Dreadful orange sloppy-seconds-bargain-bin-Jordan Chantelle ‘Chantelle’ Houghton, not content with hawking her fake breasts, fake eyelashes and, we presume, non-fake pregnant belly has this week launched an all-out assault on anyone with any sense of decorum whatsoever.

Appearing in nothing more than a bikini in more tatty publications and websites than we were even aware existed (Celebrity Baby Scoop anyone? Anyone? We’re not even making it up) Chantelle has been coining it something rotten from her four-month old child, serving only to remind the world that she is swelled with the product of ex-Katie Price ‘Reidenator’ Alex Reid.

‘Reidenator’. Yes. Katie ‘Jordan’ Price said that out loud.

Do you know what Chantelle said out loud, discussing her apparent inability to get pregnant – because that’s just the thing to mention when promoting one’s new range of fake eyelashes that no-one will buy when the Girls Aloud ones are still on the shelves in Boots no matter how pregnant you are – do you? This:

‘What’s the saying? Where there’s a sperm, there’s a way. I only release an egg three times a year, so the chances of me actually getting pregnant naturally were one per cent – slim to none. I think maybe it happened because we weren’t just having sex to get pregnant any more.’

Ensuring that any right-thinking person vomits from their very eyes at the thought of ‘Reidenating’ in action and never has sex with anyone again.

Chantelle’s unborn foetus was unavailable for comment at time of publication, but sources claim it could live without all the front-page manky magazine coverage until it’s at least born, but is getting-on ok with its housemates and has even nicknamed them “The Silicone Twins”.

And is very proud of it’s mother.

Classy children’s author and stain on the pants of society, Katie Price, has insisted that she would never have sex on the first date.

Stop laughing.

Yes,the horse lover (and horse killer), formally known as  Jordan, turned up on Loose Women to talk about how she’s not the kind of girl who does that kind of thing, despite the fact she pumped the virginity right out of Gareth Gates in a London Hotel in 2002.

We remember things you see.  We also remember that sex tape she made. (Google it you perverts, we’re not here to help you sin.)

Speaking with her voice she said:

“I’m not into doing the one night thing. It’s like, how long do you leave it before you do it?”

“Because I always think if you are going to give it to them straight away, then they think that you’re a dirtbag, and I’m not a dirtbag even though I want to jump into bed with them.”

*cough* dirtbag *cough*

With a list of ex partners, longer than Peter Andre’s remote control sized penis and her last victim boyfriend Leandro Penna, now broken and back in Argentina, she admits she finds it easy to fall in love.

“Even if I’m trying to be cool then I’ll either be really shy and I can’t eat in front of them or I don’t know, I go all silly. I’m an absolute nightmare.”

Yes you are. A great big Wes Craven style nightmare, THAT NEVER, EVER ENDS.

She just kept talking.

“People think that I’m this strong bolshy girl, but I’m not. I’m gullible, I fall head over heels, but I’d rather be like that than not like that.”

AND TALKING.

“I don’t like to play games, I can’t be bothered with that, I’m too old for that now. If I’m going to text them and if they don’t text or call back then I’ve got to the point whereby I don’t want to play games, if you’re not interested and you try and play games and make me keen on you and be cool, forget it, I’m not interested. If you like someone go for it, life’s too short.”

And you lot said she didn’t write her own novels.  SHAME ON YOU.

So there you have it.

We have no idea what to do with this news either.

And just when we thought Alex Reid’s career couldn’t sink any lower… he announces that he’s due to tour the country and strip off in front of hundreds of people night after night.

Fresh from getting engaged to, and talking about wanting babies with, fellow former Celebrity Big Brother alumna Chantelle Houghton, Alex has announced that he’s due to star in the play, yes someone’s actually cast him in a play, Wildboyz.

And people say that theatre is too high-brow.

Other stars of the show, about a group of lads who decide to become strippers, you know, like in that film with Robert Carlisle, will include Danny Young, who played Warren in Corrie, Marcus Patrick a.k.a. Ben Davies from Hollyoaks and Dale Howard, from… erm… Big Brother.

