Women! When you’ve stopped complaining about the negative, overtly sexual images of women in media, which breed an unrealistic body-ideal in young girls, we’d like to point you in the direction of David Beckham in his underpants.

See, ol’ GoldenNads has done a photoshoot for some undercrackers he’s flogging through dreary clothing bazaar, H&M.

A number of women have stopped worrying about the patriarchy long enough to admire Beckham’s bulge and sigh with feint arousal everytime they see it. So what does David have to say about it? Well, it doesn’t involve stuffing but it does involve his daughter.

While womenfolk rail against the appearance of naked girls in print, they simultaneously objectify men like there ain’t a thing to it. The gays of the world objectify everything because they’re brilliant at it and make no apology about it.

For straighty woman though, there’s this confusion over whether or not its okay to lust after a half-naked human. The selling of female flesh by the pound is bad, but musing on whether Becks’ stuffs his package is completely fine.

And on that score, Beckham has proudly proclaimed that he has never stuffed his pants to make his manhood look bigger.

Referring to comedian James Corden – who parodied him in a shoot, who admitted to stuffing socks in the underwear – David said:

“I’ve never, ever done a James and padded out my pants, or shoved socks down there though. I’ve never had to for any of the photoshoots I’ve done because, hopefully, I don’t need to. Well, let’s just say I’ve been told I don’t need any help in that department. I think I’m pretty OK!”

Of course, there’ll be women dribbling down their blouses at the thought of a massive schlong hiding behind those briefs. However, if you have half a brain, you’ll note that, in Beckham’s shots, his gruds appear to be filled with 90% balls. Does that mean Beckham has a genital region that looks like a jug spout grafted onto a hot-air balloon?

Either way, ol’ Davey B wasn’t finished talking about underwear. He’s quite the raconteur you know?

“Victoria loves me in long johns. I like wearing the normal, short briefs but she reckons she likes me better wearing the long johns! She makes me wear them around the house. But that’s OK because they’re comfortable and keep you warm.”

Frost/Nixon, eat your heart out.

And still he wasn’t finished! No, he wanted to talk about the fact that his daughter should be thoroughly ashamed of the naked human body. Talking about how he used to walk around his house naked, he said:

“My naked days are over. I definitely walk around the house in my underwear. But not naked. With the boys it’s not a problem because they’re naked all the time but with a little girl now, it is different.”

There you go. Instill that little girl with a sense of shame from the off Dave! Go you! Still, at least she’ll grow up thinking that the human body is something to be hidden, unless you’re displaying your ballbag to the world in a series of lucrative advertisements, eh?

REEM or D*REAM?

Folded

• The X-Men Guide To Puberty – Thank god. How would we ever have coped without it?
• Rihanna’s Been Censored – OH GOD NO!!!!
• Who Is Football’s Biggest Tit? – Andy Dawson asks the question on everyone’s lips.
• Will Self – Would anyone ever be able to live on without seeing him wearing a leopard print smok?
• This Is Satire – Bear that in mind.

Creased

• Flaming Lips Do It In A Human Skull – Yes… okay… right…
• David Beckham – Send the poet your bloody boots!
• Southwest Airlines – Sometimes they do fun stuff like throwing Billie-Joe Armstrong off a plane and then sometimes they do this.
• Flying Carpet! – Well, it’s not really that impressive, is it?
• Sylvia Robertson – Not her. The fact that she passed away.

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A dominant role in society is something that everybody craves. As you’re reading this, you’ll be imagining who the head honcho is in your boring office job, group of friends or members in the AA club.

What kind of person becomes a leader? Is it the bloke who makes all sorts of hilarious wisecracks? Or that weird looking sod who never gets involved, but always offers sound advice?

But who cares about real life people when there are celebs everywhere! Are we concerned that we’ll never meet them after spending thousands of pounds on travel so we can gawp at them? Of course not. So who’s scorching hot and who’s totally not? According to InStyle the top honour has gone to someone who can’t feed herself properly. Not Paris Hilton, but Harper Seven Beckham.

According to InStyle – something we’ve never heard of, probably because we ain’t got no style – some baby is more powerful than the likes of Justin Bieber and Rihanna?

But why’s this? Surely it can’t be because Harper Seven Beckham popped out of a famous person’s vagina? It might seem unfair on everyone else, but small infant children do seem to be powerful folk. Just look at future scientologist queen Suri Cruiuse. She’ll no doubt lead an abnormal life believing that aliens came out of volcanoes or something.

