One of the big talking points from the Super Bowl commercial break was… well… Clint Eastwood. Away from that though, there’s a little excitement surrounding the trailer for Marvel’s The Avengers movie.

While most superhero flicks are brooding like Batman at the moment, it appears that The Avengers film is going to be pleasingly dumb, if the trailer is anything to go by.

So if you want to see it, strap in and watch things explode with Captain America (Chris Evans), Thor (Chris Hemsworth), Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr), Scarlett Johansson (Black Widow) and Hulk get into a giant scrap with a fella with long, greasy hair.

The baddie in the piece is called Loki and he’s all cocking his head with an evil eyebrow nonsense while Rob Downey Jr is, well, playing himself.

Elsewhere, Captain America’s shield will get nerds wet, while everyone else with be getting aroused over Scarlett Johansson in a catsuit.

Oh, and there’s aliens and laser beams and all that good stuff.

One thing that people may raise a vague titter at is the exchange between Loki and Iron Man. ”I have an army,” says Tom Hiddleston’s Loki. “We have a Hulk!” Stark replies.

Those superheroes and villains! Do they rehearse this stuff?

Yes they do. Now watch the trailer.

Ladies and gentlemen, let’s not dilly-dally around the issue of Christmas advertising. It’s everywhere and it’s so aggressive that 90% of the time you feel less like it’s the most wonderful time of the year™ and is more akin to being drugged and lured onto a railway platform by a sexually excited Jeremy Clarkson.

It’s only really supermarkets that show any interest in being nurturing and suggesting that your entire Christmas experience will be easier if you shop with them. That is until you step through their front door to be confronted by a modern-day reenactment of the Battle of the Somme. You’ve all seen it. Grandmothers entrenched in the biscuit aisle launching barrage after barrage of garibaldis on the “boche” in their dugouts made from microwavable Christmas puddings and tiny tubs of brandy butter.

There’s obviously some digression in there. The long and short of it is that Christmas marketing is mostly lies and aggressive selling to make us feel bad that we haven’t spent enough money.

That is until you hit the kids’ market. What’s the best way to make you, the adult, feel like you haven’t spent enough on your little bundles of joy? That’s the easiest job in marketing. Tell the kids about all this great stuff that they don’t have. You don’t even have to mention it explicitly; kids are so inherently evil that they know exactly what features the latest all-singing, all-dancing Optimus Prime figure has without even needing to be told so marketing becomes even easier.

The real problem is, what do you do when you’re not shouting directly at the children? You need a song. You need a really, really catchy song. You need a song that people can recite the lyrics to despite not having heard it in 300 days. Why not try something like this?

Yes! That’s it, that’s the one. You’re singing it now. There could be anything written on this line and you wouldn’t have a bloody clue. Your child is hideously ugly. Anyway, let’s move on. Toys R’ Us gave us one of the most iconic Christmas adverts of all time with this effort. You can’t see any of the products but you know it sells toys and an absolute ton of them at that. Easy, right?

Subsequently they have updated the advert every year to take into account new advances in animation etc. As you can see in this one from last year they just updated the animation without removing any of the message from the advert. You can buy pretty much any toys you want from this superstore from a massive, anthropomorphic giraffe. Why change a winning a winning formula?

Well, they did and now we have this.

Oh.

Usually we’d spent another 500 words picking the ad apart and referring back to what was said in the opening paragraphs. That’s pretty much the structure of one of these articles. To break from the tradition though, here’s an impassioned plea from people who grew up thinking Toys R’ Us was the most magical and wonderful place in the universe (because we could bully our parents into buying us toys).

Toys R’ Us isn’t Argos. It’s not somewhere to pragmatically advertise the product and the price in a bland ineffective way. You’re trying to capture the imagination of kids without having to resort to a Bieber-esque musical number about remaining a target for paedophiles well into your late thirties.

Change it back.

Go on.

