Ever since we all saw David Hasselhoff drunkenly eating a hamburger off the floor while berating his daughter, we’ve all thrilled at how damaged the former Baywatcher is. Not to mention that whole being under the impression he brought down the iron curtain in Germany thing.

The Hoff, for reasons only unclear to him, is one of our favourite celebrities to mockingly enjoy.

And, the good news is, is that he really hasn’t learned a thing. He’s as deluded as ever, growing his peas above sticks and saying, without a trace of irony, that he wants A-List superstar Russell Crowe for the Knight Rider Movie. That’d be the Knight Rider Movie which doesn’t ever, ever look like getting general release.

That’s right. A man who starred in the terrible slo-boober Baywatch and glazed idiot on the peering panel of America’s Got Talent has tweeted an invitation to Russell Crowe The Hollywood Actor.

Hoff said:

“Thanks mate hope to see you soon! Time for us to do Knight Rider the movie. Would love to hook up next time I’m in Sydney. Be there soon. Direct message me your email. Hope you’re well, bud.”

DaveHoff met Crowe in a hospital in Sydney. That’s all well and good until you hear that Hasselhoff is reported to have  danced for the young patients.

Surely there are law against such a thing?

Not only that, but while in Australia, Hasselhoff reportedly proposed to girlfriend Hayley Roberts during a walk up the Sydney Harbour Bridge. He posted photos on Twitter of him down on one knee and the couple kissing each other.

Next week, he’ll show us what he had for his lunch, post-digestion.

Britain’s Got Talent, the nation’s premier talent contest attracts thousands of willing participants each year. From dancing dogs to fire-eaters, gymnasts to geriatrics, the show has everything people could possibly want on a Saturday evening. That is, apart from three judges with any discernable talent.

Much has been made of BGT judge Michael McIntyre’s innate ability to point out things that are usually seen as too mundane to mention while dancing around the stage like a human spinning-top, pepped up on a cocktail of cocaine and speed. This seemed, to Simon Cowell at least, enough talent to secure him a place on the judging panel. However, it seems that he’s too nice to keep it.

What of David Hasselhoff? He’s big in Germany for his warbling singing voice, while he is best-known in this country for playing the role of the drunk, strung-out father in 80s’ TV classic Knight Rider. What will become of him and his perma-tan?

While the future of these two pantheons of talent hang in the balance, former Les Dennis cock-botherer Amanda Holden has come up with a plan to distract Simon Cowell from her obvious lack of any real showbiz credentials. This is, of course, the woman who was almost mistakenly cut down during filming of Wild At Heart, during a campaign of deforestation near the set. She needed some kind of Plan B (not the ‘soul saviour’).

According to reports, the swollen-bellied arbiter of taste and ability is planning to sweeten the deal with talent show supremo Simon Cowell by making him her baby’s Godfather. Presumably the offer of her first-born didn’t appeal to Cowell as much as the opportunity to mould a completely fresh child in his demonic, self-appreciating image.

The spawn is set to be unleashed early next year, around the time of the first Britain’s Got Talent auditions, and Holden doesn’t want to miss out. She even seems willing to give over some control of her family life to a man with one of the most evil minds in the world. Cowell is said to be thinking of using the child as a round in Red or Black, his quite preposterous new challenge show in which members of the public have a chance to win their dignity back in front of millions, before having the opportunity snatched away, only to be spat on by Ant McPartlin.

Speaking to some Red-Top purveyor of molly-coddled twattery, the woman, so often mistaken for a sapling, stated:

“Simon is the ultimate godfather. I’m going to make Simon godfather so I don’t get the sack from Britain’s Got Talent.”

That’s a nice thought, isn’t it? In order to advance your career, you’d sign your child over to Syco.

“I’ve been told my seat is safe but the dates may clash. But we’ll work something out. I’ve been told by all the right people I’m safe.”

“All the right people” have let out massive pantomime ‘Awwww’ in near-perfect unison. The notion that Amanda may be so predisposed jettisoning a child from her reproductive organs that she might miss out on the opportunity to judge a ‘street dance’ troupe while sitting next to a recovering alcoholic and a child-like comedian, awestruck by the wonder and glory of everything he sees, fills them with sorrow. It’s a real tragedy.

Still, priorities, eh?

It’s a small miracle that people who watch The X Factor and Britain’s Got Talent think it’s a level playing field, when the shows are quite clearly as choreographed as WWE events. They’re not based in competition, rather, the drama of perceived competition. They are, first and foremost, television programmes: scripted, edited to within an inch of their lives and in both hugely successful franchises.

And now, the allegation of ‘FIX!’ is being thrown around again, as if the shows weren’t hugely manipulated in the first instance. It’d be a surprise if they weren’t, but we always worked under the assumption that they were rigged, and didn’t really mind (mainly because we are part of the viewing public that don’t pick up the phone to vote in such shows, thereby, investing little more than sarcasm and occasional lust).

However, feathers are flying at the moment. That’s because a supposed Sony executive has anonymously blown the whistle on this year’s Britain’s Got Talent which claims that eerie child crooner, Ronan Parke, has already ‘won’ the show.

As such, Simon Cowell has been forced into issuing a statment flatly denying these claims that BGT is a con.

The anonymous blog (which you can read in full here – be warned as it is rather lengthy and you probably don’t care that much) alleges that Ronan Parke already signed up to Cowell’s SYCO label two years ago with the intention of him entering the talent show, guaranteed a victorious spot.

The hugely not-creditable source claims to be an employee at the label who is disgusted with it all, and wants to lift the lid on the scam, which involves an accusation that Cowell designed Ronan to ‘act more gay’ as some kind of unique selling point to audiences.

