She’d charge $12 a pop to watch, and when enough people were gathered around she’d let the beasts out of their cages. Those pandas are savage animals too – we saw them skin a guy once. It was a half-dead senior citizen, but a guy nonetheless.

But all that was when the pandas were younger. With the passing of time came panda-related geriatric problems. Also with the passing of time came a strange gay-panda love affair. It was actually horrific – not that anything’s wrong with that.

That experience is why we feel we can relate so well to a whole bunch of people in Arkansas. They showed up for a vicious cage fight, and what they got instead was two grown mean undressing each other in a flurry of lust and passion.

And you know who people are blaming? Borat. We mean Bruno. People are blaming Bruno.

Picture it – you spent all day polishing your finest brass knuckles until they gleam just so in the sunlight. You practice knee kicks on your wooden karate thingy for over an hour and you inject several numbing agents into both your face and groin.

When it’s time for the bout, you step into the ring full of confidence. Your opponent winds up, you brace for the impact, but instead of hitting you he licks your neck a whole bunch and tells you there are flowers from him back in your locker. You casually thank him, and notice for the first time that his eyes are the perfect shade of blue.

That was all from page three of our brother’s autobiography – word for word. The following four chapters are more of the same – it’s pretty redundant, actually. He calls it science fiction, and he’s still looking for a publisher.

Sacha Baron Cohen may have read some of it. We’re far from sure about that, but CNN explains our suspicions:

“Crowds in Arkansas came for the lure of cage fighting and $1 beer, but police say what they got instead was men ripping each others’ clothes off and kissing — a stunt suspected of being orchestrated by Sacha Baron Cohen of “Borat” fame. We had a contract for cage fighting. We were deceived,” said Dwight Duncan, president and CEO of Four States Fair Grounds in Texarkana, where the first of two Arkansas fights raised suspicions last month.”

Outside of Soho, San Francisco, and the lavender apartment our third step-dad eventually moved into, the cage-match crowd isn’t generally the sort that would take kindly to passionate displays of homosexuality where their stomach-jabs and face-punches are supposed to be.

That’s why immediately following the match, every male that looked effeminate within a five mile radius was rounded up, taken to a local park and tickled for no less than 20 minutes – which is ironic, as we’ve heard that’s kind of ‘a thing’ in those circles.

It’s just what we heard.

You know the feeling: it’s a big night out and you want to dress to impress. But all your best clothes are in the laundry, and you can’t go out naked again – you always seem to draw all that nasty ‘police attention’, and besides, it’d be the third time this week. How you wish – oh, how you yearn and pray – that you could look like an overweight gangster who may or may not be dead and whose life neatly doubles up as a slow-burning metaphor for various aspects of American national identity.

Well … now you can!

All you have to do is head over to New York City on the 25th June for a Christies Pop Culture auction, the proceeds of which will go to a charity that benefits wounded U.S troops. Not only will you be donating your money to a good cause, but you can help yourself to Tony Soprano-related items including:

‘ … a bloody outfit worn when Soprano was shot at the beginning of season six by Uncle Junior in a fit of dementia, which is estimated to fetch up to $3,000, and his signature white tank top, light blue striped boxer shorts, striped short robe and leather scuffs that could make $1,500.’

Incidentally, if anyone is thinking of going to this auction, and they’re by any chance selling the costume that Adrianna wore in that episode where she played tennis and bent over a lot, let us know. We’ll gladly place an offer. Only, you know, because we need it for research purposes. Seriously. We’re writing a film about a female tennis superstar and placing that outfit on display in the corner of the room would provide a gripping visual ‘imagination point.’

Oh, okay. The truth: we’ve got a kidnapped hooker in the basement. She’s a big fan of Steffi Graf and it’s her birthday soon.

God, we’re so generous sometimes.

• Control out on DVD (stirring account of Joy Division front man Ian Curtis’ descent into martyrdom)

• Cats wearing clothes (always funny – like children falling over or Ruth Madoc)

• Free weights (gyms are for narcissistic ladyboys)

• City of Vice (if Programmes For Schools were like this in our day we would have stayed there longer)

• Juno (she’s a smart-alec kid you want to slap, but this is an okay film and no deep-seated hatred of the lead character should stand in your way)

Creased:

• BBC Breakfast MILFs (we’re all for a cheap morning erection, but come on)

• Leather bomber jackets (everyone has got one now. Vintage Cafe Racer, that’s the way to go)

• David Jordan (a dash of Wizbit, a smidgen of Bond, just a touch of Jona Lewie and a great big dollop of shite)

• iTunes (never far away from anyone’s shit-list, this breaks down more often than Britney)

• Chair-kicking teens (you heard right the first time – your feet will be torn off and used as doorstops. Understood?)