Seriously. You know what you’ve done, that’s why you’ve disabled the comments on your new ad. You know it’s terrible as well. You’ve paid good money to inflict that upon the public and now you can’t take it back. We know that and we don’t blame you for it. Next year though, eh? Let’s see a triumphant return to the good ol’ days.

If you don’t, you’ll probably lose an entire generation of Toys R’ Us kids, kids, kids, kid, kid, ki, ki, ki, k.

If you were asked to sum up the Jackson family, how would you do it? Some people might call them the greatest collection of siblings who ever entered a recording studio. Others might comment on how inferior Janet and LaToya were compared to Tito, Jermaine and Randy.

Most people would say that the entire family were complete fruit loops.

However, we’d like to comment on how the Jackson family manage to pick the worst possible time for any new release. A brand new greatest hits album from Michael followed weeks after heart went all funny and of course, there was the tribute concert that was accidentally scheduled at the same time as the Dr. Conrad Murray trial. Some would say this was done for financial gain.

Cynical, cynical people.

As we all know, ‘Sexy’ Dr.Conrad Murray was convicted for administering all sorts of funky drugs into Michael Jackson. That should be it as far as we’re concerned. The poor sod’s rotting corpse can now get some peace. But not if the Jackson estate and pesky Brian May get their way.

Musical collaborations happen all the time. Most of them are a poor excuse for one of the artists to leech on to someone more successful than themselves and climb the ladder toward popularity again. Nowadays, people don’t do it for the love of the music; instead it’s for soundtracks where, if it the song turns out to be a disaster, everyone will have forgotten about it months later.

It’s safe to say that some collaborations have been safely locked away where nobody will ever get a chance to hear them. Probably because they’re rubbish. One such recording that was made in the eighties – a time that’s renowned for crap music- was between the king of pop Michael Jackson and Freddie Mercury.

These days he wouldn’t get a look in. We have Gary Lightbody from Snow Patrol for God’s sake.

Nowadays, Queen are fronted by Brian May, a man who is most famous for playing on the roof of the Queen’s house and demonstrating that white people can’t pull off an afro. Speaking about the potential release that ironically didn’t feature his input the first time, he said:

“The Michael Jackson estate are happy for us to go ahead with the music. But it’s not something that we can rush.”

Well that’s good to know isn’t it? A song from 1983 is going to be given a technical modern remix thanks to a bunch of old men providing some guitar work. We’re positive it’s what Michael would have wanted. But why release this now and not when Michael Jackson and Freddie Mercury were alive? Surely this stinks of a cash in? According to the floppy haired one, it supposedly isn’t. May said:

“I don’t work on things with the aim to make money or for promotional reasons. I work on things with the view ‘to let’s see how it goes. When it is something we feel is worthwhile then it’s nice if we could get it out there.”

We pray that this release doesn’t get a release. With Michael Jackson and Queen fans not being mentally stable, this single will only spark off the apocalypse and see them kill off anyone who doesn’t appreciate “the musical genius”.

Thankfully, no release date has been set. But when we get news, we’ll let you know so you can gather supplies and lock yourself in an underground bunker.

Popular culture is a wonderful thing, especially for the people that made those classic television shows, films, cartoons, songs etc. that were actually pretty rubbish in their original incarnation but are fondly remembered by those with a penchant for nostalgia as being the finest things ever crafted by human hands.

These are people who form pop culture opinion, the people who are talking heads on nostalgic talking head shows in which talking heads regale you with tales of how they sit down with a plateful of Findus Crispy Pancakes just in time to watch the latest episode of Baywatch. These people manage to create some kind of time-capsuled ‘tweet’ of what they had for dinner 25 years ago and share it later for money.

That’s the dream folks.

The question of what sees something slip into the annals of pop culture while some things pass unnoticed into the bargain bins of Blockbuster Videos all across the land. The thin criteria between ‘cult hit’ and ‘what the hell’s that?’ is most marked in the 80s’ action drama clique. Where shows like Knight Rider and The A-Team have become TV classics, shows like Airwolf struggle to get a repeat viewing on backwater freeview channels.

