life has been a rollercoaster’.

But if you truly have been soaking your brain in balsamic vinegar since ‘When We Collide’ hit Number 1 last December and have absolutely no idea where Cheryl Cole is, or listened to Katie Waissel’s solo single on the Alan Titchmarsh show – then here is the drill on what the 2011 UK series eventually settled to be. (And yes, Katie Waissel’s solo single on the Alan Titchmarsh show did involve the phrase ‘Shoop Shoop De Langalang’, now that you ask.)

Simon Cowell, Cheryl Cole and Dannii Minogue are out. Gary Barlow, Kelly Rowland, and Tulisa InstanbulnotConstantinople are in. Louis Walsh is still there. Except he actually IS a sex pest now. And before you start harping on about how the charges were dropped, just remember that they also dropped the charges on a Japanese cannibal who wrote an open confession on how he killed and ate a woman once.  Not that any of this will stop ITV1 cramming in another 4 million pounds to beam a 3D hologram of Simon Cowell to provide a variety of coy homosexual jibes for Louis every week of the live shows. Probably. That ‘joke’ will die with us all.

As we enter into the haven of choirs, bright lights and panning shots of mass gangbangs up and down the UK in the opening titles, we discover immediately that ITV1 have decided to go about this giant exile from the US business in the healthy, British way of dealing with things. By lying to themselves and everybody else. The most amazing part of this, is their decision of entitling the incredibly strange collection of new judges as ‘the next generation’. ITV1, please GOD, show a little decorum. Do you understand how much time and therapy and dry humping we had to endure to get over the whole Sugababes thing?

As expected, Gary Barlow fills the void of Simon Cowell, and presumably also X Factor’s bottomless Take That quota. (Like that time they appeared in the last year’s live final three times when nobody asked, par exémple.)

Tulisa is of course there to accommodate the gaping urban crevasse that Cheryl brutally left behind, lest the whole Cher Lloyd thing SOMEHOW doesn’t work out. Louis Walsh, as we half-heartedly established some time earlier has somehow managed to become the only original judge standing. Possibly through violent sexual threats. Because he is a serial rapist now, if you remember.

ALSO – Kelly Rowland is also there. Because sometimes, Kelly Rowland just has to be there.

So a Cowell-less X Factor. Surely a more optimistic place, a sanctuary of promising talent, or as Dermot is constantly saying whilst revolving manically on the spot – time to face something that vaguely represents music?

The first contestant is a teenage boy who has the exact formation of hair flicks as Alex Turner from 2007. Also, he has a penis.

Not a great start.

With all the sexual charisma of a Louis Walsh basement party (Which would’ve been funny in 2010, but now of course is a sensitive matter due to all that whole Sadist Cult thing he apparently founded) he saunters on stage, sings a fucking Zutons song in the most terrible way imaginable, and then shows his arse crack to the world. Which has tattoos of women’s names on it. Because this gentleman has had sex with some women. And how else was he going to prove it? Luckily, because this show is all about the music now, he gets through. Because sometimes, pop music actually is about having your conquests names inked on to your Gluteus Maximus in a lovely Lucinda Handwriting style of font, so shut up.

By this point in the programme, it has been 21 minutes and we’ve seen one person perform so far. The updated Talk Talk adverts are a grave disappointment also. But, it’s early days yet, and things could still improve. After all, with time and patience, the mulberry leaf becomes satin, does it not?

Next up, is a outrageous bint of a woman called Kitty. Kitty has about 1800 faces on top of her regular face, enjoys pleather, and being an idiot called Kitty.

Kitty saunters up to the judges with her blonde hair, and her confidence, and her incredibly clever idea of singing a Lady Gaga song acapella. (Quick note to confused music fans: You may have noticed pop music of this kind of calibre tends to have music attached on to the back of it. What Kitty has cleverly deduced in some sort of bizzare John Lennon-esque twist, is to sing the song WITHOUT the music.) Then, if she wasn’t horrifyingly original and unique enough, she tells the judges about how she’s had a terrible life, because her friends couldn’t get the day off work and come and see her perform or something. And we’ve got to say, in all seriousness, we know here at hecklerspray, we like to have a little chuckle at people’s expenses sometimes. But in this respect, Kitty’s problems really put it into perspective that some of the people on these shows actually use those sort of stories for their OWN PERSONAL GAIN, so we’d just like to draw attention to that, if we may. Like that guy whose wife died, and then sang Tom Jones’ It’s not Unusual, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Disgusting.

The montages continue thick and fast. It becomes apparent to Kelly Rowland that the UK is a bit different to the US, and is consequently amazed by everything, including the degree of shininess of her own fringe. Unless that’s just the cocaine, of course. Gary Barlow pretends that he has musical integrity (He co-wrote a song with Natasha Bedingfield) and gets his own personal montage where ITV1 sufficiently ram it into our heads that he is supposed to be ‘the mean one’. So just in case you’re still confused, we’ll just quickly run through it one more time, just to make sure we understand.

