
Celebrity magazines have a lot to answer for. I won’t lie – I enjoy them. In fact, I revel in reading them. I even participate in the bear baiting, terrible news stories that are the stock-in-trade of these pieces of toilet paper. What you’re reading now is essentially a slightly more arch, more ironic digital extension of those magazines.
We poke fun at them here, but really we’re feeding the same beast. We’re prostrating ourselves and wearing the same dirty clothes, piling bodies onto conveyor belts to be shipped into the fiery inferno of celebrity gossip. I’m little better than red top rag journalists.





It’s becoming clear that Eminem and Mariah Carey are the Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor of pop.
Hecklerspray truly believes there will come a day when we’ll wake up and stand on a conveyor belt. First we’ll slide past the pee station, then we’ll brush our teeth, we’ll choose a daily gender and then we’ll probably eat some porridge that a robot made for us.