This has Olivier Award written all over it.

Wildboyz is due to grace the towns of Stevenage, Bradford, Leicester, Skegness, Colchester, Plymouth, Newcastle and Margate. And while there are no immediate plans for a West End run we here at hecklerspray are certain that Messrs Reid, Patrick, Young and Howard will be treading the boards at the Victoria, Apollo or Gielgud in no time.

Whether the theatre will be open that day or not will be another matter.

The show has been described, by the people who have been paid to lie about how good it is, as:

A hysterical tease from the beginning to its spectacular climax, lifting the lid on the world of celebrity, with audience participation, guaranteeing not a dry seat in the house.

Not a dry seat? Are the audience all going to void the bowels with shame after being subjected to Alex Reid’s acting talent?

That’s REALLY selling it to us.

One thing remains certain at least, even with pictures like the one below floating around, there’s not much of a chance of Alex or the rest of the Wildboyz being signed by Katie Price.

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Premieres for big blockbusters usually take place in cinemas with names like ODEON, CINEWORLD, GRAUMAN’S or BOGNOR REGIS CINEMASCOPE but it seems that the makers of Paranormal Activity are positively itching to associate their horrifying, overdone claptrap with Channel 5′s flagship horrifying, overdone claptrap.

And, as such, the premiere of Paranormal Activity III took place in front of a star-studded audience inside the Big Brother compound proving once and for all that crossover episodes are never as realistic as you hope.

It had been expected that Channel 5 would take the opportunity of having a scary film playing in the compound to systematically murder all of the housemates and celebrities who were assembled inside and the world (100 people whose remotes were broken) watched on with bated breath, waiting for the axe-murderer to be released into the house.

Unfortunately the reality was much less interesting (much like Big Brother, in fact). In fact no actual celebrities turned up to the event, leaving the organisers to sift through the dregs of the Z-List. People who were willing to coo about how good the inevitably terrible film was in order to get £50 from the poor bastards doing PR for yet another shark-jumping horror sequel.

On that subject, we did make the slightly erroneous claim that the premiere was ‘star-studded’ but perhaps a ‘diamanté vajazzled’ audience would be a more accurate term. Well-known Jordan lookalike Katie Price (the one with the tits that she hates us mentioning), Dane Bowers (of ‘sexing Katie Price’ fame), Ironik (the least ironic man alive) and Michelle Heaton (nope, no idea) were among the great washed-up to enter the compound in the pursuit of enough money to buy a loaf of bread and some crack.

Of course, it’s yet another premiere that hecklerspray wasn’t invited to despite us finally meeting the criteria that many of our commenters lay down for us. “What have you ever achieved?” We would argue that we’ve achieved more than Dane Bowers and yet here we are picking the mould off the bottom of our tea cups while he has an awkward conversation with Katie Price about male ejaculate over some plastic nachos.

We can’t win.

The third instalment of the horror franchise is set 18 years before the first film, and is directed by the people who made Catfish, a film that is almost as awful as Paranormal Activity III is bound to be.

The curse of Celebrity Big Brother is rearing its ugly head again as former contestants and professional divorcees Alex Reid and Chantelle Houghton announce that they think they’re ready to reproduce.

Jordan’s former fella spread the word via one of those glossy lady rags that you see in your dentist’s waiting room, but would never pick up because there’s a picture of Alex Reid on the cover trying his best to look like he’s still a cage-fighter…

…or vaguely relevant.

According to Reid, who’s been dating Chantelle for less than 6 months, Houghton is, “the one.” He didn’t clarify whether he meant romantically or in more of an intellectual capacity, but for arguments sake we’ll just assume he meant he’s willing to spend the rest of his life with a woman who secretly arranged for photographers to follow her and her ex, Rav Wilding, around, just so that she’d get some column inches.

The lawyers have informed us that we should probably point out that it’s only alleged that Chantelle had the paparazzi follow her around, but let’s be honest, we all know it was true.