Is it about memorable characters, fine writing and excellent direction? No. If you can force a supernatural talking car in there, you’re pretty much onto a winner. That brings us to the concept of shoehorning in television. Anyone with a degree in media (or anyone for that matter) knows that if you overload a show with gimmicks, it doesn’t work. If you stick to one like transforming inanimate objects, a talking car or Pamela Anderson in a snug red swimsuit then you’ll be made in the shade.

This doesn’t apply to advertising. Please see Exhibit A below.

Let’s open with KITT, the car from Knight Rider performing a wonderful, screeching J-Turn into a parking space and then instantly receiving a parking ticket from the excitable warden on duty. Let’s forget the moral grey area of whether it’s Michael Knight or KITT himself who has to fork up £60 because even in the short to medium term, it doesn’t matter.

Especially not when that Müller truck is about to transform into a giant, gurning white orb. Of course, it’s a reference to Transformers but given that the rights to the Hasbro license would have been more expensive, they’ve gone for a terrifying rolling snowball with big dumb eyes and Inspector Gadget‘s arms. You’ll also be pleased to hear that Müller condone the consumption of traffic wardens, as long as you can transmogrify them into beloved Hanna Barbera characters. Yes, that’s right folks. It’s Yogi Bear, that famous traffic warden. In fact, the only link we can see between traffic wardens and Yogi Bear is that they both wear hats. There’s no shoehorning of references going on here though. None.

In a nod to Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, the physiologically altered traffic warden doesn’t require the usual 13 years of psychological therapy needed to recover from such a fundamental trauma and instead shrugs off his new lot in life with a smile and a desire for pic-a-nic baskets.

Watch out though! There’s people on the streets of a city and Yogi looks terrified. “Look at them all,” he thinks, “I used to be just like you before I became a two-dimensional bear.” He’s terrified! Gaze with panic at what the transformation has done to this poor bastard’s fragile mental state.

Oh wait! All is well! Here comes another reference! It’s the Sony Bravia bouncing balls! Or, if you’re not into that, maybe it’s the Sony Bravia paint! Either way, it’s a reference to another advert which is pretty pathetic, even in amongst this moronic display of lip service to 3 millions childhoods. What do the balls do though? Surely they coat these drab looking business types in paint and everyone gets to play in glorious technicolour!

No. Instead they turn into Mr. Men. You’d think that’s all well and good, wouldn’t you? The Mr. Men are a loved part of many of our childhoods. Although, the Mr. Men are essentially one dimensional “people” marked out by their individual character flaw. Mr Lazy, for example, is lazy where as Mr Happy smiles in the face of death and destruction. These people in suits, these people with families and homes, mortgages and car repayments have been murdered and replaced with flawed cartoons. It’s all getting quite dark.

Luckily there’s some unicorn-driven chariots to pass by and distract us from the woe. Is that a reference to Charlie the Unicorn in there? The shape of the face is certainly similar. Could this be a wide-ranging reference to the chariot racing scene in Ben Hur? Is that a ridiculous stretch? Isn’t that the point?

We’ve had a think and we’re genuinely not sure what the small house is supposed to be. It’s not the gingerbread house from Hansel & Gretel but it could be the homestead from any Disney cartoon film ever. Luckily it’s saved from demolition by another Hanna Barbera mainstay, the conniving Muttley.

Muttley manages to throw a hammer made from a Müller rice pot into the demolition ball, sending it flying into the sky where it turns into a flock of colourful birds. It’s a definite rip-off of something but in deference to the ad’s dark undertones, we’re going to claim that it’s a tip of the cap to John Woo’s Hard-Boiled doves.

The ant carrying a giant pot of Müller yoghurt could be many things but in an effort to ensure that we don’t burst an aneurysm, we’re going to assume that this ant is just a really strong ant. It doesn’t stop there though. Even assuming the rainbow is just a rainbow, you might recognise those yoghurty hands that bundle up the clouds and send them on their rainy way. Could it be a subtle look in the direction of one Michael M. Mouse?