The blog says:

“Until now Ronan had been encouraged to “boy-up” and it was planned to present Ronan as an everyday skater-boy.  But with his girliness still showing through, the image just wasn’t  believable.  So a decision was taken to encourage and allow Ronan to “release” and enhance his campness.  Disgustingly, SYCO planned to sexualise him.  They were well aware of  course, that if they sexualised a young girl to look sexually older than she is, all hell would let loose.  But with Ronan, as one executive put it, ‘no one has ever seen a ‘gay’ kid before,  it’ll be a novelty.’”

In return, Cowell’s statement says:

“There has been speculation on the internet that Britain’s Got Talent finalist Ronan Parke was known to and worked with Syco/Sony Music before entering the show. There is no truth in this story whatsoever. Ronan first came to Syco/Sony’s attention when he entered this year’s competition. Syco/Sony Music will not hesitate to take whatever legal action is appropriate to prevent further publication of these unfounded allegations.”

This all sounds bogus as hell to us, but amusingly enough, adds another layer of drama to a TV event we figured was rigged anyway. Is this surreptitious ‘multi-platforming’ on behalf of a production team? If it is, you have to doff your cap to them because this is about to generate some buzz, thanks to the internet already being something of a celebrity bogeyman after all the injunction rumours that have been flying around.

So what do you think?

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What do we think about Amanda Holden? Not a great deal to be honest – she’s just sort of ‘there’. Although it is difficult to look at her without remembering that she used to have regular sex with chicken enthusiast Les Dennis which is, frankly, horrible.

The fact that she also let Neil Morrissey push his winky into her foo-foo is also deeply harrowing to us. Although we suspect not as upsetting as it was to Les, who was still married to her at the time and probably still thinks about it as he sits in his damp-ridden bedsit eating cold baked beans straight from the tin before spending his evenings with a brown paper bag on his head weeping and masturbating.

Anyway.

She has landed herself a job on what we assume is the ironically-titled Britain’s Got Talent due to her extensive experience of, well, just being around and that.

And on said job, some contestant – a Britney Spears looky-likey with her ‘twins’ on display due to an ill-judged transparent body stocking – named Lorna Bliss (we’re still trying to verify the surname) gave Amanda ‘No We Shouldn’t, I’m Married’ Holden a great big lesbian snog on her nose this Saturday. As a result of the ‘lip-plumper’ Bliss (no confirmation as yet) was wearing, Holden’s conk swelled-up like Neil Morrissey’s penis and filming had to be halted, according to reports.

At least, that is Amanda ‘Those Vows Mean Something’ Holden’s take on events. Remember all those pap shots of her atrocious squid’s anus of a mouth after she “didn’t” have collagen implants last year? That she attributed to bad lighting?

Yeah. We’re saying nowt. Her swollen conk was as a result of a lip-gloss laden lesbian fake-Britney Spears kiss. No problem.

Still no confirmation on the veracity of the surname of Lorna Bliss, who sounds like she should be ‘working the tables’ at your local Madame Choo-Choos, but – according to her website – Eamonn Holmes is quite the fan.

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Britain’s Got Talent, and by God, that’s got to be sifted out somehow. They’ve got to be taken off these streets, these talented people. They’re a damn liability. They can’t keep flinging their tiny urban dancing children around like that without consequence. At some point, a poor defenceless granny is going to be trundling her week’s supply of gin and Rothmans out of the Tesco Metro and an Adidas-clad five-year-old limb will flail wildly out of a headspin and knock her eyeball right through the back of her skull.

So hooray for Britain’s Got Talent. Soon all of this year’s supply of talent will be tucked away nicely in a SyCo dungeon, out of harm’s way, where they can be safely milked for pennies until dead or demented. But it’s all change for 2011, as the AntDec chirrup in the typically bombastic opening, showcasing the success of previous winners “Carphone Warehouse Pavarotti”, “Urban Dance Troupe 1.0″, “Naked Ballet Weird”, “Er…”, and “the Wicked Witch Su-bo”; Britain’s Got Talent but America’s Got Piers Morgan and Simon Cowell’s Got Advanced Syphyllitic Insanity (he hasn’t, obviously, he hasn’t at all – he’s got hideous diarrheoa).

So We’ve Got New Judges joining Amanda “Armpits” Holden behind their big red fun-buttons – Michael McIntyre and David Hasselhoff.

Within the first 2 minutes of the show, it’s clear what the roles will be within this judging panel. Amanda Holden will use both hands to attempt to manipulate emotions out of her immobile, putty-like face, hopefully ending the series looking like Lionel Richie’s bust in the Hello video. Michael McIntyre will manage to shriek in two octaves simultaneously. And The Hoff will seem blissfully unaware of anything happening in front of his face, bar a few blurry shapes and interesting noises, and will occasionally, alarmed, bark out non-sequitar catchphrases like a shell-shocked old duffer reliving their past in a trench in the Somme every time a car backfires within a mile radius.

Britain’s Got Talent, judged by that lot? Michael McIntyre is popular, somehow. Amanda managed to make someone, somewhere think “Hey, that Jamie Theakston’s not a bad actor, actually.” And The Hoff can’t even locate his own mouth with a burger even when helped with 10 square foot of previously pristine bathroom floor and the sweet cradle of gravity. May as well have a show called Britain’s Got Sexual Allure and have it judged by Ian Beale, Grotbags from off of the ’80s and a 400 page thesis on the current NHS reforms.