So, with a cross dressing cage fighter and an equally imbecilic former Paris Hilton impersonator for parents, what can we expect from this imminently arriving celebrity sprog?

First off, upon exiting the womb the baby will be expected to sign an exclusivity deal with both OK! Magazine and Channel 5, ensuring that every word, step, burp and bowel movement will be documented live for our entertainment. It’ll be like the Truman Show, but with a disturbing sexual undertone.

Secondly, the baby is going to be stupid and we blame the parents. Let’s face it, Reid and Houghton have probably spent more time on a sun bed than they have curled up with a good book.

Thirdly, it’s inevitable that Alex and Chantelle, or Alelle as we are now to call them, will be voted as celebrity parents of the year. Despite the fact the child was quite obviously just a PR stunt that they’ll end up dumping 6 months later, like the proverbial kitten in a sack.

Good luck Alex and Chantelle. May the fruit of your loins be every bit as charismatic and loveable as you are.

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Run for cover! Katie Price (or Jordan if you live in the ’90s) is threatening us all with a new album. Aren’t there war crime tribunals for things like this? Seriously. We need someone like James Bond and some piano wire to sort this, post haste.

We know this because she cruelly asked everyone on Twitter what songs we’d like to hear her singing.

Of course, there were those who asked her to never open her mouth to make any kind of sound ever again, but alas, Price is not a woman who takes no for an answer, as her many, many marriages and babies are testament to.

The last time she made an album, it was a disaster on every level. 2006′s A Whole New World, which featured ex-husband Peter Andre, saw God Almighty considering reversing evolution to see that humans never developed ears (but alas, had better things to do like consoling child molesting priests from their nagging consciences).

Price tweeted:

‘I want to do another album for next year what would my fans prefer cover songs – new songs or mixture?’

One idiot suggested Adele’s Someone Like You and Price replied with:

‘Me and Leo love that song its our fav song.’

We can’t imagine Adele is much of a Katie Price fan to be quite frank and will no doubt do everything she can to ensure Price’s goose-like singing voice doesn’t get anywhere near her song.

Mercifully, one hecklerspray reader chirruped

‘you can’t sing so I wouldn’t bother’

This saw Price reply with

‘Whether you think I can sing or not at least I do things I want in life your obviously a person who would rather knock people.’

This is a woman who once described Jodie Marsh as having a nose like a ‘builder’s elbow’. Ms Pot? Meet Mr Kettle. That said, we have to applaud such a needlessly nasty snark.

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Here’s some advice. Fashion yourself a miniature love nest in your room, masturbate wrathfully for the next four days, then click the following link.

This link right here.

Yes, that’s right.You physically cannot produce enough paranoia and semen to replicate this video, can you? Well, seeing as you’re all loved out – it is all here, spread out in the This Morning studio. And apparently Ruth Langford’s preferred choice of hair mousse. Whatever. Chantelle Houghton and Alex Reid were never meant to be a couple. This is just a Closer magazine work experience girl typing a caption wrong. This is why communism was ultimately an unsuccessful idea. Most importantly, this is why Katie Price should stop marrying male prostitutes.

If you are currently unable to watch the video due to voluntary paralysis, here are a few choice quotes from one the most loveless pieces of television we have ever seen since that BBC sitcom where Jasper Carrot fathered a wheelchair-bound mute.

Chantelle Houghton on why she loves her new boyfriend Alex Reid

“When he walks into a room he is literally like a hurricane.”

Alex Reid on the tragedy of falling in love with a celebrity

“Why didn’t I just date a girl from the library? You know?”

Alex Reid on battling Atypical Depression

“My heart was a bit broken back then. But erm, she’s mended it.”

And not forgetting

“We share a lot of common experiences. Like Big Brother. And marriage.”

And to think we thought they were just rutting for money.

However, as Eamonn and his dried up cavern of a wife very helpfully point out – due to this dramatic amalgamating of two of the major power forces of British culture, there is unfortunately a risk of running into a bit of completely unwanted paparazzi attention.

