That dog. Haha! It nearly killed a load of deer and everyone laughed. The man. The man he chased the dog. He shouted Benton! Wait. It transpired it was called Fenton. Some people said “See, I always knew it was Fenton” in the world’s crappiest ‘toldyaso‘.

Then the man said ‘Jesus Christ!’ and every single gusset moistened with laughter before, in unison, the whole universe saw a gigantic hole split in its side. Quite simply, this is the funniest thing to happen to us poor creatures since Del Boy fell through a bar.

And now, this wretched meme is going to bother the charts this Christmas and it’s backed by the odious Fearne Cotton. Oh, how the British public love a novelty record. This can’t possibly fail. Basically, do a Carluccio and stick a bread-knife through your heart now. Not convinced? Listen to it over the jump, now.

So, hecklerspray got a press release alerting us to this meme-based track. It’s the archetypal lifestyle house music, complete with obligatory elastic band bassline.

The press release read thus:

If there is anyone who can take on Simon Cowell and win, it’s a dog, and that dog is called BENTON (or possibly Fenton). The internet sensation is taking on Simon Cowell in the charts this December, as The Hoxtons release a charity single featuring a remix of the now famous “Benton! Jesus Christ” clip in a bid to save the UK from another X-Factor Christmas number one.

The track, produced by Toolroom Publishing in collaboration with Pitch Sync and titled “Benton! Jesus Christ!”, will be released on Monday 18th December. The Hoxtons (feat. Benton Against the Machine) remixed the not-for-profit single and have chosen to donate all profits from sales of the single to Battersea Dogs and Cats Home.

Listen to “Benton! Jesus Christ!” by The Hoxtons (feast. Benton Against the Machine) here.

The YouTube video, which became an international internet hit, shows a hapless pet owner in an escalating situation when his dog starts a stampede of deer across Richmond Park. The man can be seen running after his Labrador repeatedly shouting what sounds like “Benton!” as the pet chases dozens of terrified deer. It later emerged that the dog’s name was actually Fenton.

A Facebook group entitled “Benton vs. Cowell” has been helping the track gain traction with the British public. Support the campaign by joining the “Benton vs. Cowell” group on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/groups/bentonvscowell/

“Benton! Jesus Christ!” will be available to download from iTunes on Monday 18th December.

Even though this is a charity record, it’s still unswervingly hateful. You’d be better off snipping your ears off with safety scissors and posting them to Battersea Dog’s Home, wrapped in a bloody £20 note.

Fearne Cotton played it on her woeful, dismal, vapid radio show this morning (invariably referring to it as ‘genius’ as she is wont to do) and it is quite clear that, despite everything in our constitution telling us that this is the most grisly record released in years, it will do very well because berks like dogs, memes and vaguely comedic topical records at this time of year.

Still, better than those pious twerps who bought Rage Against The Machine last year. Anyway, listen to this awful track. You’ll probably end it all after a minute of listening.

See you in the soil.

It’s christmas. Woopdeedoo and loop de loop and all that. Yes, that’s right, since you all asked so fucking nicely, we didn’t bother to do a video this week as it’s the festive season and is therefore all about building up your hopes in order to dash them.

In fact, we’re so set on driving you all to distraction that we’re going to have Christmas specials every week now because that’s exactly what christmas is all about. Incessant disappointment until you eat so much chocolate and drink so much cheap sherry that you may as well check into Dignitas on Boxing Day.

Still, euthanasia aside, it’s always best to start the Christmas period as early as possible because that’s where you make the most money and since all of you dribbling gits out there in internet land believe that the Christmas period can only officially begin when the Coca Cola advert has tugged its way around your heartstrings, we decided to start as soon as they do.

Really early.

Christmas adverts take a few very set, very distinct and very dull paths. They either play to your sentimental side like Coca Cola or John Lewis, they play it for laughs like DFS (no, they really are) or they traipse out some washed-up celebrities in order to point at them and shout, “LOOK! THESE CELEBRITIES ENJOY CHRISTMAS AND THAT MEANS IT’S OKAY FOR YOU TO HAVE A NICE TIME AS WELL!”

