Palaeolithic megastar Madonna says she wonders what it would be like to be truly ‘loved’. By ‘truly loved’ she doesn’t mean by her legion of overly-loyal fans but by someone with something to lose.

The 53-year-old’s sudden interest in love and human emotion comes as she is marketing her new directorial outing ‘W.E.’ and is not in any way a cynical attempt to garner some headlines for a film that has flown pretty much under the radar up until now.

It’s very important to remember that. These are deep, meaningful emotions from a deep and meaningful woman.

Ms. Ciccone directed and co-wrote the film which chronicles Edward VIII’s romance with American divorcee Wallis Simpson for whom he abdicated the throne in 1936, leaving the far more successful screen king George VI to take over. Thank God he did otherwise Colin Firth might have a significantly smaller trophy cabinet right now.

Still, Madonna is more interested in the pair’s deep love affair, rather than the widely negative reviews that the film has been garnering.

“When she says ‘I wonder what it was like to have been loved that much?’ I think I probably said that to myself.”

Madonna need only read the comments on any of our articles about her to know how much she is loved by a mindless shower of keyboard-mashing imbeciles but she goes on to say;

“Men want power and they will kill to have it. If you look back in history, how many wars have been waged to win the throne? And here’s a man who walked away from that for love. And so for a romantic like me, I would say: ‘Wow, to be loved like that!’ And Wally feels the same way – she wants to be loved like that.”

Poor Madonna doesn’t seem to be getting an adequate level of adoration from her dancer boyfriend. We’re not going to do that ‘gossip writing’ trick of saying how old he is to imply that she’s a cradle snatcher by the way. That’s not who we are. We’ll just say it. He’s 30 years her junior. It’s approaching a Hugh Hefner level of creepiness, that one.

Anyway, Madonna has great respect for the power that King Edward (latterly the Duke of Windsor) gave up to be with Ms Simpson. The star identifies with his actions.

“What Edward gave up was huge, monumental, but I also don’t think that he realised that when he abdicated he was never going to be allowed to come back into the country. I’ve been asked many times if I would give up everything for love. And I think it’s important to understand that with love, and in all relationships, you have to give up something.”

Like a country. Or a career. Or, in the case of her divorce from Guy Ritchie, someone to tell her that her new film was shit. Thankfully though, she didn’t give up on her dream and her negatively reviewed new film W.E. opens in cinemas on Friday. After all, the interview wasn’t done so that she could pour her heart out to the Radio Times, was it?

There’s nothing better than a nice antique leather chair to help you relax after a long day at work.

Well, this theory may be put to the test with the announcement that Nancy Dell’Olio is to pose naked in an upcoming edition of everybody’s favourite spunk-rag, Playboy.

The Strictly Come Dancing star is apparently really eager to show everyone just what Iggy Pop’s chuff would look like if he were a woman.

A source close to Dell’Olio says that, “She’s willing to show top and bottom in a tasteful way.” Which is kind of horrifying when you think about it, unless you’re into that sort of thing. We’re looking at you Wayne Rooney. Don’t pretend you haven’t wanted this ever since Sven introduced you to his 156-year old wife for the first time.

The deal is worth a reported £250,000 and hinges upon whether Hef can come up with a suitably ‘exotic’ location in which to reveal what once lurked under Nancy’s leotard.

So, when your next jazz mag drops through the door in that discrete brown envelope, just be aware that when you open it up you may find the lovely Nancy Dell’Olio, spread-eagle on a beach somewhere, sipping on champagne and winking at you despite her eyes being covered by some obscenely large sunglasses.

For those of you that can’t quite picture that, here’s a top hecklerspray tip, shave your scrotum, liberally apply some fake tan (and when we say liberally, we’re talking at least 2 bottles), then shove a mirror between your legs and stare at it until you’ve stopped throwing up.

Thanks Nancy, you’ve managed to ruin both leather chairs and our own scrotums for us in just under 300 words.

If you’ve ever been told to stop making a boob of yourself, then usually you’re doing something stupid like stirring a cup of coffee with your wang. Just us? Anyway, in the case of Holly Madison, if she didn’t have her busters, her income would dry up faster than a cream-cracker in the Mojave Desert.