But never fear, because Alex has found a way of turning this horrific situation into a great thing, judging by his Twitter page from yesterday, where he gallantly posted how ‘Soliders are dying in Afghanistan, but where is our freedom?’ – 36 times. Hero much?

This really puts into perspective that time Denise Van Outen used her Twitter account to call Natalie Cassidy a terrible mother, doesn’t it?

So, on this one occasion, it really has been made clear, that sometimes love can just be about the stolen moments between two lost souls at a TV Quick Awards after-brothel. So put that in your cynical pipe and enjoy your cynical cancer, cynics.

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Hey everyone, you massive pile of galahs! Pandre Peter Pandre Andre here, and I’ve been given just enough time by the scummy hoardes at hecklerspray to give something back to you, the people.

That’s what I’m all about now. Giving something back. You may have seen my new show on ITV2, that I don’t like to talk about, Here 2 Help? That’s all about me giving something back as well, to people who are so pathetic and downtrodden that just me giving them one of my special Pandre hugs and lobbing half a ballad at them makes them rise up and walk like Lazarus.

But I don’t like to talk about that show, that’s on every other hour on ITV2. Or talk about how much I love my kids, because I really love my kids. I just want to give some more things back… like tell you how to get a woman to date you!

Yeah, even you, sadsack with the flabby man-tits and the suspicious downstairs itch and 14 different tabs all open on RedTube!

Just follow the patented method I invented which I used to get my big strong Aussie hands on Stacey Solomon, outlined in the Sunday red-tops after I rang myself and left precise instructions on my own voicemail just so I wouldn’t forget or something, and you’ll be swatting them off faster than you can count to the highest chart position of Insania (3, but I don’t like to talk about it).

First, pick your target. If you’re too busy being on TV (Here 2 Help, ITV2, on right now unless American Idol’s on) or loving your kids to find someone yourself, just get your management company to open this week’s copy of Heat at random and point to the first female under 50 that they see. That’s the girl for you, guy!

Unless it’s Stacey Solomon, because she’s mine, and if you go near her, I’ll cut you, no matter how much I love my kids.
Second, play it cool. Just casually announce in an interview or two that you think Stacey Solomon is amazing, and you really want to take Stacey Solomon to Bella Pasta and treat her real nice, and make sure you write in your trashy magazine column about how your life is no more than a pointless dive into a screaming abyss of depression and loneliness because Stacey Solomon is not by your side. Remember: girls love being complimented, and the more deranged the fashion, the better!

Third, why not invite her to your kid’s birthday party? (Wow, don’t you love your kids? I know I do, but I don’t like to talk about it) Because nothing says sexy like licking icing from a Finding Nemo cake off your fingers and pointing your crotch at Stacey Solomon while she glumly clings to her boyfriend and tries to hide from the TV cameras from your reality show to the soundtrack of 100 ignored and hyperactive kids pinning down a bedraggled and underpaid clown and kicking his face apart! (Yeah, don’t worry if she has a boyfriend, mate. Boyfriend isn’t in Peter Andre’s dictionary. I had to cross it out so I could write “giving” in there twice.)

And lastly, the killer blow. Bombard her with texts and phone calls and beg her for a date. Don’t take “I don’t want to come to your child’s birthday party”, “I’m engaged to someone else” and “If you contact me again I’m calling the police” for an answer. Desperation smells even more potent than my latest album, Accelerate, drenched in Lynx Africa!

That’s it. Easy! Good luck, mate. It’s definitely going to work for me. Watch out for my new series, “Pe-tacey: Jungle Loving” starting next month on ITV2!

Note for lawyers: this article was shoved under the door of the hecklerspray bedsit and was almost certainly not written by Peter Andre. We don’t think he’s got any crayons in that colour.

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You really think you have the energy to hear this? Sure about that, are we? Let’s just take this slow, just in case. Let’s not get lodged inside something dark and unyielding and then regret it afterwards (Extract from Antony Costa’s Bedroom Memoirs, 2008) So. Katie Price has written another book.