That is unless you’re a child, in which case the advertising is still shouting at you but it’s more likely to be saying, “YOU WILL FORCE YOUR USELESS PEON PARENTS TO BANKRUPT THEMSELVES BUYING THIS TOY THAT YOU WILL PLAY WITH A MAXIMUM OF FIVE TIMES BEFORE IT BREAKS AND IS FORGOTTEN ABOUT IN A BOX! THERE IS NO SANTA CLAUS! BUY OUR PRODUCTS!” It’s a tough lesson but it’s one that children should learn from an early age.

Some adverts actually go out of their way to combine all these elements into 30 second mini-dramas with a narrative and a heart and real, genuine drama. Step forward, Very.co.uk.

Drama. It opens with a Sergio Leone/Ennio Morricone duel close-up. The forlorn strings of a guitar warble out in the distance. The slightly odd sight of two television presenters going up against the Il Duce of Christmas himself is completely offset by the sudden sense of tension…

…oh, what’s that hyper-irritating version of ‘Anything You Can Do…’ doing there?

In an effort to explain the sudden appearance of this jaunty brainworm, spokesmorons and celebrity bum-chums Holly & Fearne are quickly shown beating Santa at his own game of counter-intuitive housebreaking. Where Santa seems to fail is that he can’t just wander through someone’s front door at 8 in the evening.

Why?

He’s not bloody famous, that’s why.

Besides Fearne thinking she can ‘bring back’ a hairstyle that looks like a ploughed field, they’re showing him up by interacting with a family. It’s cosy, it’s sentimental. That’s where TV presenters and Santa Claus differ you see, Santa Claus isn’t a self-praising narcissist. If they really wanted to do Santa’s job better than him then they could do worse than to disappear from existence in a puff of smoke, becoming a lie that parents tell their kids so that they don’t grow up to be self-involved twat baskets.

Look at that family mocking santa claus. “He’s not even real!” they mockingly cry as the poor old bastard tries to stuff a wooden train under their smart-price christmas tree. Holly and Fearne look on with derision. Humour. Sick, sick humour. How can he ever hope to gain the thanks of millions of children all over the world with his paltry offerings of wooden toys, handmade with love and affection by tiny little people than Ricky Gervais thinks are hilarious? None of these things are a Nintendo 3DS (CHILDREN! YOU WANT A 3DS!)

Dirty tactics! That’s what it is. Holding back the poor, decrepit old man who just wants to finish his annual paper route without being held back by two tarts with a glorified catalogue. Sure they might have more presents than ol’ Sanity Clause himself but do they have the magical powers to skoot round the earth delivering presents like they’ve just inhaled a kilo of amphetamines and broken the face of Bernard’s watch?

Of course they don’t. They’re bloody TV presenters! TV presenters can just smile and read from an autocue. They can’t even drive that van. They had to get the cameraman to move slightly to the left because Fearne Cotton just sat staring at the pedals like a brain-damaged horse. There’s no magic there.

So what’s the outcome? Have the spokesmorons actually managed to upset the balance of Christmas forever? Will the festive season ever be the same again? Does their defeat of Santa mean that Fearne Cotton & Holly Willoughby will become an ethereal, fictional presence that children make macaroni images of in primary schools?

FIND OUT IN PART TWO!

Over in America, Dr. Conrad Murray is being accused of administrating some mental sounding drugs into Michael Jackson and causing him to carry out his last boogie.

However, it isn’t just the remaining members of the Jacksons that he has to prove his innocence to. The singer’s children also want answers and then, we have the fans that all seem to have been touched by Michael in their own special way.

The Moonwalking For Justice trial is expected to last for months, but this hasn’t stopped a cultish gathering of Jackofans to gather in Cardiff on Saturday 8th August. There, the king of pop’s life will be celebrated whilst a man is still being tried. With both events happening at the same time, some say it’s a bit sickening. But hey, they’ll be mincing their words now. After all, the gig has been injected with totally mad and uber kewl Fearne Cotton. Who wouldn’t want to go?

