Professional headcase Tom Cruise has admitted to being terrified of the melodic word with his fear coming to a very public fore while filming his new waste of time “Rock Of Ages”.

Tom Cruise is well renowned throughout the world, both as an actor, a producer and as someone who doesn’t know when a franchise is dead (See: Mission: Impossible) but his ability to sing has never been called into question. Even in 1983 “classic” Risky Business, Tom used Bob Seger as a voice double during his trouserless performance of Old Time Rock n’ Roll.

Let’s be fair to Tom though, singing is a terrifying experience. One need only spend five minutes in the company of a Glee Survivor to know that not only are their vocal chords destroyed, their careers are all-but ruined by incessant autotune abuse. DARE to say no to singing.

Still, Cruise will be playing a character called Stacee Jaxx (RAWK!) in the Hollywood version of the Broadway play, meaning he’ll be strapping on some leather trousers and cracking out his best Lulu impression to hit some of rock’s classic tracks.

Apparently, singing is more terrifying than any stunt he’s ever performed. Even that one where he climbs a mountain without any safety harnesses wearing a horrible pair of sunglasses. Or the one where he punches a helicopter out of the air (stay tuned for Ghost Protocol). He told the LA Times:

“They all have their risks.”

Most things do. The actor shied away from thanking Aliens or Master Hubbard for his “god”-given musical talent, instead deciding to thank his earthly oracle and How I Met Your Mother guest star- Katie Holmes-Cruise:

“I had started dancing because I was inspired by my wife. She kept saying, ‘You’ve got to do a musical sometime’.

“Kate’s a dancer, so she would say, ‘Let’s go to dance class’, and she would take us and that’s how I kind of came up with the idea of Les Grossman doing hip-hop. And then to take it to this level with this? It was really fun.”

It better be, Tom. It better be.

Just in case the return of the X Factor had left you in any doubt as to what season it is, the gods of reality TV have decided to point out to us all that it is September, and therefore it is Christmas.

And they’ve done this through the medium of celebrities in sequins grinding their genitals against poor, unsuspecting professional dancers. Apart from the huge amounts of wine and the chance to crush people’s souls with disappointingly awful presents, is one of hecklerspray’s favourite things about the neverending festive season.

Yes, Strictly Come Dancing is back, bringing with it all sorts of vitally important questions. Like who’ll cop off with their dancing partner, which is the only question we really care about. Our money’s on Edwina Currie. That woman willingly had sex with John Major. She clearly has no standards.

We’ll give Strictly one thing though; we’ve actually heard of most of their celebrities. Except Dan Lobb, who is a complete mystery. Even after the standard introductory VT, we’re still not quite sure what he does. All we do know is that poor Dan is scared of dancing, which doesn’t bode well. He got teamed with Katya something-or-other, and immediately looked deeply sexually awkward, and like he might cry.

Robbie Savage and his hair, meanwhile, were looking forward to working with an attractive woman (ie. having an affair). He got teamed with Ola Jordan and her spectacular breasts, so we can probably expect some very blonde, very tanned bastard lovechildren in about 9 months. Meanwhile, Harry ‘from McFly’ Judd and his arms were paired with some ginger woman. We weren’t really paying attention. We were more concerned that if we said anything nasty about him he might crush our skull with his bare hands.

Whilst we were recovering from our arm-induced-shock, we got introduced to some of the women, including Lulu and her impossibly youthful and eerily static face, Anita Dobson of Eastenders and marrying Brian May fame, and some lass called Chelsee Healey, who is apparently from Waterloo Road (and is out to seduce herself a dancer).

Anita got someone called Robin, Lulu got sleazy sleazy Brendan Cole – who immediately kidnapped her – and Chelsee will be sexually assaulting new boy Pacha, much to the relief of the other male dancers.

In between all these introductions, things got a little surreal. Dolly Parton appeared on stage wearing a tiny top hat and doing a chicken dance. And we found out a few alarming things about the celebs, like the fact that Holly Valance likes sweaty men. And Edwina Currie hopes Audley Harrison falls on her. And Jason Donovan takes the whole thing too seriously and never stops. Although maybe that’s a hangover from the years of heroin use.