When Holly was growing up, she didn’t want to be a doctor. Instead, her dream was to walk around in hardly any clothing whilst her employee Hugh Hefner furiously rubbed his thighs so much that his shrivelled love stick would get a friction burn.

Unless she has a fetish for pensioners, Holly Madison was one of Hefner’s many paid girlfriends, but now she’s free from wrinkled clutches, she’s being her own woman! Sadly, feminists will be dismayed to hear that she still requires her chest to get through life and has just taken out an insurance plan on her knockers.

Not many people will have had the opportunity to feel a Playboy playmates bosom, but because we vaguely care about our readers, we know how to create an almost identical experience that’ll make you think you’re groping Holly Madison.

Just like most of the hecklerspray writers, we assume that you’re a pathetic and lonely individual who doesn’t have a willing girlfriend who’s prepared to help you out.

To recreate the strange situation of touching Madison’s bazangers, simply go to the kitchen and get two rubber plunger heads filled with pâté, shove them down your t-shirt and let the fondling commence.

You see, Holly Madison isn’t naturally gifted when it comes to the boob department. Overnight, a magic nork fairy didn’t magically enhance her. Instead, she plumped up to a D-cup from an A-cup all thanks to the wonders of silicon. Effectively, all those provocative pictures she’s the star of are making her look like a walking portfolio for the surgeons who sliced her upon and injected her with goo.

Knowing she’s made of plastic that could start to degrade, she said the following about her insurance:

“If anything happened to my boobs, I’d be out for a few months and I’d probably be out a million dollars. I thought I’d cover my assets.”

Cover her assets indeed!

Let’s face it, due to the nature of the business she’s in, covering her assets is the last thing she should do.

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Gene Simmons is a man who says he loves women folk, but you get the distinct impression that he actually hates them. Or, worse still, is afraid of them. That’s why he’s always unfurling that gigantic tongue of his at them.

As an aside, it’s hard to picture what went on when he bunked up with Diana Ross. She so slight that you can imagine he wore her like a glove puppet on his monstrous mouth piece.

Either way, all that’s behind him now as he’s all set to make an honest man of himself and marry his fiance of three decades, Shannon Tweed.

The pair already have some kids together (poor mites), but obviously, now that Simmons has little to offer the world outside of reality TV appearances and his dreadful pedestrian stadium plop-rock, he’s needing something in his life to make him feel of worth.

And which beautiful place, filled with history and romance, will host the knot tying? A HOTEL OF COURSE!

On October 1st, Gene Simmons will get married at an ‘iconic Beverly Hills hotel’. Fitting really, seeing as Gene proposed in that most intimate of settings – before a television crew.

We can imagine that the wedding will be filmed too, which is obviously a breathtakingly romantic gesture.

Seeing as there’s already a depressing sex-tape (and if you search for it, you’ll never hear ‘I Wanna Know What Love Is’ in the same way ever again) that features Gene knocking around, TV execs can be hopeful that the Kiss frontman may agree to recording his first shag as a married man too.

*pukes in hand*

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Hugh Hefner is not a happy man. Is it because he sincerely thought Crystal Harris was his true love and there was genuine shock and misery at her jilting him at the altar, before going on to say nasty things about his prowess in the bedroom?

Or is it because his male pride is taking an absolute hammering?

Whatever it is, he’s not about to start taking insults from an air-head like that! No way! So is he coming out fighting and saying that she has unsightly moles on her mons or that she actually has a dozen teats down her stomach like some pig in a boob tube? Of course he isn’t. He’s pointed at his chap and saying ‘Yeah? I totally do sex with it all the time. Like, a million times a day. And all the women can’t walk properly. After I’ve had sex with them I mean. I’m not using my wonder wand on people in wheelchairs. Although I would because I’ve got no problem with them. Can I have a lie down now? A normal one, not a sex one. Thanks. I get ever so tired.’

Anyway, Harris said that the Boob Magnate lasted “two seconds” in the sack, which saw Hefner coming out with boxing gloves on to sort all this out. Alas, he’s so old, that he couldn’t quite lift his hands up into the fighting position, leaving him trying to generate enough moisture from his body to create a solitary tear of frustration.