So to the talent, and as it is the audition stages, it was the usual mix of bores, maniacs, dogs, and extreme editing. And, of course, massive and painful wrangling of the definition of the word “talent” until it encompassed “being able to pop your eyes out at will”, as in the case of the nadir of the night, Antonio from Essex. He didn’t just pop out his eyes like a stress toy, though. He did it while grinding to Mr Boombastic, like a sexy stress toy. He somehow impressed with this freakish behaviour and got through to the next round, meaning he now has to come up with something else to pop out lest his act get stale and repetitive; start working on those Kegel muscles now, dude.

Elsewhere in the buzzed back into obscurity group: a Beatles-murderer, tunes not Ringo, in Liverpool (“LIVERPOOL ROCKS!” Thanks, Hoff); John, who painted himself gold, sang Gold and stormed off indignantly after half a verse and one rejection (“BIT PRECIOUS!” Thanks, random cameraman. Next time, give your lines to Hoff); and Tongue and Cheek, a Stupid I’m With plus-size aerobics duo who made the classic mistake of thinking standing in the wrong order in tshirts with their names on and smacking each other’s arses made them endearing (“I MAY HAVE BEEN BORN YESTERDAY BUT I’VE BEEN UP ALL NIGHT!” Easy, Hoff. You’re not in your light-up leather jacket now.) And Blair the piss-taking London banker, who painted himself to resemble a dolphin and did seemingly nothing at all, including failing to take the opportunity to say “This? Oh, I just blue myself,” unforgivable in the eyes of the Gob.

To the winners! Denelda brought the canine sass with the obligatory bloody dog act, twirling her collies around her like they were scarves falling from an Arabian princess; a horrifying image after seeing Denelda focussing all her post-HRT horn on McIntyre’s wobbly head and her sheepdogs on heat focussing pure dog-lust on AntDec’s unsuspecting shins. Michael Collings was the obligatory bloody uggo-got-game act, an amiable shambling man-mountain from Plymouth who talked of trailer parks with keycards and all-you-can-eat Chinese buffets and other such foreign concepts to the Soho-bound arseholes responsible for patronising him half to death in the show’s edit. Snide remarks from Amanda and Michael chased him and his guitar onto the stage until lo and behold, would you Adam and Eve it, he’s only a musical genius! Well, if you call noodling around a Tracey Chapman song in a pleasant John Legend-y voice while Simon Cowell foghorns “SUUUU-BOOOO” in the background and poops out another million pounds “musical genius.”

Two more notables: the obligatory bloody adorable child act came with David Knight (“I FOUND YOU! MY SON!” Nurse! Bring the Hoff-syringe!), a nine-year-old comedian. McIntyre makes friends and influences people by shouting right into David’s innocent face and making it wobble and sob. But David shook off the slight and performed a nuts and bolts observational set – the entertainment coming mostly from McIntyre laughing away before slowly realising a nine-year-old has written something approximately equal to his best material, and all that means for his self-worth. Odds are on for Michael McIntyre to have a total identity breakdown before the series ends and start claiming he’s a SyCo-designed and produced replicant.

And to round off proceedings, weirdy-beardy bell-ringers Gay and Alan, both played by Kevin Eldon, who brought the house to a swaying climax with their rendition of My Heart Will Go On. Slightly malformed, slightly suggesting a complicated bell-ringing element to their foreplay, slightly sweet – perfect fodder for the baying crowd to hoot approval at. You’re freaks, they holler, but you’re our freaks.

So there you go – hecklerspray‘s tip, forget about everyone but the singing bumpkin, as he’s clearly going to win. Another season of this madness has begun, and who knows what heights Amanda Holden’s hairstyle will reach. It’s already metamorphosed through more life stages than Zoidberg in a fountain of life.

Next week: nothing less than a hair replica of the Burj Al Arab will do.

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Michael McIntyre, a man that seemingly no stand-up comedian likes because he’s not edgy enough and became incredibly famous in a very short period of time, is clearly seeing off the competition before they get a foothold on the comedy ladder.

McIntyre, who is starring on the panel of judges on the new Britain’s Got Talent series, managed to make a nine-year-old boy cry all over his tiny face during auditions for the show.

And now, amusingly, McIntyre is hoping that the footage of him being needlessly nasty to a pre-pubescent child won’t be aired. Thankfully, we’re here to report on it and don’t worry – we’re storing this information to use against him repeatedly. He’s now Michael ‘The Big Dirty Child Botherer’ McIntyre in our heads.

So, what happened?

Well, tiny budding stand-up comic, David Knight, started crying at what was presumably his first heckle. He walked on-stage and in Birmingham and McIntyre – aka Captain Buzzkill – hit the ‘no, piss-off’ buzzer before the kid had even started his routine, after admitting his favourite comedian was Harry Hill.

Realising he looked like a massive dong, McIntyre quickly back-pedalled and apologised for ripping out a nine-year-old’s ambition and taking a massive shit on it, soon to be broadcast on national television.

He said:

“I’m sorry, it was a joke, not one of my best. You’re naturally funny – a star in the making.”

Hasselhoff, who has inexplicably been asked to star as a judge on the show, threw his tuppence into the fray, saying:

“You are not only the best nine-year-old comedian I have seen, you are the best comedian. You belong on that stage. I’ve never seen anyone intimidate Michael like that. I love you for it.”

God. Americans can be so achingly hokey can’t they? He’s only nine, but already, The Hoff considers him to be better than Richard Pryor, Bill Hicks and Billy Connolly. What a spectacular dimgit he is.

Anyway, after McIntyre had ravaged a young boy’s dreams, he realised that this might stick a boot in on his Nice Guy Of Comedy facade.