Don’t know who Fearne Cotton is? For non UK residents, she presents a mid-morning radio show where she educates the nation’s youth with brand new and exciting music that isn’t playlisted or dictated for her to play. At all. No way.

Now and then, she’ll play some rock music because she likes that sort of stuff. And tattoos. We’re constantly reminded that someone has permanently etched a Chinese symbol on to the back of her neck which probably says ‘Totally rad!’ or ‘Genius’ because, according to Fearne, all the music that passes her vacant glare is ‘genius’.

But it’s not just music that Fearne is a fan of. She’s bang into fashion and has been involved with all sorts of launches. Entire blogs are set up in honour of the DJ where they scrutinise every last detail of her apple green pumps against stone washed denim jeggings and orange tinged sunglasses.

Gnarly dude!

Like any media type, Fearne Cotton loved Michael Jackson.

“I was always a massive fan of Michael Jackson himself. Without him there’s a whole generation of performers and entertainers who might never have got their break in music. His contribution was crucial and his premature death a complete tragedy.”

Really?

Paula Abdul got her break via Michael and… uuh… umm… aaah… well… that’s it. Fearne Cotton thinks MJ is worth paying tribute to – for money – based solely on the existence of Paula Abdul and possibly 3T?

*prepares noose*

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The year is 2011AD and no-one has quite managed to work out what the point of Fearne Cotton is. Even her BBC bosses think she’s useless, but they persist in hiring her under the misguided notion that she appeals to Ver Yoof of Britain.

Even they hate her.

Still, at least Fearne has someone to go home to who will hold her and love her when all around are loudly booing and hissing at her, right? Wrong. That’s because she’s now as single as can be after it was announced that she’s split from her fiancé Jesse Jenkins. Presumably, he’s only just started to hear what people have actually been saying about his entirely hopeless ex.

That’s right. Fearne – who has all the personality of a blown light bulb – is no longer to be married, which is sad for her as she wouldn’t shut up about it around the time of the Royal Wedding, a ginormous event that was mystifyingly covered by the presenter with her flickerless, corpse eyes.

She met Jesse in 2008 while someone was daft enough to pay for Cotton to film in the US and, last year, they decided to get engaged. We assume that Jenkins went down on one knee and stared expectantly at Cotton for roughly 8 hours before the Radio One DJ finally stopped saying “classic” and “legend”, and realised what was going on before saying “Oh! I’ve seen this in films! What do I say?”

Eventually, after lengthy discussions, Jesse convinced her to get engaged to him, leaving Fearne to roam the Earth constantly reminding everyone that absolutely everything was “legendary”, including her woeful investigative journalism shows where she met luminaries such as Peaches Geldof.

Sadly, this break-up seems to be a rather clean one.

A spokesperson said:

“Sadly their relationship came to a mutual end last month. There is no-one else involved.”

Alas, that isn’t true. There was someone involved. Fearne Cotton was involved. And like all things involving Fearne Cotton, it was destined to result in disappointment.

Still, at least she can now focus on being a thing that barely occupies a pair of wellington boots over the TV coverage of the festival season.

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Ladies and gentleman, a modern day miracle has occurred, Holly Willoughby has been cured of her fear of ghosts, much to the delight of Phillip Schofield’s long dead career.

Willoughby, also affectionately known as the Willobooby, suffered from Spectrophobia (which it turns out is a genuine phobia and not a bad 70s sci fi series) so badly that she was once reduced to tears on the set of This Morning after a segment about ghostly apparitions.

Wooooooooooooo! *rattles chains*

So when the mighty miracle working Speakeman family rolled into town to show off their phobia curing skills Holly thought it might be best to get her phobia of imaginary apparitions cured on company time, because TV is all about the perks.