You should know the drill by now, because of that time you accidently walked into a Newsagents and bought Heat Magazine regularly for two years. Just in case you don’t – here’s the situation we’re facing. After having had some sex with Dane Bowers, Peter Andre, Katie Waissel, and most recently a hired homosexual gentleman – Katie Price’s career as a businesswoman was for some reason being somewhat overlooked. It was then that Katie discovered her greatest talent – ringing someone up and asking them to write a book for her. A great author was born (but that’s not relevant).

Today saw the launch of Katie’s latest literary delight in the shape of ‘The Comeback Girl’. A story about something, or other. Pssh. Bloody pretentious Pulitzer fodder, if you ask us.

On top of all this, during the event at the 02 Academy in Leeds, Katie decided to give the world yet ANOTHER blessing, by staging a world record attempt to sign as many books as possible in eight hours, like her hero – chess extraordinaire and all round DD+ glamour-puss Anatoly Karpov. Unfortunately, we can reveal that Katie’s attempt was unsuccessful. The bright side is that we we can all focus on the content of the novel now, which is clearly what Katie wanted all along.

Besides, as Yazz once concluded – The Only Way is Up. Based on this logic, and this logic alone – we forecast bright things in the future for Katie. Oh wait, The Only Way is Essex now, isn’t it? Never mind. Katie’s talents will shine through regardless. And if you are unlucky enough to not possess the shining beacon of optimism that we uphold every single day, then take a look at some of these quotes from an interview in today’s Sun about Katie’s next chosen career path instead:

“I’d love to be a detective. I’m obsessed with Harold Shipman, Dennis Nilsen, Ted Bundy and Rose and Fred West, I’ve read about them in detail – really sick, true crime.”

“I’d like to go to a murder scene and try to work out what’s happened. I actually looked into how to be a detective once, but you have to join the police first.”

“Last night I stayed up late watching 24 Hours In A&E. I suppose it all makes me feel better about my own life.”

“For now, I’ll make do with making a TV series interviewing Britain’s worst criminals.”

Goodnight, and god bless.

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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.

We’re just genuinely perplexed by the logic behind a tattoo of the date she met Leo, when that date was only weeks ago. Unless she’s got negligible short term memory and she’s inking herself in a Memento-style effort to keep track of whom she’s bedding, it’s a touch redundant.

Even if the ink’s temporary, which it could be, it’s still stupid.

As well as staging pictures with her new boyfriend, poolside in Marbella, prominently displaying ‘Leo 27-02-11’, the couple is starting fake engagement rumours too.

During a book signing in early May, Katie wore an enormous diamond ring on her engagement finger. Not the middle finger, which, given the insult to people’s intelligence, would have been more fitting. Pictures showed Katie holding up copies of her latest poorly-penned and probably ghostwritten book, making sure to showcase a ring she likely bought herself.

It’s pretty headache-inducingly hackneyed at this point. And it’s always a convoluted misstep before she marries whichever virtual stranger.

Wait, do we hear wedding bells? Oh no!

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

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Sarah Harding has ‘finally’ admitted she has had lip fillers, in a move that has left us feeling as violently disinterested as we are unshocked. But hey, we’ve got pages to fill and mouths to feed, so on we trudge with the inevitable succession of self-consciously acerbic and needlessly vitriolic words.

Thank Christ for thesauruses, that’s all we’ll say.

If you don’t know who Ms Harding is, she’s of some time girl-band-singing-about-love-machines fame (they mean their fannies) and oft time going-out-on-the-razzle-dazzle fame (drinking shitloads of Barcardi Breezers – the half sugar ones, obvs – and trying not to flash aforementioned fanny at the paps), or if you prefer, she was in Girls Aloud. So, what’s this about her plump lips?

Well, Harding admitted that:

“It’s not something I’m going to be trying again, or anything I would recommend to anyone else. But yeah, around Christmas I got a little bit experimental and decided to have some fillers in my lips. Clearly that was a big mistake.”