“He had bought a one way ticket to tears. I thought I was going to have to jump on the stage. The buzzer is so loud. I hope they edit that out. I don’t want to see him jumping out of his skin.”

That’s right. You’re doing this for him aren’t you? You keep telling yourself that while you do your best to find some eye-holes that look good on an adult face.

In fairness to McIntyre, he is saving some of his manufactured ire (apparently at the behest of ITV) for the adults as well. One chap called John Hampson walked on-stage painted gold and walked off the stage after McIntyre pressed the buzzer before he reached the chorus of Spandau Ballet’s ‘Gold’.

The comedian said:

“He’s not the father of the young comedian, is he? That family hates me. What is it with me today? I saw a man with a gold head, singing ‘Gold’ and I thought, ‘This is the moment I am paid to press my buzzer.’ Now he is sitting in a taxi, with his gold face.”

Imagine that. Having your hopes torn apart by Michael ‘Have You Ever Noticed This Mundane Thing We Do?’ McIntyre and then, having to sit in a taxi, painted gold while a taxi driver tries not to talk to you because he clearly thinks you’re mental.

Oh! What a circus!

Still, that all said and done, McIntyre is still a better person than most of you lot. At least he didn’t vote for Stavros Flatley. You idiotic roost of chicken-minded simpletons.

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People who were famous in the ’80s thrive on knowing that, despite falling out of favour with various television and record company executives, their hardcore fanbase still love them. These fans are what stop them from rigging a hose up to the exhaust and ending this cruel life.

But what happens when those fans suddenly go AWOL? What happens when these fans decide that you can’t even dance as well as Bristol Palin who moves around the floor like a thing you’ve shot in the knees?

This is what David Hasselhoff will be asking himself today as he was the first person voted off Dancing With The Stars. It looks like we might be due another Hoff Drunk On The Floor video again.

We’re well aware that The Hoff has worked on various talent shows in The States, but really, that isn’t an indicator of how well loved you are by the public at large. That would be like assuming that the British public have grabbed Amanda Holden and Piers Morgan and clutched them to the collective bosom.

We haven’t. We have to get up early in a morning just so we can cram all the loathing in.

Hoff’s departure has still come as something of a surprise to host of Dancing With The Stars, Tom Bergeron:

“I got to tell you, of all the first people to leave, in all the seasons I’ve hosted, this was the biggest surprise to me!”

Apparently, comedian Margaret Cho was the one that should have got the chop. Mainly because she’s a terrible dancer (which saw Bergeron quipping that she looked and danced ‘like Liberace’s shower curtain’).

This doesn’t matter one jot, because it’s obvious that the whole of America hates David Hasselhoff so much that they vote for Bristol Palin, despite the fact her mother is a fucking mental. When Michael Bolton is more popular than you, you really see the dark looming clouds of depressing hanging around on the horizon.

Hasselhoff said, adding to the sense of impending death:

“We’re already wearing black for our funeral – Hoff to heaven.”

No. Honestly. He said that. If only we were making that bit up.

Jimmy Kimmel added, after the show on his own show… show show show…:

“How do you eliminate David Hasselhoff in the first week?”

“Have you people no sense of comedy? I have a show to do here,”

“I was counting on him for at least six weeks! This is Hoff-ul, just Hoff-ul.”

There you have it. America hates David Hasselhoff and wishes that KITT got his gig on the show instead (which, for the record, would be fucking brilliant).

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This year’s Dancing With The Stars will feature the likes of Bristol Palin, The Situation and Michael Bolton.

But that’s not why you’ll watch it. No. You’re only going to watch Dancing With The Stars for David Hasselhoff, aren’t you? It’s OK, you can admit it. You’ll either watch it because you genuinely appreciated David Hasselhoff’s work on Knight Rider and Baywatch, or because you’re an ironic fan of David Hasselhoff’s ironic ‘Hoff’ persona, or because you want to see David Hasselhoff turn up drunk, start a fight with the gay Italian and then roll around on the floor urinating everywhere.

But what if you want to see David Hasselhoff do everything in his power to try and have sex with his Dancing With The Stars partner? Don’t worry, he’s got that angle covered as well. It was obviously a massive risk on the part of the Dancing With The Stars producers to hire David Hasselhoff. Don’t forget, David Hasselhoff is perhaps best-known for not being able to eat a hamburger off the floor properly so, by attempting something as complex as ballroom dancing, there’s a very real chance that he could end up dislocating every single bone in his body.

Not that David Hasselhoff cares about that, anyway. He’s only going on Dancing With The Stars for the poontang. No, really. E! Online reports:

“My daughters are the ones who talked me into this, and they said, ‘if you get this certain dance partner, you’re going to be very happy.’ And when I met the dance partner, I was smiling for a long time,” David said with a grin too big to be just for show. Uh-oh. The hookup rumors are starting before a single sequined pantsuit has been donned.

Now, we don’t know who David Hasselhoff’s Dancing With The Stars partner is – partly because she hasn’t been announced yet, and because because we really can’t bring ourselves to care – but, on the simple basis that she’s a female member of the professional Dancing With The Stars team, we’re going to guess that she’s tall, slim, coated in a thick nut-coloured Ronseal mixture and has about 4,000 more teeth than she would ever actually need. Or maybe, because David Hasselhoff loves her, she might be a talking car. We just don’t know.

Still, this news has suddenly made Dancing With The Stars a lot more appealing. As the relationship between David Hasselhoff and his partner develops, we’re bound to see a lot more brand new dance moves from them, including the Sneaky Non-Consensual Grope, the Restraining Order Threat and the Oh God Your Breath Smells Like Alcohol Again Look At Yourself You Disgust Me. We can’t wait.