According to the site we nicked this story from, Willoughby said:

It’s witchcraft, I swear! The only way I can describe it is you almost can’t believe that you don’t have that fear anymore, because your body is so in the habit of making you look for ghostly things or almost testing you… just in case there’s something out there. So you test yourself and put yourself in these frightening situations.

There is something to be said for Holly choosing to tackle her paranormal fears head on, bravery like this is rarely seen nowadays, previously an admission of belief in the paranormal was left to the simple and the insane, as we saw in the cases of Danny, “I believe in UFOs,” Dyer and David, “the Lizard people are out to get me,” Icke respectively.

But we here at hecklerspray can’t help but wonder what these frightening situations Willoughby talks about are.

Standing next to Schofield, a man who had his hand up a gopher’s rear end for several years must be a bit off putting, but we’d hardly call it frightening. Does she just stand in the dark looking in a mirror and saying Bloody Mary twice before screaming and hiding under her duvet?

Nah, it must just be having to look at Fearne Cotton so often that she thinks is a frightening situation. It must be like looking into the eyes of Skeletor after a particularly banging Kooks gig.

That’s enough to freak anyone out.

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You may have heard that Chris Moyles – Radio 1′s captive beluga whale – has just finished doing something dead exciting.

Something more braver than what a soldier’s ever done. Something Andy McNabb would run away from, screaming like a pepper-sprayed toddler. Yes, last week Radio 1′s hot (like a panful of boiling lard) property stayed awake for longer than is comfortable. What a hero. A stalwart. A charitable chap.

Oh, and a pervert, as his last on-air wish was to have a bikini-clad Fearne Cottton enter his sweaty radio pit merely to spike his fatigue-laden libido.

And you filthy perverts loved it.

So, here we are. Living in a post-Moyles world where everything seems kind of inconsequential, given the fatman’s selfless sacrifice. We’ve had the weekend to recover from, and reflect upon, his huge personal penance paid for humanity and we have decided: he is, frankly, a physically enormous, insultingly overpaid, self-regarding oil spill.

Who somehow persuaded Fearne Cotton to get her bikini on for the cameras. That’s important.

You may have listened to some of the 52 hours of radio hijacked by the fat moron and his clucking sidekick, Comedy Dave. If so, you have our sympathies. Personally, we would struggle to think of anything – wars, plagues, standing on an upturned drawing pin – worse than listening to the corpulent DJ chatting with Scott Mills about how sweaty his crack was getting after his 37th hour on air.

So, we skipped to the end of this whole charade. Which was wise, as it meant we got a little glimpse of Fearne Cotton’s buttocks. Why? What did this have to do with a 52-hour radio marathon?

Ah, well, you have to remember that this was Chris Moyles’s 52-hour radio marathon. And what does Chris Moyles spend half of every one of his tedious shows talking about?

Food, yes, okay. And the other half?

How much he’d like to make sweet, slobbering love to Fearne Cotton, of course. And so the poor girl was made to wear a bikini and parade in front of the weary eyes of Chris Moyles and approximately 50 other people who had crammed into the studio hoping for a nip-slip.

So, after all the money raised and the good times had by all, our cynical minds were left with but one thought: if they’d attached a length of chain to Fearne Cotton in her bikini, it would have been a perfect reenactment of that bit in Return Of The Jedi when Princess Leia gets brought before Jabba The Hutt.

Boonowa tweepi, ha, ha!

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It’s difficult to imagine, but the life of Beth Ditto – who, because we’re such hideously clever dicks at hecklerspray, we will hereafter refer to as Beth Beth – is not just one long procession of standing in the way of Kate Moss, ripping all her clothes off whenever a glance is thrown in her direction, and sitting atop winged horses, helmet-horns glinting in the furious fires of Valhalla, scattering mortals with the power of her demonic screams.

Sometimes she finds room in that busy schedule for kicking back, relaxing, chucking on her neon-pink skintight onesie leisurewear, curling up with a classic of gothic literature, and squeezing her brain tightly until opinions form like diamonds in a bleak mountainside.