This is not the well known singer Gary Barlow from Take That, who wears scarves and coats sometimes like a regular human being. This is Gary Barlow, the meanest bastard on reality television. Like Craig Revel Harwood, or the one with alopecia from Dancing on Ice. Or some other tyrannical, square-haired, cock-thirsty talent show judge. Absolutely no idea who. Shame we’re in a convent where we can’t use Google.

There’s a beautiful intermission period in amongst the pointless phone-in competition and the continuous wide shots of riot-addled major cities where a fundamentally mental woman called Goldie Cheung comes on stage and encapsulates a beautiful Grace Jones/Ke$ha hybrid performance piece whilst vomiting profusely into a Morisson’s bag. Meanwhile, BBC4 is being axed.

The main focus for tonight’s opening show however (Because it’s definitely not the judges, who are probably too boring to even try and catch malaria, right?) is 16 year old Janet Devlin, (or ‘Janis Joplin’ as everyone horrifically  keep appearing to be saying) because she’s been on the news. Well, you know. It’s been a slow news year. She sings songs on the internet, if you dare to dream of such a thing. We of course, just thought YouTube was some sort of transport system in the south of England, so what do we know, eh?

Okay, we do know this. If you didn’t think life could get more jarringly twee than an Ellie Goulding cover of Your Song – why not try a 16 year old in a cardigan singing an Ellie Goulding cover of ‘Your Song’ instead? Okay, fine – obviously the fact she doesn’t brush her hair is so unbelievably madcap you’d think she was out of a Leslie Neilson movie or something. But ultimately, there is nothing quite as horrible as four people congratulating an impressionable teenager for being ‘unique’.  Since when did being a limp little girl musically come back into fashion, anyway? Even Kate Nash stopped wearing plaid dresses once someone for the love of mankind thrusted a Le Tigre record in her face. Just awful.

Obviously our own ‘personal highlight’ of the show was the ending, which closes upon a very upset young man who doesn’t sing very well at all calling Tulisa IstanbulnotConstantinople ‘a dog’ without a shadow of remorse.  THEN – in a moment of pure Orson Welles-esque brilliance, Dermot tells him to ‘watch his mouth’. Yeah. You can keep your malaria, and your trousers, Simon Cowell. You may be in the US with your sexy Herve Leger-clad prostitutes and tall T4 presenters, but we’ve got something you’ll never have. Badly educated men with anti-social behaviour issues.

Tune in next week, where Louis Walsh cries for non-Freudian reasons, Tulisa and Kelly put their arms up at the same time, and absolutely NOBODY releases a song called ‘Put the Needle On It’. Next up on ITV1, Chris Tarrant legitimately tries to get on board with a show entitled ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire Soapstar?’ – which in all frankness doesn’t even work on the level of an oxymoron now, does it?

Until then!

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You may remember a few months ago (and if you don’t remember, you’re a liar, because we ALL remember. We just don’t talk about it anymore) someone, somewhere on the horizon of logic sacked Cheryl Cole upon realising she is an entirely pointless human woman.

Yeah, you remember. It was brilliant.

After years being mollycoddled (and there really is no other word for it, that bitch got  mollycoddled good) by Simon Cowell after a number of years of voluntary blindness, a promotion to LA fell flat on it’s arse, because some brave stallion of a man stood up in a board meeting and suddenly realised “Hang on a second. This woman’s dimples aren’t cute enough to warrant a legitimate and vibrant media career at all! We’ve all been duped!’ and Cheryl Cole, alas, alas, hung up her stupid purple stupid trousers which were stupid, and headed back to England, to do something or other.

Those months were some of the most significant pieces of clarity that we have ever experienced. But now it’s time for the hideous comedown, which falls into the shape of the following piece of information: Cheryl Cole is now to become an actress.

It has surfaced that Cheryl (Or ‘Chezza’, if you’re a Heatworld.com reader) will be appearing in an upcoming terrible film called What To Expect When You’re Expecting – a hilarious romcom about pregnant people starring Cameron Diaz and Jennifer Lopez. What’s that you say? Why have two has-been, incredibly untalented and unattractive women when you can have three? Well, yes, bit cruel – but fair point, guys. Fair point.

On top of this, new rumours are now floating around that Cheryl’s infallible multi-talented abilities will also be taking place in a guest spot in everyone’s favourite masochistic orgy series Glee, and everyone’s second favourite masochistic orgy series How I Met Your Mother.

These rumours appeared to begin after Matthew Morrison, (who apparently is in Glee, but how the hell would we possibly know) lied to the press today professing:

“She is a talented girl. Appearing in Glee would be a good way for Cheryl to crack America.”

Brilliant. Cheers Cheryl. It’s going to be an absolutely awful 2012, and we’re all going to have to actually watch the Olympics now.

Citizen Kane 2, anyone?

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Cher Lloyd, you remember her don’t you? She’s that one what didn’t win the X Factor and is still famous for some reason despite not having actually done anything to earn it.

Well, she’s back in the news this week after accusing new X Factor judge Tulisa off of the N-Dubz of secretly being a hermaphrodite.