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Hey, everyone, Dancing With The Stars is back! No, wait, don’t leave, that’s good news. No, really, it is.

The show has something for everyone. If you like dancing, there’s dancing. If you like bizarre costumes that tend to make people you used to admire look like a cross between a low-budget prostitute and a cartoon of a little Dutch girl, then there’s that. And if you like stars, then… well, actually this is where Dancing With The Stars usually falls down. The contestants are often so painfully obscure that if you’ve even heard of four of them it feels like an enormous moral triumph.

But this year Dancing With The Stars has pulled out all the stops and hired celebrities who you will have definitely heard of. They’re all genuinely awful human beings, but at least you’ll know who they are. And that’s something, right? Full Dancing With The Stars line-up after the jump…

Bristol Palin – Daughter of Sarah Palin and mother of that kid she had when she was supposed to be promoting abstinence all over the place. Can Bristol juggle her gruelling dance training with the demands of caring for her dribbling, wailing, attention-seeking dependent? By which we obviously mean Sarah Palin. Ha ha ha. Satire.

David Hasselhoff – The world’s best-loved alcoholic. Forget winning or losing, everyone really wants to know how long it’ll be before Hasselhoff turns up to the recording drunk, makes a hopeless fool out of himself, tries to paper over the mess he’s made of everything by forlornly calling himself ‘The Hoff’ a lot and then bursts into tears. Our guess? Two weeks.

The Situation – From Jersey Shore, that show you’ve never watched but pretend that you do because you’re the editor of a celebrity website and you’re supposed to be into crap like this.

Brandy – Like David Hasselhoff, Brandy used to be a judge on America’s Got Talent. We know what you’re thinking. We’re also glad that Piers Morgan isn’t here.

Michael Bolton – MICHAEL FUCKING BOLTON. That is all.

Jennifer Grey – The one from Dirty Dancing who isn’t dead. Also, the one from Dirty Dancing who you probably assumed was dead.

Audrina Partridge – The woman from The Hills. No, not that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. The other one. No, not that one. The one next to her. Her.

Florence Anderson – This year’s token Hilarious Pensioner, a role that Dancing With The Stars is determined to maintain until someone falls over and shatters their hip.

Kurt Warner – This year’s Retired American Footballer Who Will Definitely Finish Dancing With The Stars In Third Place Because They All Do So What’s The Sodding Point Of Him Even Turning Up?

Rick Fox – We don’t know who this is, but he’s almost definitely not a real fox. A disappointment.

Margaret Cho – A comedian who, according to Wikipedia, cites Bill Hicks as an influence. Sadly Bill Hicks didn’t live long enough to ever appear on Dancing With The Stars, a fact that causes great pain to his loyal fanbase.

Kyle Massey – Kyle Massey was born in 1991. With that in mind, we hate him.

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Fans of undiluted harrowing spectacle, rejoice! David Hasselhoff is about to make your wildest dreams come true.

Possibly. It depends on whether or not your wildest dreams involve remaking Requiem For A Dream to include more scenes of semi-ironic 1980s heartthrobs rolling around and trying to eat a hamburger off the floor without a shirt on while their audibly distressed daughter cries and pleads for them to stop. We know that’s our wildest dream, anyway.

And we have cable network A&E to thank for this wish fulfilment. The network has just commissioned ten episodes of a new reality show starring the hilariously troubled David Hasselhoff. It’ll be so bad it’s good! Or so bad we’ll gradually lose all faith in humanity and end up throwing ourselves off a bridge as a protest against the utter despairing futility of it all! One or the other!

David Hasselhoff is no longer a judge on America’s Got Talent, and there’s a whole list of reasons why that’s terrible news. For instance:

*It means that Piers Morgan will get more screentime.

*It means that David Hasselhoff will have more time to concentrate on his musical career.

*It means that Piers Morgan will get more screentime.

*It means that David Hasselhoff won’t get to end each season with one of those song and dance numbers that were clearly meant to remind all the performers that they don’t even know the meaning of the word abominable.

*Look, mainly it’s Piers Morgan. We just don’t like his face, OK?

However, just because David Hasselhoff has moved on from America’s Got Talent, it doesn’t mean that he’s going to disappear from our lives forever. Why, just yesterday it was announced that David Hasselhoff has been given his own reality show on A&E – the network that gave you Dog The Bounty Hunter and Steven Seagal: Lawman. We’ll let Reuters do the explaining:

A&E said on Wednesday it had ordered 10 half-hour episodes of the untitled series about the hunky actor nicknamed “The Hoff.” The new series will focus on Hasselhoff’s business ventures and his role as a divorced father trying to guide his teenage daughters as they look to break into the recording industry. “It’s the dream of every parent to be able to help their children succeed,” Hasselhoff said in a statement.

Oh, thank God. For a moment there we thought the David Hasselhoff reality show would be a bad idea – full of scenes where David Hasselhoff drunkenly fails to eat burgers from a hotel room carpet, or scenes where David Hasselhoff urinates down himself at an airport, or scenes where David Hasselhoff drunkenly starts fights at sporting events, or drunkenly causes himself to be to taken to hospital to be treated for alcohol abuse – but we’ve changed our mind. It’s actually a show about David Hasselhoff’s daughters trying to become popstars. There’s nothing depressing about that at all.