So what gives about Harper Seven Beckham? Because she’s a baby the ability of walking, talking and eating solid foods will be quite a challenge.

But perhaps she’s magic in other ways. Babies have a habit of pooing everywhere, so we’re going out on a limb and believing that Victoria and David Beckham have a child that craps its demands out in its nappies.

IN SAFFRON.

Christians go mental when Jesus H Christ appears as mould on a slab of cheese, so we can only imagine that Harper Seven Beckham has enchanting and delightful dumps.

SAFFRON MADE OUT OF GOLD.

But it isn’t just one tiny tot that is making giant waves at the top of the list; a whole load of the swines took prominent positions:

Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale’s sons Zuma, three, and Kingston Rossdale, five, took second and third place in the power rankings, while Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’s five-year-old girl, Suri, was ranked fourth.

It appears that already young and hardworking celebs are taking a hammering from infants who haven’t realised they’ve been given a stupid name. Nobody knows if Harper Seven Beckham will grow up to be a lollipop lady or the women who does the sign language for TV shows late at night (what? The greatest, most hard working woman on Earth? Ed), but rest assured, she’s already considerably more powerful than you.

In fact, Harper shortly to become our now ruler, we’re going to emulate her highness and take a preemptive strike by changing our middle names to a meaningless number. Your suggestions are most welcome.

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The birth of any child is a wonderful thing… if of course, by ‘wonderful’, you actually mean ‘remarkably irritating’. See, when someone shunts a child from their middle, we’re supposed to treat it like some kind of miracle. Of course, no-one coos and fawns when someone brings a newborn foal into the office, still covered in amniotic gunk.

Childbirth isn’t any bigger or smarter than any other creature squirting out their shitting offspring. It’s dull and further proof that our future as humans is doomed as each baby grows up to be yet another alcopop drinking div in bad Asda George t-shirts.

When celebrities have babies growing in them, it is of even less relevance to us all, yet still we dribble enthusiastically, poised over our keys to tap out feigned glee to twitter accounts and Facebook fan pages. Victoria Beckham’s imminent idiot is one such example.

Rumours broke quicker than waters of a baby called Felicity being sawed out of Victoria Beckham who is still too vain to ruin her delicate lady garden by actually squeezing the thing out. However, it was all a massive lie.

Fact is, Posh Spice (she hates being called that doesn’t she? You can just tell) will NOT be giving birth her idiot daughter this week, a spokesperson has confirmed.

The spokesperson, already bored senseless by this babytalk but still maintaining a financial interest, stated:

“The rumours are rubbish, Victoria has not had the baby but she will be giving birth soon.”

In fact, it looks like the latest puking runt to be hoiked from a C-sectioned celebutwunt will grace our presence some time next week.

That’s just great isn’t it. We’ll get to see endless photographs of this baby… who looks like any other photoshopped baby… adorning hundreds of pages across various tedious magazines and newspapers.

It has been suggested that this Beckham Baby will be receiving media training before the umbilical tentacle is chopped and it will be taking questions at a press conference before it is a week old.

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Victoria Beckham is having a baby and we’re supposed to give a flying fuck. No, we are. See, even though we won’t ever meet her, like anything she does or indeed, show even the vaguest flicker of interest in her vapid life, we must greet her new child with ticker tape. And hand grenades if you like.

We just don’t care.

We also don’t care that Posh Spice, which we’ll call her because it invariably irritates her, has asked stupid Eva Longoria to be the Godmother of her unborn daughter. A daughter that will, like all newborn babies, will look like a cross between a glans and a close-up of a tick.

Of course, we’re supposed to replace our own hopes and aspirations with Victoria’s need to have a female baby hacked out of her by a surgeon (you don’t think she’s actually willing to push the thing out do you?), and we must thank our lucky stars that she will be having a little girl, which she’ll parade around in a variety of expensive clothes like a chihuahua.

A friend of the couple – who already some stupid children with stupid names – said:

“Victoria ran it past David and they both want Eva. She’s extremely honoured.”

Not surprising really as Longoria’s life is now completely devoid of any joy after she got divorced from basketball star Tony Parker.

That’d be the Tony Parker who had a mobile phone filled with messages that saw Eva concluding that he’d been having it off with someone else, leaving her to announce the split via twitter, making Phil Collins’ Divorce By Fax’ look rather charming.