Lloyd was quoted as saying that Contos… Contstav… Tulisa has, “got balls,” a revelation that is sure to send the N-Dubz star nuts.

The N-Dubz and X Factor management teams had, until now, done a remarkable job keeping Tulisa’s alleged acorns under wraps and, with the death of the News of the World, may have thought that said balls would never have seen the light of day.

One possible reason for the slip could be that Cher Lloyd has just released her debut single, the bizarrely titled Swagger Jagger, and needed to stir up a bit of controversy so that people remember who she is.

But why pick on poor, sweet Tulisa, what has she ever done eh? Apart from steal (Lloyd’s X Factor mentor) Cheryl Cole’s job and singlehandedly destroy her life, forcing our Chezza to reconcile with former hubby and renowned love rat/careless pellet gun owner, Ashley.

Tulisa has yet to react to Lloyd’s allegation, which is a shame, as we here at hecklerspray do love it when Tulisa goes off on one of her, allegedly testosterone fuelled, rants.

We’ll all just have to wait and see whether or not Tulisa’s N-Dublets ever get revealed to the world, but we can’t help but think that if they do get some airtime on the X-Factor we’ll immediately be asked which one we want to vote off, resulting in the most awkward and yet oddly compelling sing off in the history of TV talent shows.

Wait, we’ve got the wrong end of the stick here, haven’t we?

Balls.

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It is a fact, passed down through from hecklerspray writer to hecklerspray writer that if ever someone utters the words “haters gonna hate” or any other variation on that theme that they have automatically marked themselves out as a hateful figure. Therefore it is easy to imagine the vehement feelings of anger that course through our collective veins every time we hear from representatives of the Cher Lloyd ‘Anti-Hater Brigade’.

Is Cher Lloyd a hateful figure? Probably not. After all, she’s just a lassie singing some songs and making a wee bit of money. There’s nothing inherently hateful in that, is there?

That being said, Pope Gregory VII wasn’t an inherently hateful figure either but he also initiated a crusade against another kind of “hater”, the Muslims in the Middle East and look how that ended up. Largely with a lot more Christians and, if young Cher has her way, her own crusade will leave us with a lot more Cher Lloyd fans. So perhaps Swagger Jagger and its inevitable follow-ups will kill more people than the crusades.

Of course, we can’t stop clickin ’bout her, writin’ ’bout her, or tweeting ’bout her but that seems to be because Cher has had the beginnings of a mental breakdown where she believes that absolutely everyone in her immediate vicinity is a “hater”. In order for people to stop getting ‘all up in her grill’ she would really need to stop forcing her ‘grill’ upon people.

Cher, one of the runners up on this year’s “Cheryl Cole-a-like 2011″, is reportedly rubbing her expensive stylists up the wrong way (not like that) by refusing to take their style advice. In a shocking move by a teenager, she appears to have pissed her “hater” stylists off by insisting on styling herself in her own image. By “her own image” we mean the image of a High Street Cheryl Cole who’s been fired through a spraypaint factory by a Howitzer.

Now magazine has been claiming recently that Ms Lloyd has been acting like a ‘little diva’ and one of their well-known made-up ‘sources’ added:

‘Cher thinks she knows best. She has her own ideas about the way she wants to look and sound. Her stylists wanted to take her edgy like Rihanna, but Cher won’t move past the urban look.’

That’s right folks! Stop the presses! Here’s tomorrow’s front page:

TEENAGER IN “KNOWING BEST” SHOCKER

It’s now well known that a teenager has never, ever thought that they knew best about how to dress or carry themselves. In fact, teenagers crave orders and structure laid down by strict, over-paid idiots called Tarquin. Everyone knows that. Everyone except the “haters” at Syco & Now Magazine.

Lloyd’s boss Simon Cowell is also said to be fed up with the youngster, telling his friends that she is too ‘gobby’ and yet another invented ‘source’ claimed that many SYCO staff feel the same.

‘Cher gets tattoos and shaves her hair without consultation. It’s great that she’s got such a strong creative vision, but her people end up reading about what she’s done in the papers.’

It is widely rumoured that Cowell will be renegotiating a strip-search clause into Lloyd’s contract where she must consent to getting her kit off for her ‘people’ to make sure that she hasn’t got “I <3 Cheryl Cole” tattooed on the inside of her thigh… again. The more that is written about Lloyd’s hatred of “haters”, the more we begin to believe that there might actually be some kind of “hater” conspiracy designed to devastate Cher’s confidence.

We’ll put our best man undercover to find out.

The gobby, stubborn teenager recently addressed the many haters that attack her online, explaining that she would rather people are talking about her than ignoring her before going on to say that she was proud of her fans for misinterpreting the tone of most articles which are written about her and thanked them for living their obsessive, unfulfilled lives vicariously through her and her ‘swagger jagger’.

She also suggested that anyone who didn’t buy her next single “Blah, Blah, You Just A Hater” would be- unsurprisingly- a hater.

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