Still, we’re sure the show will be a great success. After all, Steven Seagal: Lawman proved that audiences love watching past-their-prime actors do things that you wouldn’t expect them to, so we’re sure this formula will be repeated with the Hasselhoff show. Admittedly in David Hasselhoff’s case, by ‘things you wouldn’t expect them to,’ we mean stuff like ‘standing upright’ and ‘speaking lucidly’ and ‘not burping sick into his own mouth in the middle of sentences’ – but you have to take what you can get, right?

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Thanksgiving might traditionally be an American holiday, but we’ve decided that we want a go this year, too. Ready?

We’re thankful that David Hasselhoff isn’t our dad. What’s more, we’re similarly thankful that Pamela Bach isn’t our mother. Because, no matter how bad things get for us, at least we’re not a Hasselhoff daughter. Those girls have probably just had the most traumatic weekend of their lives, which is no mean feat considering all the other crap their parents have put them through.

In a nutshell, this weekend saw David Hasselhoff drink so much vodka that he reportedly had a seizure and spent two days in a hospital’s psych ward, and Pamela Bach was arrested for DUI. We bet Christmas is going to be a hoot.

Can we stop ironically worshipping David Hasselhoff now, please? All of it, can we just kick it in the head? Can we stop calling him The Hoff, and humming Jump In My Car, and letting him do all those winking cameos in Spongebob Squarepants films, and gleefully hopping around at the prospect of a David Hasselhoff musical that we all know will never reach fruition, and watching him repeatedly fail to eat hamburgers off the floor. Because, seriously, enough’s enough.

This weekend, David Hasselhoff was taken to hospital in an ambulance, where he stayed for two days. Officially, the nature of his illness hasn’t been disclosed. Unofficially, though, several sources have reported that Hasselhoff went on a vodka binge, fell into a seizure and ended up being involuntarily held in the psych ward of the Cedars Sinai Medical Centre in Los Angeles. RadarOnline reports:

We have now confirmed that The Hoff had once again been drinking a large amount of alcohol before his hospitalization. He was picked up under the California Welfare and Institutions Code 5150 that allows authorities to take into custody persons they believe may be a danger to themselves or others, are gravely disabled or suffer from a mental disorder.

Needless to say, it’s David Hasselhoff’s daughters who we feel most sorry for. Still, at least their mum’s alright. Right, The Associated Press?

David Hasselhoff’s ex-wife has been arrested on suspicion of drunken driving in Los Angeles. The California Highway Patrol said Sunday that Pamela Bach was pulled over Saturday night just south of U.S. 101 on Laurel Canyon Boulevard. The CHP alleges Bach showed blood alcohol levels of .14 and .13 on a breathalyzer test. California’s legal limit is .08.

Oh, that’s hilarious. The most hilarious thing about it is that this is probably going to carry on again and again, just like it has for several years, because everyone loves The Hoff, don’t they? With his hilarious songs and his funny clothes and everything! It’s OK! Keep drinking, David! You’re hilarious!

Honestly, if Mel Gibson went around calling himself The Gib and being big in Germany and starring in shit television shows about poxy talking cars, he wouldn’t have got in half as much trouble as he did that time. There’s a lesson in that, readers.

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Cameos in movies are always a bit of a double-edged sword.

On one hand they can provide audiences with a reaction of genuine delight when they find a big-name star who was not listed in the opening credits has suddenly turned up on screen to enliven and enrich the film in progress.

The more negative reaction however can see fans of a particular actor howling in anger as some wannabe gate-crashes some other big-name star’s party – usually with a scene of such gravitas that it completely overshadows the main star’s performance.

After all don’t actors get enough work of their own without having to swan around in movies which were meant for the people who’s names are up outside the multiplex?

Even worse are the fame-hungry fly-by-nights who, not content with already being famous in fields such as sport or politics, have to go and show up in the world of showbusiness too.

Like them or hate them it seems cameos will always be a part of the great world of cinema and just for your viewing pleasure we have listed the best 20 we could think of.

Any we’ve forgotten…well they’re probably off appearing in some other list somewhere.

20 – Jarvis Cocker – Harry Potter and Goblet of Fire

After his unwelcome, but undoubtedly amusing, cameo in Michael Jackson’s Earth Song performance the former Pulp frontman decided to stick with what he knows best.

19 – William Hootkins – Star Wars

He was master of the cameo in his day and thanks to the net his untimely death in this scene is being blamed on a Mexican food-fuelled fart.

18 – Bruce Willis – Loaded Weapon

John McClane would have kicked their asses – sadly this was not his movie.

17 – Bruce Springsteen – High Fidelity

We’ve tried hard to make Britney Spears materialise in our bedrooms but apparently it only works for lucky gits like John Cusack.

16 – Martin Sheen – Hot Shots Part 2

I loved you in Wall Street – brilliant.

15 – Keith Richards – At World’s End

Clearly influenced by the fans and the media this cameo showed some people really will do anything for money.

14 – Lance Armstrong – Dodgeball

If ever you feel like quitting – just imagine a pep-talk from a man who doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

13 – Mike Tyson – The Hangover

Even once hated and universally shunned boxers seem able to make us say ‘all is forgiven’ by doing stuff like this.

12 – Sean Connery in Robin Hood

Historians agree Richard the Lionheart was born in England and raised French – so why does he sound here like he hails from Kilmarnock?

11 – Matt Damon – Eurotrip

If you go to school with the right mega-stars they too may one day agree to cameo in one of your films.

10 – Chris Rock – You Don’t Mess With The Zohan

Man loses entire family – consoles himself with Chinese food.

9 – Samuel L Jackson – Iron Man

A special kind of cool cameo – one which hints at the next blockbusting film to come.

