Panto season must be upon us, as formerly-relevant perplexing poltroon and peddler of pretend-angst Brian Hugh Warner has once again unveiled his Halloween-night-Lily-Savage alter-ego ‘Marilyn Manson’ in an unsuccessful attempt to outrage/impress anyone who still gives two hoots during a boozy night out in Las Vegas.

The vain attempt to appear partially interesting involved Brian going out on the lash in the Born And Raised bar in suburban Vegas – basically a provincial Yates’s from what we can gather. This was after, we assume, getting turned-away from any ‘real’ bars on the Strip all of whom have a strict “no wankers” policy. Luckily Brian managed to make himself look like the utter weapon he is.

Highlights of the evening, courtesy of the man determined to turn his previously imagined reputation of ‘controversial’ into that of stone-cold-fact ‘tiresome’, include:

• Drinking absinthe, because Baudelaire did so it’s, like, totally cool, cultured and ‘out-there’. Like the kerr-razy dude he is. On-lookers shrugged, we imagine. Not remembering he unsuccessfully launched his own brand of ‘Mansinthe’ in 2008 (REALLY), which was variously described as being “as bad as piss” (True).
• Manning the karaoke machine and singing ‘Cry Me A River’ by Justin Timberlake. SIX bloody TIMES IN A ROW LIKE SOME SORT OF WOMAN WITH EMOTIONS AND THINGS.
• Getting into the wrong limousine at the end of the night and getting hoyed-out of it – basically the equivalent of unsuccessfully trying to jump somebody else’s taxi, a ritual we are all familiar with.
• Ostentatiously brandishing a knife while awaiting the arrival of his own taxi/limo.

The latter is- of course- forgivable if one is a fifteen-year old wannabe hard-man trying to impress your mates after your first proper belly-full of Diamond White. You know, whilst ‘having it large’ in your local graveyard after everyone has told their parents they are spending the evening round each others’ houses? It’s pretty wearying if you are a 42-year old man named Brian.

It is widely reported (by us) that Brian tried to justify this wholly underwhelming spectacle by saying “Sorry I went nuts, but I’m a rock star!” to anyone listening.

His ‘rock star’ allegation was made despite all evidence to the contrary including, but not limited to – no major label contract, no album out in recent memory, not being Trent Reznor, no tour that anyone can remember and even his target audience of adolescent emo kids finding him a bit embarrassing.

Rumours that Brian Hugh Warner currently resides in his mother’s box-room and has been getting grief for stealing her concealer are unconfirmed at time of publication.

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Cars. Automobiles. Vehicles. Things with engines. On four wheels (sometimes three) that often get covered in ice during winter and, if you get leather seats, are too hot to sit in during the summer. Yes, our four wheeled friends are so much a part of our everyday life that it takes the release of Disney Pixar’s ‘Cars’ to actually make us consider the fact that cars might have feelings too.

Which they don’t.

And that’s a good thing because if certain cars had feelings they would almost certainly see themselves as hideous, nutrient-guzzling windbags with no friends either on the road or in the driveway. It would likely drive them to self harm, presumably by slashing their own tires while sitting in a puddle. Who knows? It’s rarely a good idea to personify inanimate objects too far as they are likely to take on a terrifying edge the next time you clamber into one to pop down to the shops.

It’s a real shame for cars. Assuming that cars do have feelings which- admittedly- might be a bit of a stretch for some of our readers who believe that Justin Bieber has a penis and that Tom Hardy can spell, it is easy to assume that being a car makes for an incredibly depressing life. You see, cars just aren’t that good looking any more. It used to be that cars were either sleek lines or grudging, grunting boxes with all the welcoming appeal of Theresa May naked in a jacuzzi but still, unlike Theresa May in a jacuzzi, one could respect the car for at least making the effort.

If cars did indeed have feelings, they’d realise how much the tone of advertising had changed. The focus is no longer on the car itself, its sleek line, its fuel efficiency or even how safe it is for the driver if you were to slam it into a child at fifty miles per hour. Now the car has become such a hideous pariah in its own industry that it’s better to focus on completely abstract elements of life instead of on the car itself. One need only look at the frankly ludicrous Renault Clio advert which stars almost every popular culture reference ever used to sell a car which is hanging from the ceiling in a state of impotent fury (more personification there).