And then it was back to the endless parade of introductions, just in case there was a single viewer left who hadn’t lapsed into a VT-induced coma. Russell Grant, Audley Harrison and Rory Bremner all got given partners who looked IMPOSSIBLY HAPPY to be paired with them. And then Jason Donovan got introduced as ‘everyone’s favourite Neighbour’, which was sure to irk Holly Valance no end. We look forward to watching her smash him in the head with her dancing shoes soon, with a heel right in his frail eye socket.

Ms Valance herself disappointed everyone by actually wearing clothes for the duration of the show, although we’re not sure where this “Hollywood career” of hers that they kept referring to has been hiding. She’s partnered with Mr Kara Tointon – aka Artem – so may need to bosh another soap star over the head with her shoes if she’s going to have the standard Strictly affair.

And so, we finally met the last of the celebs. Alex Jones declared herself out to beat colleague Matt Baker, which means she needs to win it. Edwina Currie will be having an affair with Vincent Simone. And Nancy Dell’Olio is just… completely insane. She thinks she’s as famous as Sophia Loren and expects dancing to suit her because she’s glamorous. She was paired with Anton du Beke, who will crush all her dreams and probably say something racist again.

And now they all have to sod off for three weeks and attempt to learn to dance. Which is just as well, because the group dance was one of the worst things ever to have been televised.

In amongst all this frivolity, they did actually force the professionals to do some dancing, which included Pacha getting danced on by all the Strictly ladies. Which is exactly how we welcome a new writer to the bedsit. Kris Silver’s pole dance is always particularly well-received. And don’t even ask what editor Mof does.

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So the economy is shrinking faster than hecklerspray’s love-orbs when listening to Richard Keys and Andy Grey discussing the finer points of Germaine Greer (and they would absolutely talk about her “finer” “points”, the horndogs. They really are the worst men on the whole entire planet, apart from all of the other men who talk like that all the time, don’t wear microphones for a living and aren’t suing their own vengeful bosses).

But never mind that: it’s nearly time for you to force open your prudently clamped shut wallet and liberally throw coins at your telly, in the hope that one will bounce off your empty Fosters can installation, arc beautifully through the dancing dust mites, hit the off button and save you having to bear another evening of Patrick Kielty making sincere mewling noises at African kids.

Comic Relief, eh? What a shower of arse.

Now please, don’t hunt us down and end us with prejudicial force. hecklerspray loves charity, and suggests you give every single penny you haven’t spunked on Zinger Tower burgers and our way awesome t-shirts on feeding the world AND making it a better place, dammit. But the smug wankery and sudden crunching mood gear-changes that accompany a typical charity telethon give us such a foul brainbuzz that it makes us want to go out and find orphaned donkeys just so we can burn them with B&Hs.

And the irresponsible hecks at the BBC are just encouraging our atrocious behaviour by elongating the charity yuks – and we mean yuks – over months and grating months. The main event doesn’t ruin our lives until 18th March, but the line-up for grim offshoot Let’s Dance For Comic Relief has been announced, and it starts in three goddamn weeks.

Let’s Dance For Comic Relief! You know, the dancey/laughter one! Remember? When Robert Webb did Flashdance, and a nation united in confusion blinked, gasped and asked as one “Who the Jarrod Christmas is that incredibly ugly woman with great pins?” And then last year, when it was already a bit of a stale idea, well past its sell-by date, but the nation gave it a sniff and shrugged and shoved it down anyway, mostly because Rufus Hound deployed the age-old comedy torpedo of wearing make-up and a wig without removing his insane facial topiary? No? Well, you’re unlikely to be excited by this news, then. You’re also a sensible and, may we say, bloody sexy melonfarmer. But bear with us.

This year, the prancers-abouters will be Colin and Justin, which is boring, Penny Smith, which is so beyond boring even Penny Smith herself can’t even be arsed to crack a smile about it, not that we have a single clue who she is, Rebecca Front, who is a damn great actress and has featured in some of the best British comedies of all time so needs to go out in the first week to prevent utter career ruination, and Noel Fielding. Noel Fielding.