Ah, celebs getting experimental. It’s an interesting move and one that begs the question, why would you decide to experiment on your FACE? By pumping some stuff into it that makes you look like the love child of Jordan and one of the Riddlers (who, rumour has it, is next on the hit list of the terrifying machine of tits and tabloid tales that is Katie Price)? Has the woman never heard of Lesley Ash (God rest her face)?

See Harding’s hilarious lips here.

We suggest that, in future, if the urge for experimentation creeps up on her again, like an unexpected pap who you could never reasonably expect to be lurking outside The Ivy or ChinaWhite as you elegantly stumble outside following an evening of delightful entertainment and hours spent powdering your nose, Sarah tries experimenting with her musical direction. By having some for example. Or simply by improving, if improvement on pure genius is even possible, on such lyrical brilliance as “Let’s go, Eskimo, Out into the blue”. (Racist overtones there, but we won’t open up that can of toilet attendant-shaped worms just yet).

As the lady herself says:

‘I’ve always said I’ll try anything once, but I’ve definitely learned my lesson now.

‘I think it’s very easy to go too far.’

So much innuendo, so little point. You can simply imagine she’s referring to all sorts of grot there by using your very own brains.

You disgust us.

Right, we’re off to experiment with some pig fat from a Ginsters pork pie and a needle we found in the bathroom bin. Kim Kardishan arse cheeks here we come…

This was a guest post by Leah Kayles who can have you in a fight and you can read more of her obviously amazing words at SmellMyCheese

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If the borders of reality and literature were to ever blur by magic and represent members of society, then Peter Andre would be the human equivalent of the Mr. Happy character from the Mr. Men books. You can’t pick up a trashy 67p magazine without seeing the ex husband of Katie Price and general lousy pop star slapped across it.

Over on ITV where the bosses are keen to fill their airtime with any old tosh, Andre has been given his own show where he shunts his children around, showing what an adoring parent he is.

Tears literally roll down our cheeks everytime we watch, but we get the impression that the footage will be used as evidence to show he’s be a more responsible parent than Katie Price who spends her time running over horses. When Peter Andre isn’t kissing bot-bot to the camera, he supposedly has a day job as a singer. Tragically, he’s in demand.

If you’re a performer who has a fan base who’d literally jump through burning hoops to see their idol, it doesn’t matter if you announce tour dates two weeks or even a year in advance. People will buy tickets on mass and treasure them until the big night arrives. Looking at people like Rihanna, Take That or even the late Michael Jackson, those who want to go to a gig will travel far and wide for the spectacle.

We can only assume that Peter Andre is using the same model for his live shows. In actual fact, it came as a surprise to us that Peter Andre has enough followers who pester him enough to divulge in touring information. His Twitter feed must have been full of the same messages and mail sacks must have spilled over the floor of his home as fans desperately pleaded with the Mysterious Girl singer to tell them his tour plans. Taking to magazine column which doubles as a Peter Andre PR board, he said:

“People have been asking if I’m planning to tour again, and I’m pleased to say the answer is yes.”

Adding:

“Dates and venues haven’t been confirmed, but it looks like I’ll be on the road around January.”

January? We can’t fucking wait January to see a mediocre pub singer wheezing his way through a half hour set against a backing track. Before you start constructing effigies of Peter Andre to burn for making us wait till 2012, fear not, he is planning some summer festival action. So where will he be heading? Down to Glastonbury with all the hipsters? How about Glade to do a secret nosebleed Gabba set? Or perhaps he wants to literally take it easy at The Big Chill? No, his stage is much bigger; Andre broke the news again by saying:

“He couldn’t wait” to perform at summer festivals, including gigs at Kempton Park Racecourse and the Isle of Man’s Bay Festival.”

We imagine his slot will be perfectly timed between the donkey ride ending and the finger painting event getting set up by the festivals organisers.

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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.

Apparently, Price was riding with her fella – some douche called Leandro Penna – in her jeep, which collided with the horses, one of them smashing through the windscreen.