8 – David Hasslehoff – Spongebob the Movie

Also appeared in Dodgeball – but this saw him back in Baywatch mode. Couldn’t he have bought Pammy and the girls with him, though?

7 – Stan Lee – Marvel series

OK to play old man on street or postman to the Fantastic Four – but who told him he could pull off Hugh Hefner?

6 – Animator – Aladdin

Not strictly a cameo but rumour has it this was a piece of sabotage created by a pissed-off animator who told Aladdin to take Princess Jasmine’s clothes off. Fair play to him.

5 – Richard Burton – Zulu

Could have got any jobbing actor to read out the opening and closing narration but thankfully decided to go with a legend who’s voice sends shivers up your spine.

4 – Alfred Hitchcock – Everything!

The cameo master – no contest.

3 – Tom Cruise – Tropic Thunder

You got us back on side with this one Tom – but not for long.

2 – Chuck Norris – Dodgeball

If Chuck Norris says you play Dodgeball. YOU. PLAY. DODGEBALL!

1 – Alec Baldwin – Glengarry Glenn Ross

Better in these seven or so minutes than he was in any of the films in which he was the star. There you have the true definition of a cameo.

[story by Chris Longhurst]

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David Hasselhoff used to have it all. The car that could talk, the hair that even made women jealous. Not to mention his smash hit drama series about disturbed young lifeguards trying to make it through life, without falling foul of the hideous daily flashbacks of having to hoik limp, dripping bodies from an angry ocean, or breathe air from their own beautiful lungs into the dribbling mouth of an old lady who thought she’d take up surfing. Damn it, the man made these sea police beautiful again!

Unfortunately, like Achilles with his rotten heel, The Hoff has a weakness – mainly being that he can’t resist throwing back a few sweet shots of the strong stuff, and making a complete tit of himself. It’s a symptom of his massive celebrity, some might argue. But then again, perhaps not? After all, how would those very same people explain the smelly demise of street people, slurping cooking sherry from bins? Were they once famous? No they were not. They just couldn’t resist the tempting aroma of a cheap head-rush.

Hence, it’s with a rather downtrodden sign, a very upset shrug, combined with a particularly dramatic skyward glance to the heavens, and topped off with a furious fist slam onto any nearby table, that we report that The Hoff has been drinking himself ridiculous again. This time, it was vodka’s turn to flow down his meaty throat, and make acquaintance with his legendary insides. He ended up in hospital with alcohol poisoning.

Of course, it’s not the first time that Knight Rider has astounded the world with his total incapability to style things out, and make like he’s sober. Not so long ago, a video did the rounds of him toplessly picking up fistfuls of a late-night cheeseburger and chips from the floor of his snazzy house. Wasted. And this time, he reportedly lurched clumsily into a massive vodka binge after wrapping up another excellent season of America’s Got Talent auditions. Unfortunately, one thing led to numerous others, making for a rather stumblesome trip to the local infirmary. It sounds like a stone cold case of celebrations-gone-wrong. 

According to the good people of Daily News:

At the point when paramedics were called to his home in Encino, CA on Sunday, the Hoff had reportedly already been on a bender for more than a day. The actor was at home with his 17-year-old daughter Hayley and a male assistant at the time.

He was later discharged from hospital, with his put-upon daughter apparently weeping hysterically as they went.

Like this do you? Then read more of Josh’s stuff at Interestment.

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Week 274 of Ameria’s Got Talent, and the ten remaining acts audition again, for your votes.

Well, either your votes, or else the approval of the goat’s entrails which the judges seem to have been relying on these past few weeks to tell them which act gets their discretionary nod.

If you, like us, are getting a little tired of this season’s judges’ decisions – which they apparently make by asking themselves “Which of these acts is worst at delivering the one, simple, specific thing which they claim as their whole reason for being here?” – then take heart! After the jump, we introduce you to the awesomely majestic mighty magnificence which is… the AGT Drinking Game.

Yes, it’s been an odd season. Despite being humiliatingly told off on an aeroplane by Simon Cowell – sat, sulking, like naughty toddlers being denied their playtime – the judges have still continued with their ploy of putting contestants through based solely on their astrological chart, mother’s maiden name or extremely homosexual facial hair (at this point, please indulge yourself with a little Susan Boyle gag).

How else, after all,  to explain Tony & Rory getting through a couple of weeks ago? You remember them: the man who sported the very dictionary definition of “that moustache what is worn by middle-aged gay men” threw frisbees for his insane dog, which decided that its job was to headbutt them into the audience and then stand at the front of the stage, menacing the crowd with its mad, mad eyes.

Well, we’re sick of it. And how do we deal with that? Why, just like everything else in our lives which annoys or depresses us: by pouring alcohol down our gullets until the hurt goes away.

It’s an AGT drinking game, and here are the prescribed doses for various scenarios:

Hoffisms: each time David Hasselhoff clumsily replaces a syllable from an everyday English word with Hoff – Hofftastic, Hoffnificent, Hoffaleujah -  the drinker shall chug one half pint of beer.

Special Circumstances: if the Hoff is inserted in an uncomfortably jarring way – Hoffazing, Unbehoffable, Hoffcredihoff – then the forfeit shall be one whole pint.

Osbourneos: players shall maintain careful vigilance of Sharon Osbourne‘s tightly-strung facial muscles. Any participant observing the tiniest of movements between the hairline and the lips shall drink a Lemon Bacardi Breezer (Tia Maria and Coke is an acceptable substitute).

Special Circumstances: if there be an act which Sharon deems to have performed less than “stellar”, “amazing”, or “absolutely fantastic”, then all players shall consume an amount of gin sufficient to render them less coherent than Ozzy.