Well kinda.

What Hef actually did was to say that Harris “lied about our relationship” before going on about how they were at it all the time.

“For the record, I have sex on a weekly basis. And I did throughout my two-and-a-half years with Crystal.”

Crikey. He must be bored to tears of having the old in/out. If he’s done it at least once a week, that’s 52 times a year. Now multiply that by the 39,762 years he’s been on this Earth and… well… we shudder to think how he gets his kicks these days.

It seems variety is the spice of life as Hef added:

“My sex life involves more than one partner and has since the end of my marriage in 1998″

“There’s safety in numbers. When I try to settle down [like I did with] Crystal, I get burned.”

It won’t be too long before a young, nubile woman wants to marry the incredibly wealthy grot vendor, so he’ll be okay. Or dead soon.

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We were all pretty shocked when Crystal Harris decided to ditch Playboy founder, Hugh Hefner, just days before she was due to walk up the altar. They seemed like such a lovely couple. Perfect for each other in fact!

Alas, it wasn’t to be and us mere mortals were denied the greatest love story ever told.

Not that there was much lovin’ going on. See, Crystal has decided to spill the beans on the couple’s sex life… or should we say, lack of it. So little nookie was had that Harris claims that she never even saw Hef naked. As a little treat for her, we’ve decided to share our picture of Hefner with no clothes on with her.

The runaway snide has said that she had never seen the 85-year-old boob mogul sans clothes:

“Hef doesn’t really take off his clothes. I have never seen him naked”

That doesn’t mean she didn’t get bizzay with him though. Of course she did. That’s how she snared him isn’t it? He clearly didn’t like her for ability to keep their sexual antics private.

This could be something to do with the fact that they only had sex once during their two-year relationship, and that it lasted “like about two seconds.”

Lovely. She added, like it was some kind of surprise:

“I just like, walked away. I am not turned on by Hef. Sorry”

Anyone would think this was some kind of cold-eyed, cynical careerist move on her part wouldn’t they? Well, just so she has to endure the same horrors we’ve been enduring, we’re finally leaking our image of Hef naked that we’ve had all these years.

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Hugh Hefner has invented a cloning machine. We’re presupposing as much because yet another girlfriend has been added to Hugh’s arsenal of glorified ladies of the night. Ever heard of November 2011 Playboy Playmate Shera Bechard? No? Us neither.

A little too old for his tastes, we think, Shera is the 27-year-old new girlfriend of the 85-year-old smut-peddler. Yes, that’s another one since last Monday when he confirmed that Anne Sophie Berglund and the Shannon twins were back in his harem.

In what reads like the world’s most convoluted ploy for publicity, Hugh has used the break-up with Crystal Harris to pimp his forthcoming Playboy issues and the latest non-descript blonde who’s going to age out within a year.

Into his cloning device, Hugh puts thongs, botox, implants, and too much bleach. Clearly, the machine’s in need of fine tuning. None the less, it’s a work of sheer wizardry. All you would need is some ointment to soothe the itch from the nasties picked up in the literally filthy mansion and you would have a party in a box.

Speaking of boxes, being too literal for our own good, Hugh patronizingly called Anna his ‘one in a million… darling… best girl’ only last week.

This week, he added Shera. ‘Shera is both our November 2011 Playmate & my new girlfriend,’ Hugh told a Twitter follower on Monday.

Seeing this, his new plaything, with fully adjustable limbs, wrote that she ‘really does love’ the man with whom she has been enjoying early bird dinners.

This was a guest post by Amy Grindhouse, so three stinkin’ cheers for that.

It takes a lot of work to be described as a legend. You have to be dedicated to what you do and do it well for years of your life. Eventually, your achievement is such that your creation will be on any imaginable number of products that make less and less sense. Imagine your logo on bottle openers and the front of thongs! Imagine! The logo that has become synonymous with the objectification of women or, as others like to think of it, baps and bush.

Imagine you created that. Imagine you’re Hugh Hefner. Just take thirty seconds and imagine that. Have you lost your erection and/or heightened state of sexual arousal? Yes, of course you have.