Monster.

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Here’s the kicker: When a sperm unifies with an egg and the cells split, resulting in a baby growing inside your womb, it will eventually start showing around your guts. You may look fat, but in actual fact, it’s just a human hiding under your skin. Right?

This is pretty basic science, but something Victoria Beckham doesn’t seem to understand.

Basically, Posh is hitting the gym constantly in a bid to stay thin, something that her ball-kicking husband, David, is keen to discourage her from. It would appear that one of the dimmest sportsmen on the planet has a better grasp of the gestation period than his wife. Which in itself is astonishing enough.

A source, who we must trust with our lives, says:

‘Victoria hates putting on weight. She’s been moaning nonstop about how fat she feels’

Alas, Victoria Beckham is eight months pregnant. She’s basically got a fully formed baby inside her, shitting and pissing away like she’s some horribly cramped toilet cubicle.

Yet weirdly, instead of proudly showing off her bump, she’s been trying to hide it. She’s been keeping her baby under wraps, which means we can only assume she’s already disappointed in it.

And she’s right to be. Most humans are incredible let-downs, projecting a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach at each turn, seemingly doing their best to wound you at every turn. The only thing babies have going for them is that their little trainers look kinda cute.

The Beckhams will be seeing their baby cut-out at the beginning of July.

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When hecklerspray heard the news that Victoria and David Beckham were reportedly coming back to the UK,  we all got into the bath in our sticky bedsit and tried to drown each other.

When that didn’t work we even tried to self harm with the jaggy edge off our pot noodle sauce sachet but sadly that failed too and now we’re forced to apply plasters to our hurty bits and find a way to live with this awful news.

So far we’re pretty much sitting in stunned silence which is only broken by the sound of our editor screaming “OH CHRIST! OH JESUS CHRIST NO!!!” like Edward Woodward when his sedatives have worn off.

Apparently they’ve enrolled their kids in school over here already and are set to return when David finishes up his contract with LA Galaxy.

A source said:

‘They love Los Angeles and will always have a base there. But David’s contract will run out soon and they’ve started thinking about the future. He’s keen to finish his career at an English club if possible, though he hasn’t ruled out other options.’

The source also yawned:

‘Victoria is torn because she’s made so many friends in California and loves the lifestyle, but she misses her family in the UK a lot.’

That’s just selfish really.

She’s also planning to give her kid’s a ‘normal’ education, far away from all the disgustingly spoiled American children like Justin Bieber. How is she planning to do this? – she’s putting them into a private boys school in England which is no doubt full of spoiled British children who are just as annoyingly pretentious  but slightly pastier.

Great plan preggers.

This isn’t over yet.

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Once upon a time there was a girl who couldn’t sing. Llike all good fame hungry, fake tanned dunderheads, she joined a silly band with other girls who also sang in the key of ‘pish’, married a footballer and stopped eating until she was built like the side of a five pound note.

Then while playing hangman with her husband, she drew some trousers on the stick man and decided to become a fashion designer.

It probably didn’t go exactly like that but we’re guessing it’s not far off.

However, despite being the switched on ‘savvy’ chick we love to see not smiling back at us in ‘Hello’, Posh Spice occasionally gets really fucking confused and feels the need to tell the world about it via the telly.

Recently she went on CNN to announce that she doesn’t know the sex of her baby.

She said

“Honestly. I don’t know the sex of my baby”

You see? She has no clue. Not just about this we fear.

We’re hoping she realises there are only two possibilities but even we are considering the very real possibility of a small monkey emerging from the murky depths of her tiny womb and killing us all.

With three boys already irritating the hell out of the nanny, she’s now hoping for a girl; mainly because her hand-me-down clothes won’t fit any female over the age of 2.

She even suggested that she may continue to let David ride her until finally a girl monkey… sorry… baby bursts through an old c-section scar, Alien style, making their, soon-to-be-Scientology-controlled-if-Tom Cruise-has-any-say-in-it, lives complete.

When asked if she’d consider having six children, she laughed and said

“Well, I’m not Angelina. I don’t know.”

Indeed. The nerve. We’re glad the reporter didn’t suggest 8 kids, she’d have compared herself to Rod Stewart before punching her in the face.