Morganites: players should pay close attention to the sounds formed by Piers Morgan‘s lips during each show (Safety Note: in order to accomplish this without mental distress, we recommend three fingers of strong rum be consumed prior to start time). If at any point an observer believes they have heard an actual human language word emitted – which does not, of course, include the sounds made by a melting snowman, a gurgling baby or The Elephant Man speaking through a toilet-paper tube. Underwater. While chewing a marshmallow – then they should…

Actually, the rules are rather unclear about this. We suggest seeking psychiatric assistance as soon as possible after flushing the ears with bleach, hydrogen peroxide and gunpowder.

Special Circumstances: should a gamer spot the thin line of drool beginning to emerge from the corner of Morgan’s mouth before the show’s producers manage to cut away, they shall be allowed to retire from the game (Mental Disturbance Rule, outlined in Rules, 3.1.5).

What’s that? You also want to hear about last night’s winners?

You perverts.

Drew Stephen: man who can’t sing, but who looks a bit like Ryan Seacrest somehow mated with Brad Pitt, and will therefore go further than he should.

Barbara Padilla: woman who sings opera really rather well. So, a bit like Neal E. Boyd, last year’s winner. Only female, somewhat-physically-attractive, and doesn’t-look-like-a-sculpture-of-The-Thing-from-The-Fantastic-Four-made-out-of-biscuits-and-butter.

Erik And Rickie: two dancing kids who you’ve probably accurately summed up by looking at how they spell their names. Unintentionally hilarious homepage seems to reveal the pair as being a horribly inbred little smugwad, and an alien’s attempt at being a human girl but with the head on backwards.

Recycled Percussion: Now then. We’ve spent many weeks mocking America’s blobby little phone-pokers and their absurd choices of acts to send through.

This one, though, was beyond our ability to compute: Recycled Percussion, a group of alarmingly ugly blokes who use bin lids and discarded syringes as drums/drumsticks, go through instead of the sexy, charming, delightful, sexy, loose-limbed, sexy, SEXY Ishaara?

You wanted literally rubbish, and grotesquely hideous, drummers instead of massively talented, and sexily sexy, Indian dancers? Hey, America: we’re a bit miffed.

We shall see you next week, when…oh, God alone knows. It is revealed that there will be a special-mystery-surprise-celebrity act in the final, which turns out to be David using his nose to push an errant hamburger around the stage?

We live in hope.

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Here it is, then. Enough of the freaks, losers and oddbods. Time now for the, you know, perfectly normal talented folk.

LOL, whatever! It’s the AGT quarter-finals. In Vegas, baby!

Las Vegas: home to sexually-desperate bachelor parties, the nasty ladies who satisfy their carnal needs and, now, 40 of America’s most talented groups of people to… entertain them? That doesn’t seem quite right. Ah, yes: to send them running and screaming back to Asswipe, Montana while gibbering about singing seniors, precocious juniors, and English talent judges who speak only the language known as “Dribble“.

More details about the whole painful mess of post-auditions week after this little jump.

Approximately two thousand of the nationwide auditions’ best/most-comically-deluded acts made it to the point where they could still be cruelly thrown from the competition without being allowed to reprise their gay homage to David Schwimmer from Friends. And yet, only 40 of them could proceed to the real finals in California. So, how best to begin the whittling process? Hmm…

Oh, but of course: by flying them all to Las Vegas, standing them in an airport hangar like a flock of dispirited sheep set for slaughter, then dressing David Hasselhoff up as a 1980s Miami pimp and asking him to deliver the news to the painfully self-deceiving wannabes.

First to be cut were acts including The Fifty Kids In Ginger Wigs For Some Reason, The Boy Who Plays Guitar Better Than Someone His Age Should (have they thought this through?) and Kari Callin (now hang on, this was supposed to be the next Susan Boyle! What the hell are they doing?).

We have no idea what they can possibly bring into the finals to top the bilaterally-hairlipped chanteuse, but this is fact: YOU CRAZY MORONS! How the hell can you take away the most mutant wannabe celebrifreak you have, and then expect us to write amusingly scoffing words about what’s left? Are you crazy in a bad way?

Well, let’s look at who’s through. Possibly.

Although childishly disjointed editing made us begin to lose track of what was real and what was merely the effect of the calming hallucinogens we take each week to make it through the show. Anyway:

Recycled Percussion: blokes who use ladders as drums. Twice as bad – plus a thousand percent – as it sounds. Sharon Osbourne made some water  from her eyes at them (presumably in an attempt to look more like an actual human and less like the Terminator’s mother) and they got through.

Kevin Skinner: Chicken catcher from Mayfield, Kentucky. We should probably repeat that: he’s a chicken catcher from Mayfield, Kentucky.

Chuckle.

But, though he looks like the offspring of Toby Keith and a pile of dead leaves, he sings like the offspring of Toby Keith and a jar of honey. He’s set to go far, so long as they can get Alabama hooked up to the telephone network before voting begins.

The Comic Bots: some kind of dancing act in professionally-elaborate robot suits?

Look, we have never been allowed to see these guys do their thing, and tonight their fate was kind of ambiguously hinted at but never actually expressed.

So are they through? Are they any good? Should we be stacking our weekly allowance from the girlfriend on them?

Not a clue. All we know is we want to see these boys/girls/actual robots shaking their titanium asses to some funk ASAP. Do you hear us, Hasselhoff? ASAP.

We will see you when the real stuff starts: it’s going to be so awesome!*

*Won’t be at all awesome.

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