And even better, she then tells us about it! She really is the honking gift that just keeps honking, and won’t stop till our ears actually start bleeding!

So, if you’re ready, let’s all sit down to GCSE English with Beth Beth and the NME:

The Gossip front woman – who shot to fame in 2006 thanks to the success of the band’s breakthrough record, Standing in The Way of Control – says that Oscar Wilde’s novel The Picture of Dorian Gray changed her perspective on vanity.

Look at us, Beth Beth. Look at us. We’re literally on the edge of our seats here. There is nothing you could say now that would disappoint. We can’t help but feel we’re on the verge of a major re-examination of Wilde’s only novel, reflected off the lipstick-scrawled, chipped mirror of Riot Grrl politics.

Enlighten us!

“I’d never really thought about the motives of doing things for other people,” she told NME magazine. “You don’t really realise it but you do things to make yourself feel better, not the other person. It’s like a kind of vanity. It really changed the way I thought of charity.”

WHAT?!

OK, let’s all just calm down a moment and take all that in. You can say many things about hecklerspray. You can say we’re mean, we’re snarky, or we’re uneducated screw-ups who haven’t even read The Picture Of Dorian Grey but are pretty sure it’s something about the duality of the human soul and the ultimate destruction of a life lived in guilt-free hedonism, or whatever. You can even say we’re unnaturally obsessed with celebrities making boneheaded and obvious comments in an attempt to make themselves look intelligent and well-read when they should just stick to their natural areas of expertise; for example, squawking like a dying swan while in the background someone has a convulsive fit in the vague direction of a drumkit. But let it not be said that we will not stand up and roundly applaud instances of fierce, original thinking.

And let it not be said that we’re applauding now, cos we’re not.

If you want more pearls of wisdom from the boundless intellect of Beth Beth, you need not wait much longer, as she will soon be releasing an autobiography which, she promises from the bottom of her hard-working heart, will contain “things that seriously shock the crap out of everyone – things that’s going to make people forget about me eating squirrels. Totally eclipse it.” Look forward to the bit about when she got to the end of the Very Hungry Caterpillar and it really made her change the way she thought about how caterpillars turned into butterflies, because you don’t realise it, but caterpillars actually do turn into butterflies. Wow!

Next week on GCSE English With The Stars, Dappy from N-Dubz explains how the sexual politics of Taming Of The Shrew inspires all his lyrics, because he once saw 10 Things I Hate About You and got a boner while watching Julia Stiles. Join us then.

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Before we even start talking about Beth Ditto, let us just point something out to everyone – there is no correct size to be if you’re a human being. Okay? People who make an issue out of their, or anyone else’s weight, is an unrelenting dick. Okay? Okay.

Unrelenting dick, Beth Ditto, continues to see herself as some kind of political activist for people who aren’t thin, hitting out at imagined critics who she assumes are sniggering under their breath at her, taunting her and calling her a big fat twat.

With the spotlight well and truly taken off her band, The Gossip, and now glued into place on stomach, Ditto has howled in anguish about people who assume thin women are automatically healthier.

Most people listen to music and basically decide whether they like it or not. People love Mama Cass’ voice without worrying about her weight or deadness. Same goes for Elvis and Demis Roussos… although, with the latter, only mental people like his music.

And so, our pop stars assume that they need to be more than just performing monkeys, available to dance around for us when we stick a coin in the jukebox. Because they don’t have proper jobs, they hole themselves up, imagining what invented detractors might be saying about them, allowing their own fears to come seeping out of their mouth-holes.

Bono feels guilty for being rich, so parps on about charity. Kanye feels bad that he’s so astonishingly vain, and tweets endlessly about Taylor Swift. And so, Beth Ditto rattles around her house filled with celery and stamps her feet at the imagined accusations of those calling her a whale.

What’s this about celery?

Indeed. Ditto has revealed that she eats healthily, despite being overweight, and that she finds constantly defending her lifestyle ‘tiring’.

