Wonderful news folks! Mario Lopez is getting married! We’re thrilled to bits. You see, we like the chap who played A.C. Slater so much that we turned a boring news article about Coheed & Cambria into a brief history of Mario Lopez.
He really is a very, very splendid man.
And now the Saved By The Beller is all grown-up and getting hitched to, quite possibly, the luckiest woman who ever lived. And something must be in the air because only a few months ago, Zack Morris (aka Mark-Paul Gosselaar) got engaged and… well… Skreech is still trying to live down his sex tape.
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Have you ever watched Strictly Come Dancing? It’s a terrible programme that actually encourages witless celebrities to cavort around a dancefloor with all the guile and grace of a mule being dragged down three flights of stairs by a Mini Metro.
Not only that, it’s the show that willingly shoves Bruce Forsyth out, bewildered and making dreamlike jokes to himself to polite, pitiful laughter from concerned audience members. The smell of urine and cough-mints must be unbearable.
That said, Auntie BBC is very protective of her baby and is suing an Italian TV channel for making a pornographic version of the show which is quite obviously far, far better than the one we get in Blighty.
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Cher has a son. He’s called Chaz. Chaz used to be a girl, but now isn’t. And that’s fine because what he looks at when naked in the mirror doesn’t affect anyone but him or who he has sex with. Right? WRONG.
See, America – because it’s filled with judgemental Christian dickheads – completely believes that Chaz Bono’s genitalia it’s everyone business.
That’s why there’s a load of hooting fools all kicking off about Chaz’s appearance on Dancing With the Stars. WHAT WOULD JESUS SAY? You’d hope Jesus would have better things to do with his time than watching dreadful dancing competitions. And Cher? She’s not happy about it at all.
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Jesus Christ. If Coheed & Cambria weren’t lame enough, the bass player from the band (pictured right) has only gone and done the most rubbish heist in human history. Not content with peddling wearisome lamerock, he’s gone and stolen some antacids from a chemist. With a phone.
Seriously. The pinhead, called Michael Todd, couldn’t even be bothered to write out a stickup note, preferring to tap it out on his mobile and show them that.
It probably said: ‘THS IS A STICKUP PT UR HNDS UP N GV ME ALL UR TABLTS OR ELSE PMSL 
kthnxbai‘
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What do we know about Kirstie Alley? Well, we know that her weight wildly fluctuates from ‘quite thin’ to ‘Type 2 Diabetes’. We also know that she was in Cheers. Oh, and she’s a weirdo Scientologist who believes in aliens and that. She’s an ‘Operating Thetan, Level 7′, whatever the shit that means.
Now, the latest thing we need to know about her that, in the past, she’s demanded 2 hours of sex from her boyfriends. Just picture that in your mind’s eye. Think of her bearing down on your naked self, cackling like a wheezing horse with those rolling, glassy eyes.
Lovely.
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Levi Johnston is the master of the art of trolling. It appears his sole aim in life is to annoy supreme pencil neck, Sarah Palin, ’til she reaches the point of explosion. Of course, when she finally KABOOMS, the sky will be thick with impotent rage and garbled words spelled out like the sky has been attacked by a dyslexic skywriter.
Better yet, is that Palin can’t really do much about it because Levi is the father to her grandson. He’s always going to be part of the Palin family.
So imagine the next time they awkwardly meet up, when Levi announces that he’s writing a tell-all book about Palin and her mental, trigger happy family!
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Looking at Sarah Palin, it is hard to imagine a more terrifying political human. Her staggering simplery along with gasping vapidity is far too close to the nuclear codes for our liking. You’d be forgiven for thinking that things could only get worse if Glen Beck announced his intention to run for office.
Until that crushingly inevitable day occurs, we can look forward to another horror.
That’s right citizens of this failing planet! Bristol Palin fully intends to follow in her mother’s waddling political footsteps. This is the signal we’ve all been waiting for. The end is nigh. Kill yourselves now.
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Over the past ten years or so, the world has been flooded with countless pointless memoirs and autobiographies. You’ll be able to read Justin Bieber’s soon, which will no doubt say “I was born three seconds ago and I sang some songs and can’t work out how to undo Selena Gomez’s bra, The End.’
And now, we’re due another utterly pointless document in the shape of a memoir from Bristol Palin. She’s hardly known for being a raconteur is she?
This isn’t plain ol’ hearsay either. Bristol’s memoir is already showing up on Amazon.com. We are, presumably, supposed to be thrilled at the prospect of reading about someone with a simpleton mother, teenage pregnancy and how hard it is wobbling around like a giraffe on a see-saw on ‘Dancing With the Stars’.
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