However, we’re sure that before the kid is even out of the wrapper, she’ll have blessed it with a ridiculous name like ‘Pumper’, stuck some gold shoes on it and thrown it down a catwalk like a bowling ball, knocking over Gwen Stefani and her offspring before going back on CNN to announce she doesn’t know something else decidedly unimportant.

This article was by Joanna Bolouri who can knock buildings over with one sneer. So that’s just brilliant, right? Don’t make her deck you one.

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Once described as looking like a fly on its hind legs, Victoria Beckham isn’t universally popular. She was everyone’s least favourite Spice Girl (and certainly the least talented… which is saying something) and generally, that woman with a face like a slapped arse who married David Beckham.

Has there ever been a photo taken of Victoria Beckham where she looks genuinely thrilled? We imagine it is difficult to look happy when you’re in possession of two eerie, hovering breasts and collarbones so protruding that you could hook a hanger on to dry your shirts.

And so, despite being consistently and astonishingly thin, it transpires that Victoria Beckham’s insides are still well-enough to carry a child as she announced that she’s pregnant again. Probably with a boy. BECAUSE THE BECKHAM’S ARE WEIRD CLONE MANUFACTURERS.

That’s right – Victoria husband David Beckham are expecting their fourth child, which is just wonderful news for the world’s photographers.

This latest addition will join the three existing Beckham spawn – Brooklyn, Romeo and Cruz. We fully expect this new child to have an equally stupid name.

We’re hoping that they have already signed it up for a sponsorship deal so when it eventually gets cut out of Victoria (she’s not going to push it out, is she?), they can rely on their constantly motionless faces not to crack-up with laughter when they announce little Red Bull/Shockwaves/Big Mac to the world.

Victoria is really hoping she has a girl though. She told Vogue, with presumably a very, very bored face;

“Maybe one day another baby, but at this stage I think the chances of a girl are quite slim.”

That’s because the Beckham’s are massive freaks, unable to bring females into the world. Presumably, this is because David Beckham generates woman-hating sperm in that famous nutsack of his (which of course, holds those famous Jasper Carrot endorsed ‘goldenballs’ within).

Anyway, all the magazines and blogs are wishing the Beckham family well and mewing about how thrilled they are, which leaves us no option to be pathetic and sneering about the whole thing.

All that leaves us to say is that we sincerely look forward to hearing about Victoria’ s pregnancy induced hemorrhoids and cracked-nipples and David Beckham’s seemingly endless sleepless nights and the hiring of various attractive child minders.

Little baby Aftershave is going to be one helluva kid!

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Proud Englishman and former England captain, David Beckham, wants to become a U.S. citizen. If you listen very carefully, you can just about hear the disappointment emanating drifting over the ocean.

That’s right America! You can put up with his silly, squeaky voice from now on and we’ll all chortle as his voice becomes Americanised, replacing ‘rubbish’ for ‘trash’, dropping the odd ‘U’ from words and spelling ‘defence’ the American way – A.T.T.A.C.K.

And better yet, you’ll get to keep his wife Victoria all for yourselves.

The footballer… sorry… soccer star and Posh Spice (yes, we’re still calling her that because she hasn’t really done much since her Spice Girls days, other than simply exist in a variety of expensive clothes) moved to Los Angeles with their three sons in 2007 when he signed up to play for L.A. Galaxy for so much money that it guaranteed his team mates hated him on sight.

And now, Beckham wants to stay in the States so his children can finish their education there. They’ll be experts in Creationism before you now it!

Of course, ol’ Davey Boy wants to reiterate that despite wanting to sever ties with England, he’ll always be an Englishman. Just one who prefers to be officially ‘American’.

When asked if he would consider U.S. citizenship, he told the Los Angeles Times

“I hope so, one day. It would be nice. I’m English born and bred. And that’s the way I’ll always be. I’m an Englishman, you know…

“Our boys go to school here. They’re happy here. As long as they continue to be happy here, my wife’s happy here, then we plan on staying.”

So there you have it. Let a reverse tug o’war proceed where both parties insist that the other takes the spoils.

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It’s been quiet for the tabloids this week. Things have gotten so bad, they’ve been forced into covering politics! Admittedly their coverage of the Labour leadership has been more like the video for Two Tribes by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, but with Liam and Noel Gallagher cast as the cold war leaders.

There was such a severe dearth of decent celeb-stories for them to cover that The Sun reported the revelation that Kate Moss was taking Folic Acid, popular amongst hopeful and pregnant mothers, by having a page long banner calmly announcing “KATE’S ON ACID”.