Speaking to Fearne Cotton on Radio 1 (which must have been even more tiring), she explained:

“I’m not an unhealthy person and I feel like one of the most tiring parts of being fat and being proud of it is you do a lot of proving yourself all the time.”

“It’s really interesting to me that people will look at a thin person and go, ‘That’s a healthy person’. I want to go, ‘Come open my refrigerator and look and then let’s talk about what you think is so bad’.”

See? Is there honestly a human on Earth who would go up to one of their friends and point at a thin person to discuss how healthy they are? In our experience, womenfolk are more prone to slagging someone off for their dress-sense or for having a partner that is deemed too attractive for them.

She added:

“To be thin and to stay really thin, some people literally do coke all the time. Some people smoke cigarettes instead of eating. That’s crazy. But that’s ‘okay’ because you look healthier.”

Some thin people do coke to stay thin and some fat people eat nothing but shite to stay fat… blah blah blah… yadda yadda yadda.

Do us a favour Beth? Stick to making records. If someone asks you about your weight, punch them in the mouth – especially if it happens to be Fearne Cotton. She’ll still call you ‘legendary’ either way.

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What do we know about Perez Hilton? He’s more annoying than a wasp trying to give you paper cuts. He’s as camp as Christmas. He’s had a variety of daft haircuts. He’s a blogger who has somehow managed to befriend some A-listers. He fat.

WHOA!

Wait a minute! Fat? How about fat and sexless?

Well, if we’re talking about Perez Hilton in 2007, then that would most certainly be true. Apparently, he only got one shag during that year, which prompted him to go on a diet.

Where most people would just crack on with it and start getting fit and learning to flirt better (or indeed, just giving in to the notion that your life will be spent watching biscuit crumbs fall from your rolls of fat while you frig yourself red raw on the sofa for eternity), Perez needs to let the WHOLE WORLD know about it.

And so, we’re faced with a show that is so grotesque in prospect that typing this article requires special gloves which will later be burned.

Basically, The World’s Most Irritating and Vapid Man – Perez Hilton, will meet up with Fearne Cotton – The World’s Most Irritating and Vacuous Woman, for a television show which, naturally, will be screened on ITV2.

Hideous Fearne met up with Douchemaster Perez in Canada and, as he unpacked his special food, he told her:

“I’m trying to be healthy, I brought my meals with me from Los Angeles. It’s because I looked back on the year 2007 and I saw that I only got laid once, which for a gay dude is unheard of. That’s like celibacy, and now I’m getting laid a lot, well, not a lot, but more than once a year.”

Thrilling stuff.

Imagine that. A bloated Perez Hilton squealing away behind you like a pig with its arse on fire. Imagine it. Imagine that in your mind. Each seeping vein and bulging eye. Now add Fearne Cotton to the mix.

ITV, you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourselves.

For the full horror, tune into Fearne and Perez Hilton, ITV2, Tonight, 15 September, 9PM

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Tennis and table tennis.

Folded:

• Saturday Morning Watchmen cartoon (commission this now. This second. Now)
• Lifegoesonintehran.com (remarkable photographs, all taken on a camera phone no less)
• Internet banking (never waste another Saturday afternoon queuing up again. You will probably lose all your money when someone hacks into your account, but by the end of this year you won’t have any left anyway)
• Crumbs! (when did she get so hot?)
• Wheelman (awful graphics, awful dialogue, absolutely terrific fun. Airjack, dude!)