Probably.

This advert comes in at a whopping 1 minutes and 30 seconds which, if you assume the usual television advert lasts for only 30 seconds, the equivalent of a film in ad-land but in that relatively short space of time the people from the Müller dairy have managed to squeeze in FOURTEEN references to popular culture. That’s only the ones we noticed. Feel free to tell us if we missed any.

The dynamic may now have changed. In order to pass into the Cult Following Hall of Fame, you might have to be shoehorned into a confused, ill-considered advert from a yoghurt company hellbent on proving to the world how much money they have to throw away on paying for licenses for fictional characters from the past.

Snigger that into your fruit corner, Muttley.

Us here ‘Spray writers have written a lot of words over the years and it is with tired hearts and mangled hands that we begrudgingly bring this to you now.  Scroobius Pip is currently informing us that journalism is redundant through our pathetic laptop speakers, America is still unwittingly executing people, and R.E.M have just split up; don’t worry we’re not making THAT joke, but it all makes you remember how terribly rubbish the world is.

To bring this point home we considered bringing you new music videos from the likes of Mastadon and Trash Talk in which you could see a really dirty man, some breasts glow, and some skateboarders injure themselves while annoying everyone in California; and you’d only get a little bit of motion sickness.

Yes, there is a massive ‘but’ here… although, we thought that might not go down to well with all you lovely Cosmo readers.  Instead we’re celebrating the fact that you can watch hours of idiocy on ITV 2 tonight and tomorrow while Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell incessantly flirt and pass aggressive notes under the table about whose teeth are whiter.

So in our American X Factor Video Special you’re going to have to watch videos of past American Idol contestants because we just realised that this is a brand spanking new television drama just waiting to redeem our souls.

Americas sweetheart and answer to Will Young shook talentless middle America to it’s very core when she won the first season of American Idol at the tender, chubby age of 20, but that was nothing compared to her emotionally wrought (let’s face it) video for ‘Because Of You’.

It may not have been her first single and it may have come years into her probably floundering career, but 2005 was never the same after little Kelly Clarkson had her hair done and showed off her acting chops.  As the runner up in 2003’s World Idol we can safely rest in the knowledge that there is only one human on the planet who is better than her. Fact. So while all tonight’s hicks are crying about failing the 3rd grade spelling bee on the word ‘grape’ that one day they might be belting out covers of Sheryl Crowe songs that bring all that resentment to the surface.  This ladies and gents is where it all started. Nobody even knows who you are Kurt Nilsen!

Season 2 gave us the comedy fat-guy with a heart of gold and inner turmoil.  Ruben Studdard, kangol hat finely atop his head, is that man. He wears big floating shirts and gets praise from people like Luther Vandross, when they aren’t looking he records songs like this.

Somebody called Fantasia won season 3, unlike Olly Murs they didn’t even get a presenting job.

Carrie Underwood though, we all know who she is right?  Course we do, she sings those songs, sort of like Taylor Swift right?  That could be Sheryl Crowe though, so don’t hold us to that, she’s from Oklahoma because nobody that isn’t from the Mid-West has ever won an American talent competition before.  Carrie who beat our favourite long-haired chap who plays guitar and has an alliterative name, Bo Bice, has wowed audiences with such hits as…please hold while we go to Wikipedia…’Inside your Heaven’ and ‘Jesus, Take The Wheel’.  In the video for the Grammy award winning ‘Before He Cheats’ you can see a feisty looking leather clad Carrie walk the streets with a baseball bat smashing the car of the cheater in questions, she also references Shania Twain which is fine by us.  Carrie looks a bit like Barbie, but not as human.  She has wind machines on her hair, and throws car keys in alcoholic beverages, she’s a bit full of herself this one.  The sheer power of her voice though does cause the windows of nearby buildings to explode, so that’s something.