The Daily Mail accused Madonna of being undignified and not acting her age because of some saucy Dolce & Gabanna pics, although when Helen Mirren is pictured scantily clad, it’s a triumph for the representation of older women everywhere. The Mirror decided to dedicate a front page to Coleen Nolan almost having her arm ripped off (known in some circles as not having her arm ripped off) when handling a pony, the content of which amounted to a more sober ‘ex-pop star breaks finger’ scoop.

Fortunately there’s still one story with mileage and that was the ‘evil dead-eyed Eastern European succubus definitely didn’t have sex with David Beckham’ controversy.

There has been unanimous disapproval for the woman even Jesus would invariably refer to as “that lying whore, Irma Nici”. She’s been the object of the type of demonisation that multi-national news companies normally reserve for working-class women in Sheffield who forget to update Social Services of a change in their circumstances.

The gist of the story is that the media are so outraged on our behalf that this woman has claimed to sleep with David Beckham as a short-cut to fame, that they have given her extensive front-page coverage thus ensuring her total anonymity. Luckily the papers act in the confidence that they occupy a moral high ground since they would never give money to someone selling a story about sleeping with a celebrity.

Things took a new twist with claims that she could identify distinguishing features on his willy but according to The Sun, the Beckhams have a secret weapon. Whenever our nation is under attack by foreigners, it is only a matter of time until someone invokes the name of our favourite balaclava-clad super-soldiers, and so it was that they reported that the Beckhams had “engaged former SAS soldiers to help destroy Nici’s claims”. Yes, that’s right, our elite fighting force have got involved. They’re going to storm the embassy where the claims are holding the truth hostage and calmly shoot the evil lies in their heads. Their stupid metaphysical evil lying heads.

On Wednesday The Sun, who by this point had relegated all other global events to a footnote on page 12, reported that the Beckhams would donate any money gained from the court case to a charity. An entirely made-up source referred to as a “pal” of the couple stated “any cash retrieved from this liar will help sick kids”. So essentially, if Nici does win the case she will have been responsible for the deaths of children. Where will her web of evil end? Find out next week, when we bring more entries from the diary of our hardworking tabloid journalists, the fearless truth-seekers.

This article was edited, and all spelling mistakes destroyed, by former SAS soldiers.

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David Beckham probably doesn’t like hookers. Not that one should suppose he takes personal umbrage with all hookers. But there’s one who’s singing like a canary to a tacky tabloid that he’s got to be at least mildly annoyed by.

David also doesn’t like to be heckled, hecklers. You’d do well to not bring up the call girl who, to be fair, David probably didn’t sleep with in 2007. You might get shouted at. Really loudly. In David’s totally not scary helium-inhaling-sounding voice.

David, for those out of the loop, is rumoured by an American magazine called In Touch Weekly to have a bit of a soft spot for the ladies of the night. Ladies who cost $10,000-per-night. The kind who twiddle their thumbs for three years before coming out of hiding to ruin your life. Ladies like 26-year-old Irma Nici. That tart – and we’re not just name calling because we’re annoyed we wasted our time at Heckler University to earn… not $10K-per-night.

At least we get to live vicariously through the imaginative minds at ITW. Though, with the amount of creative writing going into each of their cover stories, sometimes we wish we worked there.

Irma’s claims of vanilla paid sex sessions, three years ago, during a time David was already married with three kids, have gained surprising ground considering they’re not based on much. A few text messages, and perhaps a few photos, do not a scandal make in our books.

Someone needs to tell that to the smart mouth who mocked David over the cheating allegations. Someone who sounds like they are being an utter ass about the whole thing. Someone who made our beloved, silly-voiced David fly into a rage. A totally not terrifying rage.

News of the World has the video. And Us Weekly magazine reports:

Don’t tease David Beckham about his hooker scandal. The soccer stud, 35, exploded after one fan taunted him after his team LA Galaxy defeated the New York Red Bulls, 2-0, Friday night. “Stop with the prostitutes!” the fan yelled, referring to In Touch Weekly’s erroneous cover claiming that Beckham had wild sex with $10,000-a-night hookers.