Shrivelled titfid Hugh Hefner is reported to have moved on from ex-fiancée Crystal Harris,  despite their engagement only ending last week. The renowned smoking jacket wearer is said to have been so aroused by his new ‘target’ that he almost managed to allow enough blood to rush to his flaccid member to allow its non-artificial engorgement. That’s love in the Playboy Mansion.

According to Popeater, the Playboy founder has sparked a romance with Anna Sophia Berglund, better known as this year’s Playboy ‘Miss January’. You might not know her as that, given that you’ve probably yanked your way through five more months by now and have forgotten what she looks like.

“It’s clear Hef has moved on to Anna,” a source claimed while faking climax. The source went on to claim that they had been part of seven-way where Hefner had screamed “GET OFF HER!” at a moment of orgasm which, hecklerspray is led to believe, is the accepted sign that Hef has taken a shine to one of the girls.

Berglund has apparently moved into Hefner’s bedroom, and the two were said to have been kissing and cuddling throughout a recent movie night at the mansion but there was no mention of anything else – thank god.

Earlier this week Crystal Harris called off her engagement to Hefner less than a week before their wedding. Sources close to Harris claimed that the constant female presence in the Playboy mansion had played a significant part in her decision to end the engagement. Celebrity commentators have all let out a collective “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Harris is also said to have been alarmed by the Pope’s recent appearance on a balcony.

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In perhaps the most shocking news of… well… an entire generation of human beings, Hugh Hefner’s relationship with Crystal Harris is over. Who would have ever thought that those two – one a similar age to fossil fuels, the other a 25 year old with dollar signs in her eyes – wouldn’t work out?

And all this happened 5 days before their wedding, which was going to be entirely pink.

Shame. We would have liked to see Hef in a pink tux, struggling to stay on his feet for the duration of a wedding service while a young woman stood beside him, licking her lips seductively at Hugh’s younger pals.

The Playboy founder, mournfully caressing his penis pump, acknowledged the split via Twitter yesterday. Harris also came out with a statement:

“After much deep reflection and thought, I have decided to end my engagement with Hef. I have the utmost respect for Hef and wish him the best going forward.”

Going forward? The poor old coot is so ancient that he’s probably only got a matter of days to live. And a woman call Crystal had decided to stomp on his heart, which resembled dried fruit covered in dust anyway.

You heartless, grinning monster.

So who is she looking at for a ride instead? Well, people are coughing the name Jordan McGraw, but Harris’ rep says this is a “complete fabrication.” Besides, what’s the betting that Hef wouldn’t really mind if she played away? It seems likely that Hefner would like to get married and still enjoy the nubile gals of his Playboy Mansion, even if it does take him around 3 months to get something close to an erection.

Another rumour is that Crystal wanted more than her “couple hundred dollar” weekly allowance from Hugh (which is achingly sweet… we reckon that Hef still thinks you can buy a house for $1,000 and that cola still has cocaine in it) which was hampering her dreams of a singing career.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Still, we imagine Hugh will be generating a single, solitary tear tonight (which, thanks to the lack of moisture in his ancient body, will probably see him lose a limb) before he has his Ovaltine and switches on his electric blanket.

The greatest love-affair the world ever knew is finally over. Love is dead.

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Hugh Hefner is old so it is funny that he’s getting married, especially given that his wife-to-be is roughly 6000 years younger than him. It gives us the opportunity to snigger at the potential bedroom antics of the newlyweds, with Hef trying to develop enough moisture to cry as his erection fails him once more.

And seeing as he’s got a face like a newborn’s hand, Hefner’s bride-to-be Crystal Harris, is clearly marrying him because she really, really loves him and not at all for his vast fortune amassed from padding around in a dressing gown and gurgling at naked Aryans (in fairness to Hugh, we bet he’s cracking company around the dinner table and has the most amazing anecdotes in the celeb world).

With this being a wedding which everyone thinks is plain stupid, Crystal will be wearing pink as Hugh takes her up the aisle.

