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:
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My Chemical Romance – the Soda Stream of Rock (tasteless, full of gas and depressingly disappointing) – are having a typically overwrought time of it at the moment and no amount of self-harming is going to get them out of this drama.
See, they’ve had to sack their drummer who you’ve never heard of. Why? Because he’s been stealing from the group.
But what has he stolen? There wasn’t any musical ability to take, but a sacking means that it was more precious than even that! We’ve got an idea…
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At hecklerspray, we like to take real celebrity news and mangle it until it barely resembles the original source material and then watch on and laugh as people take our word as gospel. Sometimes though, there are so many possible corruptions of a story that we’re forced to decide on just one. The others that are rejected instantly go into a state of depressive rage and begin to tear away at the backs of our minds until we eventually self-harm.
In an effort to stop that happening, this story contains 3 mini stories. Think of it as your favourite sitcom doing a clip show because they’ve run out of ideas or, if you will, the last two seasons of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. This is slightly different of course, we have too many ideas.
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The organisers of Hard Rock Calling, that sort of festival like thing that happens in Hyde Park every summer that isn’t the O2 Wireless festival, have decided that former Fall Out Boy bassist and pioneer of the musical equivalent of object dá, Pete Wentz, is a suitable choice for a battle of the bands judge.
Right? RIGHT?
If you’re lucky enough to have forgotten the mid noughties, here’s a crash course in all things Pete Wentz:
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The best thing about being super-rich is that, rather than let governments decide how to spend your tax, you can just keep hold of it, then donate some to a groovy cause, whilst getting baskets of praise and verbal fellatio for making a really exciting thing happen.
Imagine a world where we could all do that! We would look dead nice from giving money to AIDS kids, earthquake orphans and publicity-hungry slag animals. Like polar bears. The furry whores.
We wouldn’t have to worry about our money helping to provide rehabilitation for murderers and young offenders.
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Hayley Williams, lead singer of faux-rock band Paramore, is in the news again and this time she’s managed to do it without exposing her, frankly disappointing, baps out for the entire world to see.
Apparently Williams is upset that people she is alleged to have forced out of the band aren’t happy about being allegedly forced out of the band.
Earlier in the week former Paramore guitarist Josh Farro royally through his toys out of the pram and wrote a scathing blog post that detailed how he and his brother Zac felt forced out of Paramore, possibly by Williams’ chest.
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Being a child is really annoying isn’t it? You’re not quite old enough to go out and enter the big wide world.
Instead, mummy still plops you in the shopping trolley at Asda, gives you a bib at feeding time and still tucks you in at night to make sure the monsters don’t attack you.
However, when you reach the age of thirteen/fourteen something magically happens! Young girls and boys develop a mini sense of direction. Granted, they’re only copying what they see on the TV and need their parents to buy all the essential clobber for them, but they are independent, cool and part of a movement. Over the years the most popular fad has been Emo.
Dressing in black and looking like a box of pins has exploded in their faces, they’ve worried councillors, coffin-dodgers and corner shop owners. It’s not just the UK that has this problem, it’s Russia too and, in a strange move, the country wants to ban Emo culture.
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Being a child is really annoying isn’t it? You’re not quite old enough to go out and enter the big wide world.
Instead, mummy still plops you in the shopping trolley at Asda, gives you a bib at feeding time and still tucks you in at night to make sure the monsters don’t attack you.
However, when you reach the age of thirteen/fourteen something magically happens! Young girls and boys develop a mini sense of direction. Granted, they're only copying what they see on the TV and need their parents to buy all the essential clobber for them, but they are independent, cool and part of a movement. Over the years the most popular fad has been Emo. Dressing in black and looking like a box of pins has exploded in their faces, they’ve worried councillors, coffin-dodgers and corner shop owners. It’s not just the UK that has this problem, it's Russia too and, in a strange move, the country wants to ban Emo culture.
It’s that time of the year again when music lovers gather in a field to celebrate the thing they love: live music.
There are all sorts of festivals to cater for all sorts of musical tastes in all four corners of the world. The main ones kick off at this time of year and hecklerspray is here to tell you all you need to know about each festival, who the essential people are to see and which act to avoid so you can queue up for the overflowing shit-filled portaloos.
As the sun sneaks out from behind one of his many clouds, the hot weather looks like it may arrive for one of the festivals that kick starts them all. Download is the chance for 75,000 people to gather together and rock out to leather clad men drenched in tattoos and piercings. Sounds like a bit ropey if you ask us.
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