Grown Up Gossip & Internet Villainy
Here at hecklerspray, we’re generally less than thrilled when one of our colleagues has any success that we weren’t part of. In fact we hate them and wish them nothing but sorrow on a daily basis.
We generally despise anyone who seems to be doing well or progressing in their career because we’re entirely aware of how useless we really are and that the only difference between us and a 5 year old, is our ability to drink heavily and use spellcheck.
Are we bitter about this?
Former singer and current one-hit-wonder masquerading as a musical intellectual, Sinitta, has never been lauded for her intelligence or even for her musical talent but her latest move, “sensationally” quitting the ITV anus-fest “I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!” before she even got as far as the airport.
According to sources, Sinitta was under the impression that the show was a massive hoax, put out by profligate executives who are willing to pay not only the wages of Geordie mafia boys Ant n’ Dec but also fork out for a luxury hotel for the stars to live in while they’re not being filmed.
Silly Sinitta.
In an ouroboros circle of narcissism that’s going to be the reason the universe implodes in on itself in 2012, Katie Price has been spotted with ankle ink that would appear to mark the date she met her latest boyfriend. Which would be fine. Except she’s been dating this latest guy for all of three months and change.
Katie and boyfriend-of-the week, Leandro Penna, have been spending time together since February. This February. The February during which everyone else was getting knocked-up or getting married.
Okay, okay. Maybe meeting and instantly falling in love with some bloke she just tripped over in the street is the lesser of those evils. So long as her womb stays empty and she doesn’t sprint down the aisle again, we’re not going to fight her on this one.
Katie Price loves horses. This is mainly because they don’t talk back to her or give her hassle about her terrifying face, which has been manufactured by the world’s worst plastic surgeons, determined to make her look like a Hubba Bubba/gallstone hybrid.
However, she has had some trouble with horses, notably the ones that the wheels of her car crushed to death!
That’s right! The Artist Formerly Known As Peter Andre’s Wife has been involved in a car crash that killed two runaway stallions. The tragic news is that the former Jordan has got whiplash.
Not that we’d ever say this to his face, but Alex Reid seems like a wee bit of a head case. ?The primary evidence for that is obviously the marriage to Jordankatieprice and becoming a de-facto stand-in for his body double and mental equal, Peter Andre.
Further than this damning evidence is pretty much every other titbit of information that drips out of the media about his personal life (that is, if a titbit can drip. One assumes it can).
There’s his made up names, ‘Roxanne’ for the cross-dressing, the ‘Reidinator’ for the fighting, ‘Rocky’ when he’s in the Big Brother house, ‘Peter’ when Katiejordanprice would get confused in bed and mix him up with his exact doppleganger. ?He gets his nutrition before a big fight from ‘reabsorbing’ his sperm to take on the nutrients (apparently they make him go ‘raaaaahh’, according to his Wikipedia page. Goodness!). And now reports have come out that he has been taking part in some kind of druidy festival up at Stonehenge.
Everybody on Earth… hang on… lets start that again. The small percentage of people in Britain who actually gave even the vaguest of fucks about Katie Price knew that, the second she tapped off with Alex Reid, he was being offered as bait.
Now, you can decide whether he was being offered to a false God, the press or, most likely, a jealousy maker for Peter Andre, but either way, it didn’t work. Unless you buy into the ‘false God’ theory, in which case, he’s now the walking dead (or ‘even deaderer’), occasionally in a nice frock.
Katie Price and Alex Reid looked like they were going to announce their inevitable split the other day, but alas, never quite got ’round to it. That’s a shame because every single one of us cares deeply about whether they’re having sex or not.
One of the things that seems to be a hurdle is that Katie is refusing to undergo IVF treatment. Are we to assume she doesn’t like messing around with nature and that things should unfold as God himself intended?
HAHAHAHAH! You’ve seen her tits and face, right?
Katie Price breaks news faster than she breaks the thick blooded heart of pro-lummox and punchbag, Alex Reid. That’s Alex Reid who likes to slip into something more fiddly like women’s clothes, from time-to-time. We are legally obliged to mention that.
Anyway, for ages, there have been mutterings that these two were going to split up. In fact, these rumours flew around in the first week of Reid and Price getting together. She clearly still loves Peter Andre doesn’t she? Because she’s quite obviously stupid.
The announcement is set to come very, very soon. This afternoon in fact. That’s right! hecklerspray are running a news article before it has even happened! We should have said ‘SPOILER ALERT’.
Alex Reid is, clearly, a figure of fun in the British press. Hardly surprising when you consider the fact that he’s a perma-tanned cross-dressing simpleton who gets punched in the balls for a living. However, beneath all that, there is something to feel sorry for.
Really? Yes. Fact is, we all know and he knows it – all he’s ever been to Katie Price is a thing to dangle in the face of Peter Andre in a bid to make him jealous. How depressing is that? You’re sole role in the public eye is some kind of bait to try and snare a simpering, warbling Antipodean with gigantic gym tits.
For a while, Reid has been muttering about his problems, roundly met with a “WHO CARES? SHURRUP Y’DIMBO!”, but now, we have to listen because Katie Price is talking about it all through her grotesque, motionless blow-up bed of a face.
I’m A Celebrity… Get Me Out Of Here! is the most honest ‘reality’ show on the box. Basically, it makes no bones about the fact that the whole point of the programme is to give us plebs the chance to make famous people suffer.
We make them eat stinking genitals and grubs that pop in your mouth like marshmallow filled cherry tomatoes and, in the case of Gillian McKeith, put her in so many jungle trials that she may actually die.