If he stays alive long enough, the Playboy mogul, who’s age we have to determine by carbon dating, will exchange vows with the 24 year old in June. We suspect Hefner’s stag-do will be a pub crawl around Southend, climaxing with Hugh puking his ring in the toilets of a grotty strip club, empty with the exception of Christina Aguilera’s ‘Dirrrrrty’ bouncing off the walls and two disinterested girls slowly gyrating around a pole with their minds squarely on their imminent cigarette break.

Harris says:

“The dress is not going to be white. I love pink! So, the dress will be pink and Hef and I want the wedding to be just a lot of different colours and to just look beautiful.”

Hefner’s penis pills are rumoured to be the ‘something blue’ that tradition requires for such an occasion.

In more eye-blitzing news, the couple have also ordered a strawberry cake and flowers in fuchsia and turquoise. Imagine it. Picture it in your mind’s eye.

Have you thrown up on yourself yet?

Still, you’re in a better shape than those who went to the Playboy mansion and caught legionnaires disease. Maybe this wedding will give everyone a dose of cowpox?

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Of all the diseases you could catch at the Playboy Mansion, legionnaires is probably pretty low down the list. It’s kinda cool that Playboy should revive such a retro disease though. Legionnaires hasn’t really been in the news since the late ’80s, which incidentally, was the last known erection maintained by Hugh Hefner.

You read that right slutbags. 170 people who have been ‘entertained’ at the bunny estate have fallen ill and now, official types are ‘reluctantly’ going to the mansion to check things out.

And possibly stare at girls with no clothes on. That was implied, but we thought we’d spell it out for you because we’ve got such a low opinion of you readers.

And so, armed with a wallet full of dollar bills and a cleared throat to shout “Go! Go! Go baby go! Work it for daddy!”, The Department of Public Health has managed to find a cushion to mask their collective erections to say that some kind of respiratory infection is suspected of causing fever, chills and other symptoms among folks who attended the DOMAINfest Global Conference on Internet business earlier this month.

Typical eh? People who work online gravitating toward filth. And disease.

Four Swedish men (probably naked and completely at ease with it) who attended the event were diagnosed with a mild form of Legionnaires disease. Did they get it from breathing in the same air as exhaled by Hugh Hefner’s member when he’s climaxing (sadly for poor Hugh, nothing comes out when he ‘gets there’. Instead of a warm glop of fluid, witnesses are treated to a gentle hiss of hot air, much like the dying breath of a withered party balloon)?

Sadly, it seems to be something far more boring. It appears that Hef’s fog machine may have spread the illness. Unless, of course, ‘fog machine’ is what the Bunnies call Hugh’s genitalia.

Within 48 hours after leaving the mansion, many revellers talked about a feeling of general unwellness. Symptoms included chills and fever. Chills and fever sounds pretty exciting if you think about it in the same way a young Tom Jones did…

… however, the kind of chills and fever we’re looking at here are the ones associated with breathing problems and violent headaches which make you feel like someone has bummed your brain one.

Elliot J. Silver, who attended the party, said:

“It is scary everyone came down with the same thing at the same time.”

“It knocked me on my ass. A lot of people are blaming the Playboy Mansion on the blogs, but you can’t be sure.”

Playboy spokeswoman Teri Thomerson, wearing bunny ears and carrying a tray of blue pills, said the Playboy Mansion was cooperating fully with the Department of Public Health’s investigation.

In other news, Peter Stringfellow has apparently been told that this outbreak at the Playboy Mansion wasn’t intended and is now fumigating his nightspot after filling it up with the E.coli virus.

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Americans either have a sense of humour or, maybe, they just like the press they get from controversy (that could well explain Sarah Palin’s baffling rise in power). We say this because apparently, Ricky Gervais has been asked to host the Golden Globes again.

Of course, you’ll remember that he upset some humourless dullards with a series of jokes that made everyone else laugh.

Dry heaving while pretending to wank-off Hugh Hefner? That’s exactly the sort of thing that will see hecklerspray jumping to our collective feet for a standing ovation. Not to mention ripping celebrity Scientologists a new one.

While smart slebs laughed along (a particular doffing of the cap must go to Robert DeNiro who looked like he was going to shit his pants he was chortling so hard), the Hollywood press decided that they didn’t like some Limey turning up and tearing strips off their hallowed Hollywood.