Creased:

• Misery (been one heck of a week for it)
• Fearne Cotton vomiting her way up Kilimanjaro (looks like those nights spent slumped at a glass table are taking their toll)
• Dresses over jeans (ladies, imagine your man wearing his dressing gown over his jeans. Imagine how pleased you’d be. There you go)
• Only thirteen episodes per season of Mad Men (makes us mad. And it’s unlucky)
• People who always want to make you a cup of tea (we don’t all drink it, you know? How about offering a beer instead? Can’t think of a better way to mark 9.30 in the morning)

10 - Because nothing has ever happened on the internet that Michael Cera didn’t want a piece of…

9 - In case you’ve yet to see it, here’s Fearne Cotton at the BAFTAs dressed like a baddie from The Dark Crystal - Popsugar

8 - Five potential new Lara Crofts that aren’t Megan Fox – Wired

7 - Some ridiculous moral panics for you – Cracked

6 – The Dalai Lama is on Twitter. Oh, look surprised – Readwriteweb

5 - Are you going to kill yourself because you’re poor? You are, aren’t you - TIME

4 – Easily the most beautiful unpublished children’s book we’ve ever seen – Flickr

3 - BACON EXPLOSION! – I Am Bored

2 – Ten delicious sausages - Askmen

1 – Something hilarious about Jason Mraz. Consider this a primer for the next story – Popjustice

10 - Creepy old adverts from the past – Weirdynews

9 - Victoria Beckham states the obvious – Holy Moly

8 – Oh David Letterman. Employ us…

7 - Hey Fearne Cotton, put something in your hair. No, not that, something stupider. Stupider. Stupider. OK, that’s great, thanks – Popsugar

6 - You heard the man, booze for the Russian cosmonaut please – Ananova

5 - They tried to make Amy Winehouse go to rehab, she said “HAIL XENU!” – Gawker

4 - Acorn Flour! Yes! – Boingboing

3 - There’s a South Park DVD coming out soon that’s shaped like a Bible. Here’s a jokeless video to mark the occasion – Dailymotion

2 - Guitar Hero World Tour. Not even Paramore can blunt our excitement – Cinema Blend

1 - Glorious, glorious kung-fu failure – I Am Bored

Let's talk about boobs, baby. Let's drag up a story from 25th February and blame Fearne Cotton. Let's use the words Holly Willoughby, cleavage and nipples in the intro because it will get us more hits.

Back in 2004, Holly Willoughby was working as a children's TV presenter. During a live broadcast for morning noise-fest Ministry Of Mayhem her breasts wobbled out of her top for all the kids to see and applaud. Fast forward four years and she very nearly repeats the incident on ITV1's flagship reality show Dancing on Ice – only this time with added middle-aged men wanking into a frenzy.

Dancing on Ice’s producers received a total of five complaints out of eight million viewers. That is five miserly old bints who phoned up and said, "I would like to express my disgust at Holly Willoughby's dress. It was too revealing and this has upset my children. Plus my husband won't come out of the bathroom."

Important to note here that this ‘uproar’ was over what might have happened as opposed to what did. Her breasts might have fallen out of her dress. They didn't, believe us we YouTubed this to high heaven, but they might have.

Omnipresent TV chest-pain Fearne Cotton is Holly Willoughby's best mate. She doesn't have massive boobs, but is probably in less danger of becoming fat in her thirties and having to wear a support bra the size of a hammock. She is massively annoying though with the grating pitch of a deaf and dumb East End market trader, so there is a trade off.

Talking to The Sun about Holly's dress sense, Fearne had this to say:

"It seems weird that there is so much fuss over Holly's boobs when they are obviously really great. We all know Holly Willoughby has the most amazing figure ever. Anyway she's always dressed like that. She loves the 50s style fashion which oozes glamour. It only got about five complaints. It's all a bit of fun and she shouldn't change."

Woe betide us for berating any attractive woman who flirts with partial nudity, but surely Fearne has missed the point of this whole furore, just as we have missed the point of her very existence? No-one is saying there is anything wrong with 'Holly's boobs', just that maybe she doesn’t need to parade them around like two sexy prizewinning cantaloupes all the time.

We are evidently in a quandary here. Torn between journalistic integrity to report the news in a snarky way and not really caring less if both Holly Willoughby and Fearne Cotton spend the rest of their TV careers half-naked and covered in baby oil.

If nothing else perhaps we can add fuel to the debate of why women are now bigger busted than ever before, which is supposedly attributable to 'genes' and a growing trend for 'curvy' figures.