It would be easy to suggest that the end of this advert shows the lynching of the car. The evil, putrid, spewing, belching demi-corpse of the car in a world where people passively snigger at Top Gear before complaining that their Prius doesn’t get enough miles to the gallon. People need to make up their minds. Do they hate cars or love them?

Funnily enough, it’s not just the car-buying public that have to decide what the hell they want from cars. Citroën, for example, have just released an advert which basically challenges people to buy their new DS4 model.

In the past we’ve been told that it’s rude to pick apart someone’s hard work for comic effect but to be fair, not everyone has to work this hard to produce an advert so full of preposterous misinformation. Let’s open with some yeses. Yes, you will work Sunday. Yes, you will take your hideously materialistic bitch of a wife shopping despite the fact that you’ve been working all day at your job and are knackered. Yes, you will buy coffee from Starbucks and meat from a supermarket because it’s just easier and you’re knackered from working at your job where your boss under-rates your contribution and exhausted from your home life where your hideously materialistic bitch of a wife complains because you’re ALWAYS BLOODY WORKING!

It’s little wonder that you end up conforming so much that when the opportunity arises to get fully naked in a jacuzzi with the Home Secretary arises, you’re too tired to do anything but give into the bubbles and those hard, calloused, Thatcherite hands.

Funnily enough, the Citroën DS4 is (in looks if not in policies) similar to a fully nude Theresa May in a jacuzzi. By conforming so much in life, you feel the need to break the chain and either engage in warm, wet… but still dry, disappointing coitus with a Cabinet Minister or buy a car that looks a bit like her. You know, all curiously smoothed lines where there was previously a jutting line.

It is easy to conclude that buying a Citroën DS4 is the lesser of two evils in this instance. At least in buying a hideously deformed car, so ugly that they only show it on screen for a few seconds, you are not committing an act of adultery. Although, you’ll never sell your tell-all story to a tabloid and bring down the government of the day in a whirlwind of sex scandal if you just buy a badly designed five-door coupé, will you?

That doesn’t mean that you won’t take our personification of vehicles too far and end up in a tabloid with your genitals enveloped in an exhaust pipe though. It’s all about headlines.

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Dita Von Teese, stocking wearing, burlesque performing, porcelain doll and former wife of Marilyn Manson has offensive boobies.  That’s according to CBS. Not us. We kind of like them.

The ever-so-lovely-if-a-little-bit-anaemic Von Teese was filming a guest appearance in CSI.  She will be playing a teacher who, shock-horror and surprise, moonlights as a burlesque performer.

Well, ping our garter elastic, there’s a surprise!  A burlesque performer playing a teacher who is, in fact, a burlesque performer. We hope that is not the big plot twist of the episode.

Getting back to the point. Boobies. In the episode ‘A Kiss Before Frying’, Von Teese lives the double life of school ma’am/gyrating temptress, and to artistically represent the conflicting dichotomy of these diametrically opposed raison d’etres, norks were unleashed.

All in the interest of art of course.

CBS bosses initially decided that Von Teese would best be able to represent her character’s inner turmoil through the excessive exposure of bouncy great chesticles. Which seems a bit patronising really. Dita’s not exactly new to the acting world – she was in Bound in Stockings and in Naked and Helpless. And who could ever forget Tickle Party: Volume 2?

Perhaps the CBS execs were disappointed by the performance her cleavage gave, because they promptly backtracked.  They deemed the double act “offensive”, which Dita doesn’t seem to be pleased with;

“There was a lot of network talk about my ‘offensive cleavage’, which I found interesting considering how much blood and gore there is. We had to take it down a notch.”

Which is a rather good point.

CSI includes gruesome details of imaginative new ways to bump off your fellow man. A lot of people die horribly in CSI. Yet the thought of a bit of skin seems to send the poor chaps at CBS into a bit of a tizz.

Luckily Dita rescued the whole fiasco with a solid and refined performance;

“I think it is important to try new things and I hope my efforts come off well, this was a much bigger role than I originally thought.”

Good for you pet, we’re looking forward to it.  Although we are still waiting for Tickle Party 3D.

The episode will air on CBS on 20th January in the US.  So we’ll have it in the UK at some point in the distant future, long after you’ve forgotten about this article, you bastards.

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It’s amazing what computers can do nowadays.