They took great glee in assuming that he wouldn’t be asked back to the Golden Globes, probably giving Billy Crystal the sly thumbs-up for the gig.

What they didn’t reckon on was the Golden Globes fondness for the money that comes with increased interest over imagined worldwide outrage. The largely insignificant award ceremony became the talk of the town and, should Gervais get next year’s gig, it’ll probably be transmitted live all over the world while they encourage him to go in with studs showing.

This, in fact, could be a turning point for the Golden Globes as they turn it into a comedy roast instead of some backslapping event that no-one outside of LA give two hoots about.

Gervais said:

“I don’t know what I could do better. I certainly couldn’t get more press for them, that’s for sure. The response was staggering.”

“It was discussed on every news channel and chatshow for weeks.”

And now it’s rumoured that he’s going to be asked to host it again. However, we know that Gervais doesn’t like to tread water.

In fact, he’ll probably turn it down and they’ll get Sarah Silverman to do it and… well… she’s about as funny as a blazing school full of children (which isn’t funny at all, should you need the staggeringly obvious pointing out to you).

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Like we noted yesterday, America can occasionally forget what a sense of humour is, despite the fact they’ve produced some of the most acerbic comics in history and invented the notorious advent of the comedy roast.

Yet, when on the receiving end of abuse from a British comedian, they can get a bit huffy and wounded. The great big touchy soft shits.

This has left Ricky Gervais having to defend his studs-showing stint which he delivered while hosting the Golden Globes, even though he shouldn’t have to. Gervais came armed with jokes, not guns, eh America?

Of course, us Limeys pride ourselves on our innate sense of satire and constantly chide America for not understanding sarcasm properly… unless of course, Sarah Palin is a gigantic slab of satirical comedy and no-one has cracked up through their poker face yet. If that’s the case, well done America; you had us for a moment then.

Anyway, jokes aren’t as funny when you have to either explain them or justify them. However, such is the hissy-fit being thrown in some quarters, Gervais has taken to his blog to stick two fingers up and, essentially, to tell everyone to piss-off and grow-up.

He wrote:

“I enjoyed the Globes more this year. I think I had better gags. More along the lines of the Mel Gibson one last year”

And what about the rumours about him getting taken backstage to be shot/told off?

“Obviously the rumour that the organisers stopped me going out on stage for an hour is rubbish.”

“I did every link I was scheduled to do. The reason why the gaps were uneven is because when I got the rundown I was allowed to choose who I presented to.

“I obviously chose the spots that I had the best gags for. They couldn’t move around the order but I could move around however I wanted.”

So, not only is the very notion of joking being dissected, but now, we’re being shown the admin of an awards ceremony. Thanks America. Your lack of humour has dragged us all into a scheduling hell. In triplicate.

Gervais added:

“All the same conspiracy theories as last year too … ‘so and so was offended’ … ‘hasn’t been invited back yet’ … exactly the same as last time. ‘Paul McCartney was furious’ … no he wasn’t. And nor was Tim Allen and Tom Hanks. I was drinking with them after.”

So there you have it. The only people offended are those with no funny bone. And Scientologists. And people who thought Gervais wasn’t that funny and expected better.

Happy now? Good. Now shut your traps.

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The 68th annual Golden Globes happened last night and, once again, hecklerspray‘s invite was lost in the post despite having previous when it comes to getting hold of really pure cocaine for very competitive and good prices.

Maybe we have to pretend to be Scientologists or something? Either way, we weren’t there, which means we have to rely on hearsay and reports. Please note – the former doesn’t mean we got a text from Suzanne Shaw, now starring in Emmerdale.

Anyway, apart from the winners, which no-one really cares about, the big story of the show focused on the host, Ricky Gervais who reminded us all that, sometimes, Americans don’t understand humour. Or they don’t find English people funny. One of the two.

The ceremony was buzzing with questions as Gervais went missing for nearly an hour.Rumours abounded that, after going in for the jugular almost from the off, Ricky had been fired backstage by the bosses of the show. Some idiots even speculated that he’d been taken to a parking lot and shot through the face with a great big gun (not that America has a fixation and problem with guns. God no. Not them. Or Sarah Palin. Guns don’t kill people – the bullets that guns fire into human flesh, do).

