Richard Branson is a slimeball git. His greatest sleight of hand is that he’s passed himself off as some kind of lovable British eccentric who flies balloons and wants to send the wealthy on flights to the moon.
However, in reality, he’s a shitehawk who likes nothing more than ferreting vast sums of money in offshore accounts, so he doesn’t have to pay all that pesky tax.
While you all know about that, what you don’t know is that he’s developed a series of murderous houses… y’know, like that one from The Shining? And the latest victim of his nefarious masonry is Kate Winslet who nearly got burned alive. At least it would’ve put a bit of colour in her tediously pale face.
All women are completely imaginary unless they’re curvy. You didn’t know? That’s right! If you’re thin, you are most certainly not a real woman. If you don’t have big boobs, then you’re definitely not a real woman. If you have no discernible junk in the trunk, then sorry, you’re a figment of your own imagination.
And this has been a constant message from many quarters for the past two years in an attempt to turn women against each other in the name of reclaiming body shape from the perceived enemy of the press that propels the notion that to be glamorous, you must be thin.
Now Kate Winslet is joining in to say she’s more real than you because she has curves.
Oh, Kate Winslet and Sam Mendes, why now? Why did you decide to bring an end to your seven-year marriage now?
Why not three years ago? If Kate Winslet and Sam Mendes has split up three years ago, they would have never made Revolutionary Road together. And we would have never had to spend two hours of our lives watching a slightly repugnant melodrama about the world’s most grisly abortion. Damn you both for not realising that you hated each other sooner, Kate Winslet and Sam Mendes!
But anyway, Kate Winslet and Sam Mendes have separated. And that means that Sam Mendes will never again get to see Kate Winslet naked. Unless, you know, he owns any of her films on DVD.
We all have to become grown-ups at some point; whether it’s the first time you become suspicious or the first time you complain about food in a restaurant, it happens to us all. Away We Go is a love story about grown-ups.
It’s not boy meets girl, then queasy romantic glances with some popular indie track in the background, then third act melodrama, followed by the inevitable happily ever after. Maturity is something the romantic comedy genre is in short supply of, but this has it in spades.
Normal couple (if by normal we mean quirky, fuzzy-faced oddballs) go on a road trip to decide where the best place is for them to raise their unborn child. Along the way they discover what kind of parents they want to be – mainly not dickheads. Read More >>>
What a blunder, Kate. You opened your mouth and now the whole world has idiot flu.
We at Hecklerspray, however, can feed our families because you discreetly told a girlie mag that you’re working class. Somehow we can’t see you binge-drinking down the local with a pack of slags or putting mayo on our chips.
You could a buy a couple of chippies for £12 million though, maybe open your own colliery and get Sam Mendes to film your family while they break their backs for minimum wage. Next time you want make a statement, don’t tell Marie Claire – use propaganda. That’s what clever people do.
Are you looking forward to the Oscars on Sunday? No. No, of course you’re not. Nobody is. It’s OK. Nobody is.
Just don’t tell the Oscars organisers. They’re absolutely murdering themselves trying to get even a flicker of Oscars-related interest from the populous at large and, it’s fair to say, they’re failing spectacularly.
But the Oscar people have got an ingenious joker up their sleeves – they’re keeping the award presenters secret until the ceremony itself. Incredible! But here’s a warning – if the awards aren’t presented by Elvis, Jesus and a dancing troupe of exploding nuns, we’ll be sorely effed off.
In essence, SAG is a gang of prissy millionaires all threatening to go on strike because they don’t get paid enough.
But it’s more than that, you know – SAG also holds an incredibly important awards ceremony each year, too. The SAG awards help to dictate the Oscar winners each year, by basically copying the Golden Globes and then standing around hoping that nobody notices. Which, so far, they haven’t.
And, as such, the big winner at last night’s SAG awards was Slumdog Millionaire, which not only won Best Picture, but also Best First Half Of A Movie and Drippiest Ending.
Richard Branson is a slimeball git. His greatest sleight of hand is that he’s passed himself off as some kind of lovable British eccentric who flies balloons and wants to send the wealthy on flights to the moon. 