Noel Fielding?! Well, that’s the sparkly pixie skinny-trousered stupid-hatted Fenella-the-Kettle-Witch-faced sub-NME-haired Camden-shrouded Geldof-botherer slap bang into the mainstream, then. God only knows what he’ll try and dance to; some ridiculous jazz-funk scatfest to prevent the Boosh obsessives from self-harming? A Boomtown Rats/Pixie Lott mash-up, complete with knowing winks and subtle pelvic thrusts to camera? Or just the kerrrazy Ninja Raccoon Glitter Orchestra rhythms pounding through his overrated mophead?

Whatever it is, new presenter “that Christine Bleakley Real Doll off the One Show” is excited!

“I was a huge fan of Let’s Dance last year and can’t wait to join Steve and the team,” Alex Jones said.

Aaah, bless her. She’s keen. You know what? Maybe it won’t be so bad. It’ll just be a laugh, won’t it? Yeah! A laugh! Total enjoyment! Noel will waggle his non-existent arse to Beyonce’s Crazy In Love, and we’ll all have happy smiling faces with nary a care in the world! Sorry, what’s that, Alex?

“It’s come at the perfect time for me having just returned from filming in Africa for Comic Relief where I saw first hand how we can really make a difference.”

Jesus. Way to bring us down with all the starving kids there, love. And that’s Comic Relief all over. We’re all having a lovely time, but there’s always the haunting feeling that at any moment Michael McIntyre is going to suddenly appear and make his eyes go all wide and sad like a cow listening to Jeff Buckley and remind us of all the terrible things in the world that aren’t him.

More Comic Relief news will hopefully, for your sakes, not be forthcoming. Please give generously.

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This just in: Kelly Osbourne can fit into fashion sample sizes and she has become as gleefully smug as she is thin.

Isn’t that just wonderful. The reality star, who lost an alarming amount of weight after being on Dancing With The Stars this year, has been on several shows talking about how she lost weight.

Mostly, Kelly credits not being a pig and lifting her buttocks off the sofa, one at a time, and working out for 30-minutes-per-day.

So, less pies. More butt lifting. Got that?

Her diet is so easy-to-follow that the 25-year-old is posing on the cover of a health and fitness magazine to show off her new figure and share weight loss tips.

For an upcoming issue of Shape, Kelly is posing in a bikini. Her first ever bikini. Seriously. She claims she never even thought about trying on a bikini before losing weight. You know. Because of all the pies. And she actually cried with excitement, as did those around her, when she first tried one on.

In her new role as thin Hollywood ingenue, Kelly notes that her peers are suddenly threatened by her. Being thin around other thin people will have that affect. Also, they’re always grouchy due to the lack of delicious lard in their diets.

Kelly was the real life equivalent of the perfectly-adequate-looking-friend with thick glasses and a ponytail who got sidelined in a movie until she shed both. Think Janey Briggs in Not Another Teen Movie. Specifically, Kelly says that her former Blackberry friends don’t want to come out and play anymore. They’re getting openly more nasty. Where they’d once say hello they’re now ignoring her.

From Showbiz Spy:

The 25-year-old star admits she is still getting used to her new shape and feels shocked every time she sees a picture of herself. “My weight? People don’t realise it’s as shocking to me as it is to them. When they open up a magazine and they see it… I’m still getting used to seeing me like this and the changes and the way that… it’s weird!” she said. “Girls in Hollywood don’t like you because you become competition. They have started to get much more nasty. You think, ‘Usually you say hi and now you don’t.’”

There’s no putting the hair back in a ponytail and the glasses are  long gone. She should just embrace it, get some ribs removed and really show people what she’s working with. Hollywood is pretty much just one giant high school where every one’s dating each other and girls are hyper-competitive and catty. We’re pretty much sure the rib-removal thing is the best way forward.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so hooray for that.

Kelly Osbourne first appeared on the radar as a kinda-chunky potty-mouthed brat with daft hair and a house covered in dog-shit. Then, she releases a couple of singles and does a duet with her dad.