Hearing the remarks, Beckham immediately turned around and marched toward his heckler. “Oh, he’s coming after me!” the fan said (see that on the video from Britain’s News of the World’s website, above). Seconds later, Beckham got in the man’s face and snapped, “Do you want to say it again? Do you want to say it again?”  The person pleaded, “I didn’t say anything!” Disgusted, Beckham replied, “You got a Galaxy shirt on! You got a Galaxy shirt on!” He walked away still furious before turning back again, pointing at his head and mouthing the words: “Say it to my face.”

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

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First the bad news: David and Victoria Beckham have got a new perfume out, called Intimately Yours.

Why is that bad news? Because, obviously, if you have any pikeys in your family, there’s a chance that you’re going to get a bottle of this muck for Christmas. Apparently Intimately Yours smells of oranges and frozen basil, which we assume is a polite way of saying that it smells like earwax and vinegar and what Pot Noodles smell like if you wee into them and leave it for a month. Who knows. Either way, it sounds terrible.

But now the good news: David and Victoria Beckham have made a TV commercial for Intimately Yours, and it’s such a flurry of superfast information that we’re going to have to decode it scene by scene after the jump for you. Hooray? HOORAY!

In the interests of fairness, it’s only right that we should present you with the full advert for David and Victoria Beckham’s Intimately Yours. You can thank us for subjecting you to this later, possibly when you’ve finished trying to punch your own eyeballs out…

Did you catch all that? No? You didn’t? Even though it was only 22 seconds long and so painfully simplistic that even a child could understand it? What are you, stupid? Are you actually stupider than a child? Is that it? Honestly, you make us sick, you dribbling sub-infant. Look at you. But, oh fine, because you clearly don’t have the cerebral capacity to process moving images, let’s break the David and Victoria Beckham Intimately Yours ad down into stills for you. But we won’t forget this, oh no.

DAVID AND VICTORIA BECKHAM INTIMATELY YOURS AD SCENE 1

David Beckham is just hanging out in a lift, in a tuxedo, probably on his way to start the first shift of his new job as a waiter in a shitty Italian restaurant or something, when he spies a woman walking towards him. “Hello hello,” he thinks, “David Beckham’s luck is about it to be IN. This looks like… could it be?”

DAVID AND VICTORIA BECKHAM INTIMATELY YOURS AD SCENE 2

“Bugger it,” David Beckham thinks, clearly miffed. “This isn’t Rebecca Loos after all. It’s the wife. Bollocks, I thought I was on for a quick shag then. What if she starts singing at me? Oh God, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Why does my life has to be so relentlessly shit?”

DAVID AND VICTORIA BECKHAM INTIMATELY YOURS AD SCENE 3

So David Beckham does what any man would do in his situation – he starts choking Victoria Beckham to death with his bare hands.

DAVID AND VICTORIA BECKHAM INTIMATELY YOURS AD SCENE 4

“I REGRET NOTHING!” Victoria Beckham shouts as David Beckham squeezes the life out of her with his thumbs. “Nothing?” David Beckham replies. “Well, maybe the Spice Girls getting back together wasn’t such a great idea,” Victoria Beckham replies after a period of thoughtful consideration. “And that duet with Dane Bowers wasn’t very good. And remember when I pierced my lip? Jesus, I COMPLETELY regret that. In fact, all of my solo career. And most of my haircuts, for that matter. And, God I forgot, I made us name one of our kids ‘Romeo’, didn’t I? What a bellend…”

“Yeah, alright, bloody hell, I didn’t want your life story,” says David Beckham, and then makes sure that he definitely kills her for good just so he doesn’t have to listen to her whiny voice any more.

DAVID AND VICTORIA BECKHAM INTIMATELY YOURS AD SCENE 5

Fortunately David Beckham has just the thing to convince the world that Victoria Beckham is still alive – an inflatable sex doll modelled on a moderately-priced prostitute. Nobody could possibly tell the difference. But what’s this? A puncture? In her neck? Oh no!

DAVID AND VICTORIA BECKHAM INTIMATELY YOURS AD SCENE 6

So David Beckham does his best to re-inflate the doll through its mouth before his evil secret is revealed. But it’s no good – air is still escaping from the neck. And the lift doors are opening. You’re just going to have to wing it, David!

DAVID AND VICTORIA BECKHAM INTIMATELY YOURS AD SCENE 7

So he does. As the lift doors open, an exhausted David stands next to his withered, vacant-looking inflatable sex doll that’s been dressed up to look like Victoria Beckham. Ironically, the fact that the doll is withered and vacant is exactly what convinces so many people that it’s actually the real Victoria Beckham. David Beckham is victorious again! Now buy his perfume or something OR YOU’LL BE NEXT.