Anyway, Gervais kicked things off by ravaging Charlie Sheen, Scientology, Mel Gibson, Lost and Hugh Hefner. He also introduced Bruce Willis as “Ashton Kutcher’s dad”. The wag. He also joked that he had to help president of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, Philip Berk, to go to the toilet and “put his teeth back in”. We bet he was thrilled, especially as Gervais made jokes about them accepting bribes.

What did anyone expect? A nice, safe routine? Either way, what everyone got wasn’t too far from the level of comedic abuse you see at a Comedy Roast.

After pulling everyone’s noses, Gervais then vanished, leaving people to speculate about him being sacked or killed. Either would have been a good story to write this morning (in the case of the latter, a really brilliant story, once you’d got past the ‘tragedy’ element of it).

When Gervais returned to the fore, it was clear he wasn’t dead, however, observers muttered that he looked rather subdued, with the always pleasant and reasonable Piers Morgan (America – we’re sorry for him, okay?) noting that Gervais looked “haunted”.

So what did they do to him backstage? Suffice to say, whatever happened didn’t make Ricky Gervais laugh because, well, lets face it, if he did laugh, he would have woken the whole world up with it because, as you know, he’s got the loudest, most irritating chortle in the universe.

Either way, despite being rather funny (what? Praise from hecklerspray?), it certainly appears that Gervais won’t get a third stab at hosting the show. Next year, brace yourself for a routine from someone from the ever-appalling Big Bang Theory or something.

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At this time of year, you’ve probably gorged on stupid amounts of food and not spared a single thought for baby Jesus who Romans ended up nailing to a bit of wood. That’s right. Every year, you give gifts to celebrate a baby getting stapled to a cross. Or whatever the story says.

Of course, Christmas and New Year is cliché time for men everywhere as they see it as an ideal time to propose to their partners.

Doing something hilarious such as stuffing a ring in a cracker or inside a glass of champagne, the results can backfire with the expensive sparkler being thrown out with the rubbish or accidently swallowed. It appears that Playboy founder Hugh Hefner was guilty of said cliché and proposed to his girlfriend Crystal Harris. No doubt everyone has gone eeeewwwww like Garth from Wayne’s World and vomited in to a bucket.

It’s a general assumption that old people reach a certain stage and either wake up with no genitals or are forced to visit a clinic where they’re forcibly removed by a man wearing a stained white gown. After all, pensioners don’t engage in sex do they? Go on imagine it now, those wrinkles bobbing up and down with grandmas teeth accidentally falling out.

Not a pleasant image is it? Scrub away that mental picture by thinking of two girls one cup [that's the sweet but vaguely saucy video of two girls trying to get all their breasts into one boob-hammock of a bra isn't it? - Ed.]

This isn’t the first marriage for Hef, unless Crystal Harris changes her mind about seeing a wrinkly man thrust at her in exchange of a lifetime of riches. For Hefner, this is his third attempt at settling down and erm…starting a family. Or officially having the best eye candy down the bingo on a Sunday night.

At the age of three hundred and twenty four, Hugh Hefner is on a par with Bruce Forsyth for a person who is close towards moving on to heaven. That’s unless God doesn’t like boobs of course. However, unlike most pensioners Hefner is still full of cheeky charm and doesn’t look like he’s short of life. Unless he is some sort of mutant soul sucker who gives naïve models an opportunity to appear in his magazine in exchange for a couple of years of youth, we don’t know what his secret is. Magic beans perhaps?

We’re sure that Hugh Hefner and Crystal Harris told their immediate families about such wonderful news, but soon it was blurted out to vultures like us via the medium of Twitter. If people ever ask you the point of Twitter, you can tell them that it’s a handy aid for finding out about pointless celebrity announcements. Hefner tweeted, twatted, twitted or whatever:

“When I gave Crystal the ring, she burst into tears. This is the happiest Christmas weekend in memory.”

As a pensioner, we assume that remembering what happened a month ago is an achievement. Come March, he’ll have announcement this engagement to a fourth, five and sixth victim. Sorry, partner.

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