Then she almost disappeared.

Well, it seems that, in the interim, she’s been losing weight and now she wants us all to see it as a picture of her looking svelte in a bra appeared on Twitter. That’s not really that newsworthy… but the fact she joined the Pussycat Dolls is so weird that we really ought to relay it to you all.

The thought of Kelly Osbourne gyrating with the Pussycat Dolls goes against everything our puny little brains have ever thought. I mean, they’re the girlfriends of jocks right? Kelly is the snotty little punk in the toilets smoking tabs?

Not anymore. These worlds melded as one peculiar beast on Wednesday night in LA.

Apparently, Osbourne has been working hard on improving her body. She’s a size two these days. We don’t even know what that means. Is it like children’s shoes? If she goes lower does she end up in thirteens?

Anyway, she performed alongside the Dolls during an invitation only show at the Viper Room club… you know the one, the club where celebrities go and die.

She took to the stage wearing a flashy white sparkly corset, hot pants and fishnet stockings.

“It’s the first time I’ve really danced since filming ‘ Dancing with the Stars,’ but it’s so different,’ she said. “This isn’t stiff ballroom – it’s slinky and sexy!”

Robin Antin’s hybrid burlesque act invited Osbourne to join them and Antin wrote on her Twitter page:

“SNEAK PEEK of Kelly in rehearsal for Pussycat Dolls Burlesque Review! WOW, she’s so HOT!”

And then she posted this:

So there you have it. Famous person is now thinner than previous. Everyone continues their lives unchanged.

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Usher really must have thought he had it all going for him.

He had a multi multi multi million selling album, a wife (eventually, a few times), a child with his name and some hats. Things were looking rosy for the dancing pop prat.

Then he brought out a new album, ‘Here I Stand’, and – compared to his last one, ‘Confessions’, at least – it flopped something rotten. While still selling just under a million copies to date, this is considered a failure by both Usher and, more likely, his record label.

So what’s the solution when you’re known around the world, popular, good looking and – apparently – talented?

Why – sack your management and go running to your mum. Obviously. Which is exactly what Raymond has gone and done, re-employing the mother he sacked just over a year ago as a part of his throwing his toys out of the pram reaction to not selling enough records.

Aww, bless him.

Instead of doing what any self-respecting person would do on realising a failure – acknowledge it, shoulder the blame and move on having learned something – it would seem that Usher believes he couldn’t possibly be at fault for his record not selling too well. Not that we’d sniff at 1,000,000 sales for hecklerspray: The Record, it’s just it seems that that many copies doesn’t count as ‘too well’.

Regardless, instead of realising that maybe he was just something of a R&B flash in the pan – a nobody in a sea full of nobodies – some pretty big changes have been made.

Splitting from his management arrangement with Benny Medina, manager of such incredible acts as Mariah Carey and cancelling his arrangement with W&W Public Relations, Usher has gone full circle back to his dear old mama, Jonetta Patton. As the statement from his LaFace/Zomba label… stated:

“[Usher] has dissolved his management arrangement with Benny Medina and has re-engaged (his mother) Jonnetta Patton as his manager.”

Well at least it makes sense – who can talk up a person better than your own mother? And who’s better at arranging to do things for you than your own mother? Plus he’s sure to always look good on public appearances, and she’ll hopefully make sure that he doesn’t forget where he is again, thus making him look like less of a complete dick.

She’s also sure to keep him on the straight and narrow, avoiding the temptation wherever his dancing penis may take him. Though as a result of this, he may inadvertently create more lesbians – lord knows Usher is knowledgeable on their kind.

What we really hope will come from all this though is the overwhelming realisation that’s sure to hit Usher right in his big smug face. When he sees that re-hiring his mother has no effect on his floundering sales and he thinks, just for a second, that maybe he isn’t all that good. He sees for the first time in his life that people were only ever slightly entertained by him because he could dance like a twit while going “YEAH!” every second or so of a song.

But he’s sure to find comfort in his collection of hats. As long as he doesn’t go driving in them.