Now, you may well be thinking that Price is so dead-inside, that she asked Penna to chase a bunch of hosses around a field in their 4×4 in some grisly game of death-tag, just for kicks… but you’d be wrong wouldn’t you? What actually happened is that the creatures leapt over a fence and directly in front of the vehicle, being killed instantly as well as writing-off the jeep.

It appears the animals no longer wanted to live in a world where Katie Price was considered a celebrity. The people most upset about all this though are the camera crew who were passengers at the time. They’re all wildly inconsolable because they weren’t filming at the time.

Katie said, without moving her face once:

“It was absolutely terrifying. It all happened in a flash and I have absolutely no idea how I wasn’t badly injured. I feel so lucky, but more than anything I’m just distraught about the horses. It was so upsetting.”

A spokesperson for Price confirmed the accident had happened and two horses had been killed, before breaking into a moving tribute, which can be heard here.

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Katie Price aka Jordan is bloody brilliant. Not only is she covered in boobs, has cloven hoofs and a slightly large orange head, she also has a great big gaping hole in the front of her face and sometimes words fly out of it like a perfectly veneered bat cave.

Of course, like any devoted celebrity mother, she keeps her kids grounded and out of the spotlight by putting them directly in front of TV cameras and providing them with several, slightly useless father figures to choose from when they grow up and decide to run screaming from her clutches.

While she’s waiting for the sun’s rays to transform her once and for all into Zelda from Terrahawks, she loves to talk about her sex life and is apparently still shagging her cage-fighting ex Alex Reid with her unholy vag.

She eloquently snarled:

“Do I go and f*** Joe Public or do I go and f*** an ex? Can anyone here tell me they’ve never f***** an ex?”

While we’d love to open a bottle of ‘ up yours’ and get right into that debate, our eyes were drawn to another little sparkly gem she had vomited over the interviewer.

She said:

‘My main dream – and I’m trying to get Living TV to do it – is to go into prison and interview serial killers, rapists, murderers, psychopaths.

‘I’m so interested in the brain. I read true crime. I’m not interested in any b******s made-up stuff; it’s got to be true.’

Unlike 90% of her face.

And we are like, sooo interested in the brain too! We wonder if hers is controlled by Satan directly or if it’s just a merry band of his minions, driving her around like The Beano’s Numbskulls.

We feel Living TV would be insane to not allow Price and her brain into a room filled with as many axe wielding, damaged inmates as possible.

We’d also recommend they ask her to sing, just in case any of those nice men aren’t quite angry enough.

The wonderful Joanna Bolouri wrote these words. Give her three cheers or she’ll find out where you live and beat you up

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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.

We suppose, in a way, compared to most celebrities’ processes of dealing with hurdles in their life (head shaving, shouting at Jews, becoming a lesbian) this is a slightly more sane way of coping. Seems like in the last week, Reid has seen the divorce terms and is dealing with it in the only way he knows how – by wearing a giant hood and attempting to wrestle some prehisoric stones to the ground.

Digitalspy sacrifices a lamb and says:

Reid took part in a ritual with friends in which participants wear large hoods and chant in unison around the prehistoric monument…”Alex was down in the dumps but feels much stronger now and will not be gagged by Katie,” the source added.

Okay, maybe it doesn’t explicitly say that he attempted to bear hug one of the ancient stones out of the ground a la Zangief, but it just seems like something he might try. Heck, given that no one is normally allowed within about half a mile of the damn stones we might be tempted to give them a quick rugby tackle, just to see, and we have the strength of an emaciated window dresser.

The divorce is apparently only giving him 10% of the joint earnings, rather than 50%, and it allows Jordonpricekatie to gag him about their relationship, the last part of which is especially good news for anyone concerned about the educational system in this country.

Anyway, now that he has drawn some Power From The Stones, or some other new-age arse he will undoubtedly be fighting for his ‘fair share’ of the earnings. His solicitor has made a start, apparently he deserves the money because,

He hasn’t been falling out of nightclubs and draping himself over women

Nice to see he’s got himself legal representation that can grab hold of the really important technical and legal issues, isn’t it?

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