Of course most of the women saying this are overweight, single and running gossip rags in Fleet Street. They also neglect to mention that (fact fans, here we go) while the UK's average bra size has jumped from a 34b to a 36c in just ten years, the average waist size has risen from 27.5" to a whopping 34" since the 1950s. That's fatter than Robbie Williams (who? Ex-singer, eats children), or thereabouts.

But for anyone worried that Holly Willoughby will no longer be wearing revealing dresses because she is too afraid of losing her job – don't be. ITV bosses would be more likely to sack themselves before Holly, and though we are sure the official company line remains 'Do not wear such low-cut dresses Holly, you naughty, naughty girl or I'll put you over my knee', the actual insinuation will always be 'Lower, flimsier as much as possible before the watershed.'

In no attempt to appease the controversy over her dress code, Holly told Metro:

"I'll just have two purple sequins. Carefully placed."

For those wondering (and that has to be most of you by now), the grand final of Dancing on Ice is on ITV1 this Sunday, 16th March at 7.00 PM. We are holding a special after-show party and boob flash down-a-pint drinking game. Though if Fearne Cotton shows up we are moving onto halves.

Read More:

Fearne: Holly’s Boobs Are Great – The Sun

Holly's sparkling promise - Metro

Quickly! What's the worst thing about living in the UK? Don't think, just say the first thing that comes into your head.

That's right, it's sodding Fearne Cotton being jammed down your throat every day and night on TV, goading you closer to suicide with her big stupid voice and ridiculous clothes. Fearne Cotton is easily the worst thing about living in the UK.

But guess what? Fearne Cotton isn't going to live here any more! She's got a deal to host a primetime NBC show in America, so she'll go and live there instead. This is how Tina Turner must have felt when Ike died.

American TV producers know that nothing goes down with audiences as well as a vaguely annoyed British person. Simon Cowell's done well there, as have Anne Robinson, Gordon Ramsay and – bewilderingly – Piers Morgan. But maybe NBC misread the memo recently, because when it was chosing the host of new show The Guinness Book Of World Records – Live!, it didn't stump for a vaguely annoyed British person. It went with a vaguely annoying British person.

OK, not vaguely annoying. So annoying that just the thought of her makes us want to cry blood. It's Fearne Cotton.

Somehow – we think because she's young and looks like she knows how to send a text message – Fearne Cotton has managed to become every producer's favourite youthy presenter. It's quite an accomplishment for Fearne, because someone who studiously fills their sentences glottal stops and shouts! Every! Word! Like! It's! More! important! Than! It! Actually! Is! as much as Fearne should really have never graduated from drama school.

But, hey, as The Sun reports, that's America's problem now:

The bubbly blonde, 25, has signed a big-money deal with NBC to host The Guinness Book Of World Records – Live!… Fearne’s two-hour Guinness Records special will feature a countdown of the craziest records ever held. The show will end with a live motorcycle stunt in which Clint Ewing, 27, will try to ride through the longest-ever tunnel of fire.

What? It's not a series? Fearne Cotton is only presenting a two-hour special? That's rubbish. But, hey, maybe it'll lead to more American work. Maybe Fearne Cotton will still go and live there eventually. Right?

Well maybe not. Look at Fearne Cotton's presenting track-record. She presented Top Of The Pops and it died. She presented Love Island and it died. She presented Holly & Fearne Go Dating and not a single person watched it. She helped to host the UK's Eurovision Song Contest qualifiers and Scooch won. The woman is the kiss of death, which probably isn't something that Clint Ewing wants to hear.

Stil, maybe two is hours is all America needs to realise that a tiny pretend-cockney gonk constantly shouting made-up words and pretending that she likes indie music even though the most leftfield record she's ever bought is clearly Lady In Red isn't for them. But at least they're taking Fearne Cotton off our hands for two hours. Thank you, America.

But if you ever come for Konnie Huq we'll cut you with a knife.

Read more:

US deal is a nice little Fearner - The Sun