You’re welcome.

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Ladies and gentleman, the moment we’ve all been waiting for has arrived.

David and Victoria Beckham have put their seven bedroom Hertfordshire estate on the market and are finally packing up shop and moving to America full time. HAHAHAHAHA AMERICA! They’re your problem now.

Unbelievably the two-headed, barely one brained, self-promoting, outfit-matching monster have been terrorising our poor nation for 13 years. 13 bloody years. To put things into perspective, when these two all-encompassing nobheads met in the Manchester United players’ lounge in 1997, Tony Blair was popular, the UK won the Eurovision Song Contest and Lindsay Lohan was actually a respected actress. No really. What a crazy old world, eh?

But after the births of their oddly named offspring, an alleged affair with a woman who’ll happily help a pig rub one out and an infamous kick from the world’s most annoying football manager, the Beckhams have decided to leave our fair soil and make their move to America permanent, even though the country has already made it clear that they don’t give a toss about them. Oh well.

A spokeswoman for the Beckhams said: “I can confirm David and Victoria have had their UK home valued.”

We’re sure this has nothing to do with the fact that their accountants have told them to stop shitting their fortune down the toilet and all to do with the fact that once you make friends with the likes of Tom Cruise, you’re life is set. Let’s just hope that America doesn’t get some crazy idea to punish us by offloading one of their talent less harridans. Seriously Paris Hilton, put your passport and coke-filled handbag down, we just got rid of Peaches Geldof and the country is all the better for it.

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It’s been a long time since Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand allowed their evil souls to intertwine and become as one behemothic being of pure malevolence.

Remember? They were hell-bent on destroying each molecule of moral fibre in the BBC by ringing every single one of our grandads and cussing them out. Of course, their reign of evil only lasted a total of one grandad before their demonic light was squished out of existence by the great indignant arse of the Daily Mail, so then we all kind of forgot about it. Until back in January, when J-Ross flounced out of the BBC’s disapproving grasp and into pastures as yet unknown.

And now, his end is near; it’s time to face the final curtain. And by curtain, we mean that scrappy bit of scenery perched somewhere in a corridor in Television Centre which we’re meant to pretend is a glimpse into a palatial Green Room, where his Friday Night With Jonathan Ross guests laugh and cavort and dine on fatted calf and hide mischievously under his wife’s remarkable decolletage, and then decide totally off their own back to cram themselves into one corner for the duration of the show. So, the guests on his final ever chatfest, after 13 years of showbiz glamour – they’ve got to be the best of the best, right? The creme de la creme, the most loved or most notorious stars of the moment? Right? Right?

Nope.

First, David Beckham, a man so utterly lacking in any charisma and pizazz that Ross would get the same response by just scrawling his blokey banter directly onto a River Island mannequin in a waistcoat. Beckham will presumably be there to dissect England’s recent dismal showing in the World Cup, but once you’ve navigated the tangled mess of “at the end of the day”s and “gave it 110%”s and called house on your platitude bingo card, you may as well have interrogated a sleeping kitten for a similar level of intellectual insight. At least then you’d get a warm fuzzy feeling inside and a YouTube hit out of it.

Who else? Jackie Chan? Only entertaining if he rounds off the evening by kicking the hearts clean out of three-quarters of the Poofs while playing Roll Out The Barrel with his nipples. And finally, at the request of La Ross himself, those popular hitmakers of the day Roxy Music, where the reanimated corpse of Bryan Ferry will assume a louche posture on a chaise longue and deliver controversial bon mots over the sound of hunting bugles and his posho son picking off the riff-raff with a 12-bore shotgun.

Admittedly, that sounds quite cool. Probably won’t happen though.

A wasted opportunity for Ross’s swansong, then. No confessional interviews with Russell Brand, who’s too busy “getting” to a “Greek” and renouncing his debauched single life for a debauched married life with mostly-nude popstrel Katy Perry. No chance to ask David Cameron if he and Nick Clegg have played soggy biscuit under Thatcher’s portrait in Number 10. No aggressive and sexually charged showdown with the ghost of Mary Whitehouse.

Come on, Jonathan. We don’t ask for much. You owe us for dressing up as Dizzee Rascal at the Brits and indelibly searing yourself into our nightmares forever.

You bastard.

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