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.
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What springs to mind when somebody says “duel”? People flouncing about with swords, trying to kill each other? Yes? Well, forget about that. Because this week, Dancing on Ice brought us the least threatening duels of all time.
There were no swords. There was no serious injury. There were just two celebrities on the ice at the same time, skating one after the other, and wearing vaguely coordinated outfits.
And the prize for winning the duel? Did they get to use their skating blades to hack their rival’s costume to pieces? Or to inflict some dramatic but non-lethal wounds upon them? Or steal their partner? Or do anything? Anything at all?
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This week’s Dancing on Ice was apparently Movie Week. Really, it was just dodgier outfits than usual, a few rubbish puns and some nicely manufactured drama. There were injuries! There were dangerous lifts! And there was Heidi Sugababe’s golden vadge! Her terrifying, terrifying golden ladybits.
Before old Bigface Sugababe assaulted our eyes with her genitals though, the rest of the skaters were subjected to injury and actual sexual assault. Like Jennifer Ellison, who has ruined her ribs, apparently. Which was INCREDIBLY DRAMATIC and caused her to change her routine at the last moment and look like she was about to die when she came off the ice.
We did not feel the required amount of sympathy. Although that’s maybe because we have no soul.
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Head Judges. Every reality show has one, even the ones where they can’t quite work out who the head judge is (yes, we’re looking at you, X Factor). And on Dancing on Ice, that privilege lies with Robin Cousins. Unfortunately for everyone else though, it seems the producers forgot to explain the show to him.
Robin Cousins, you see, has pretty much entirely missed the point of the show that he presides over. Which is a competition to find the celebrity that is best at skating round in circles and doing a bit of twirling. According to Mr Cousins, though, the celebrities only have to compete with themselves. Get that?
They’re not competing with each other, just themselves. Which makes for a pretty shit show unless ITV have been cloning celebrities in some kind of spectacular reality-meets-unnatural science experiment.
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Dancing on Ice. It’s always been the runty sibling of the celeb reality shows, hasn’t it? Relegated to Sunday nights in January when anyone with any sense is in the pub breaking every single resolution all at once. They may be missing a show that clearly has the best premise of any show ever broadcast ever, but they don’t care. The fools.
The magic of DOI is that its full celebrities so desperate for attention that they’re willing to brain themselves on some frozen water in the vain hope that they might get a feature in Closer magazine about their incredible new figure.
They’re putting themselves in actual, mortal danger. Because they want to be back on TV. Does anything ever get better than that?
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Still reeling from the Christmas carbohydrate intake and eventually calming down from the unfortunate and thinly veiled insults from your elderly, racist grandmother? Well don’t get too comfortable because your rage-meter is set to reach all new, Jeremy Clarkson-esque highs with the unveiling of the Desperate Slags on Ice lineup.
Dancing On Ice always been a one-stop WTF shop, comprised of people you’d generally forgotten had even existed, only to turn up, get their face smashed off ice and then slink off into The Bill or Holby City, or if they’re lucky, series 300 of My Family.
It’s the final stop on the bus ride to celebrity oblivion before Celebrity Big Brother with Michael Barrymore and whatever natural body parts of Pete Burns are left.
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If this article were a Facebook page, which it’s not and never will be, it would be called “That Awkward Moment When You Realise That Jeff Brazier Probably Describes Everything He Does With An Obscure Simile”.
Naturally that would be without the minute attention to spelling and grammar that we have. We really did get that awkward, aching feeling in the pit of our collective stomach (we all share one to save money) when we read in an interview with New! Magazine that Dancing On Ice star and celebrity father Jeff Brazier “kisses like a Jedi”.
What does a statement like that even mean? Presumably Jeff was implying the finesse and poise that a Jedi Knight might employ when kissing a lady; if they were allowed. Which they’re not. Primarily because it’s against their ‘code’ and secondarily because they’re entirely fictional and no amount of wearing a hooded dressing gown and hilariously filling it in as a religion on your Census form is going to change that.
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Fear not everyone, science hasn’t given birth to an experimental creature that promised so much, yet delivered very little. This could have been an exciting post about some sort of weird creature that looks like a wolf, walks like a human and still humps your leg for no apparent reason.
Instead, it’s much more disappointing than that. Someone called Jeff Brazier can lick his genitals, you know like a dog. In fact, he might hump your leg for no reason, we just don’t know.
You’ll probably accuse us of reporting this because of actual news in Egypt dominating the headlines and there’s bugger else happening.We’ll be honest, we just want to make Jeff Brazier’s PR work overtime to correct the foolish remarks he’s uttered.
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