You’ve had a very hard week haven’t you? That Diane in accounting asked you to do that did she? She takes you for granted so much you know. We at hecklerspray love you very much. We would never take you for granted.
What you want to do is, pour yourself a massive gin (it’s the Queen’s favourite don’t you know) and get so blitzed that you don’t know where you are until the hangover kicks in at around Monday dinner time, just in time for a Boots meal deal. That’d be a great way to spend a weekend wouldn’t it? Absolutely off your face. Imagine not knowing how you got scratches and bruises. Intense.
If that isn’t for you though, maybe you’re a bit skint, or maybe ecstasy is your one true passion? Then we have the second best thing to do this weekend, and that’s watch all these brilliant TV shows and talk to us about them. A human conversation with someone. How avant garde.
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Eamonn Holmes is a man famed for the legendary status of his gargantuan gob.
Not only is it capable of producing more crap than his backside on a day-to-day basis, but when it isn’t spewing verbal sewage it’s being stuffed with all manner of deep-fried goodies.
Well, let’s hope Eamonn has deep-fried his foot after he managed to, once again, get it firmly lodged between his gums during an interview on This Morning.
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Hello readers. Have a good week? If our frighteningly accurate hecklerscopes are correct, then most of you are either dead or feeling a very real sense of shame and self loathing. Either is fine with us. For those of you still here, let’s look at what’s going to happen in Soapland this week.
Yep, you guessed it, Eastenders first and before we begin, we’d like to announce some exciting news which may not be true but we’ll share it with you anyway.
Heather will be brutally murdered by Ben! hecklerspray writer Robin Darke predicted that she’d be killed by George Michael who would then launch a campaign of terror culminating in him pissing all over Arthur’s bench, but we’ll settle for Ben being all stabby.
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Ka-loo ka-lay everyone! It’s almost the end of the week, and just like Lenny Henry tells us on those awful hotel adverts, it’s almost time for the weekend. And what’s a weekend all about? Going out, getting trashed and generally being like those pesky kids from Skins, sitting around in your pants as much as you can in 48 hours.
It’s what sets us aside from the animals y’know. They can’t figure out the little hole bit for willies.
It’d be remiss, and frankly irresponsible of us, as your favourite website of all time ever in the history of Google, to not keep you occupied between your next bottle of something fizzy or yeasty. It’d be like the 1994 film, Baby’s Day Out. You clearly can’t be left to your own devices can you? Sometimes, just sometimes, you actually make us sorry to know you.
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It’s soap spoiling time again you lucky people! Once again we’ve been held at gunpoint and forced to write stuff about something we’d only care less about if we were dead. Want to know what exciting things happen in Hollyoaks this week? Tough. We didn’t include them.
As usual we’re off to Eastenders first and before we give you this weeks predictable spoilers, we’d like to jump up and down topless in appreciation of Kim, who’s near death rubbish pile romance scene with Ray was our highlight of last week.
This week Ben’s hilarious plan to get his dad arrested has finally worked. Yes Phil Mitchell has been charged with the murder of Stella in a plot so drawn-out we had to look on YouTube to remember what actually happened. We’re still not sure. However, the smug grin is soon wiped off his face when Shirley throws him out and he’s forced to go and live with Ian Beale and as you all know, when you move in with Ian you have to marry him – it’s Eastenders law.
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This week’s Dancing on Ice was apparently Movie Week. Really, it was just dodgier outfits than usual, a few rubbish puns and some nicely manufactured drama. There were injuries! There were dangerous lifts! And there was Heidi Sugababe’s golden vadge! Her terrifying, terrifying golden ladybits.
Before old Bigface Sugababe assaulted our eyes with her genitals though, the rest of the skaters were subjected to injury and actual sexual assault. Like Jennifer Ellison, who has ruined her ribs, apparently. Which was INCREDIBLY DRAMATIC and caused her to change her routine at the last moment and look like she was about to die when she came off the ice.
We did not feel the required amount of sympathy. Although that’s maybe because we have no soul.
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Head Judges. Every reality show has one, even the ones where they can’t quite work out who the head judge is (yes, we’re looking at you, X Factor). And on Dancing on Ice, that privilege lies with Robin Cousins. Unfortunately for everyone else though, it seems the producers forgot to explain the show to him.
Robin Cousins, you see, has pretty much entirely missed the point of the show that he presides over. Which is a competition to find the celebrity that is best at skating round in circles and doing a bit of twirling. According to Mr Cousins, though, the celebrities only have to compete with themselves. Get that?
They’re not competing with each other, just themselves. Which makes for a pretty shit show unless ITV have been cloning celebrities in some kind of spectacular reality-meets-unnatural science experiment.
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Death is a certainty. It’s one of those things that you can’t escape from, like Witch Mountain. Or Monkey Island. Eventually, just like the rhythm, it’s going to get you. Don’t fight the inevitable readers – roll over and take out as many people as you can. It’s what Guy Fawkes would have wanted.
Sometimes death is sad. Remember when Helen Daniels fell asleep and Hannah couldn’t wake her up? Gutting. Or when that one off Cold Feet was hit by the truck while she was talking on her mobile phone. Tearful. But we wouldn’t be antisocial enough to want to see them back. Anne Haddy had her chance and she blew it. Big style.
But sometimes death is good. It allows us to never have to see some things again. One of these things is Tim Lovejoy’s narcissistic misogyny and Louise Redknapp’s amazing ability to successfully imitate wet cardboard. We were all glad when Something For The Weekend was cancelled weren’t we?
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