Country music continued to prevail for another year and after that Jordin ‘my parents can’t spell’ Sparks won the competition somehow, but since her it’s just been average looking men with guitars strutting like male peacocks.

They could form a more tired, less self-deprecating, attempting to be well dressed, version of Snow Patrol.

As you only just remembered, or heard for the first time some of these names then you will have probably come to understand  your feelings and how you don’t care about the quality of video for whatever the next hit single may be.  The artists too have realised this and thus compile a series of images involving leaning towards the camera with a microphone stand, walking, and hitting a high note while in a moment of emotional intensity.  Let’s hope American X Factor can bring us a star who knows these industry secrets, a star that is homely in that Mid-Western way, a star who can sing like all of these people put together; let’s hope American X Factor can bring us Kelly Clarkson.  Alternatively we’ll settle for a family oriented hooker who snorts cheap drugs at the weekend.

Enjoy your time watching ITV 2 and if you have time between Iceland adverts, coping with the pain of the realisation that Randy Jackson isn’t here, and all the inane flirting then vote for us in those blog awards that we’re up for… please?

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10. Want to see Father Christmas crying? Want to see him crying all over Jesus? In a bad painting? Of course you do. – Waa

9. This is puking with style.

8. If you’re not following Sinead O’Connor on twitter already, do so immediately. She’s delightfully uncensored. – Boutche?

7. T-shirts anger people more than actual problems. – See? Also, This.

6. The idiot who used to edit this site is chatting rubbish again in a supposedly proper publication. This time, it’s about Cheryl Cole. – HeritageIsDeadToUs

5. Want to know what the internet looks like? Here’s an infographic to help you digest it in your stupid brains. – Net

4. Alan Partridge is on twitter. For real. -Aha

3. Lifting up cars that are on fire to free someone! – Hero!

2. A pencil case like looks like a dead fish. Brilliant – Blub

1. Japanese rice field art absolutely shits all over crop circles. Fact. – Amazing

Thousands of Harry Potter fans with nothing better to do decided to stand in a queue all night while the heavens opened on them, making them wetter than Ron Weasley’s demeanour. Trafalgar Square is now overrun with Potterists with the local council considering exterminating them like rats as they breed in the streets, birthing runts diseased with magic.

Of course, these poor souls stood beneath the rainclouds ahead of the world premiere of the final instalment of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (pt 2), posing the question – why not wait a couple of weeks and watch it online where you won’t get pneumonia from sleeping like tramps in the road?

Naturally, they’ll be hanging around to see the cast, which includes recovering alcoholic Daniel Radcliffe and Emma ‘Are We Still Calling It A New Haircut?’ Watson. It’ll be thrilling for the stars to meet their fans, who will, by the time it gets to this evening,  smell so bad that even a botfly would vomit in their presence, refusing to lay their eggs in the foetid skin of the Potterites.

The film itself doesn’t see release ’til 15 July and it’d be hilarious if tonight’s premiere was postponed until then, just to test the fandom of the people in the streets right now, who invariably, have started a small scream which will gradually turn into a deafening, rasping shriek of wonderment.

Some of the 8,000 fans have been staking out their spot beside the red carpet since Monday, with some fools travelling from China just to get crushed in a throng while Daniel Radcliffe walks by wishing he was drunk.

And one weird factoid surrounding this event is that the red carpet itself is three-quarters of a mile long. Seriously. That’s a long carpet. Unless they’ve just got Gene Simmons to unfurl his tongue for them to all pad down?

It’s all a bit weird for the stars though. Rupert Grint, who plays Ron, says:

“Back then I was so fearless and on such a high and nothing fazed me. A few years down the line you’re a bit more self-conscious – it’s that awkward stage you go though when you’re a teenager.”

Critics have preemptively praised the film, probably without having seen it. It’s better to do so because you can then hope that you’ll get more freebies from the studio and Potterists will buy your worthless rag in droves.

We’ve seen it. And it’s shit. (We’re just saying that to be contrary, but it definitely won’t be as good as Cannonball Run).

ARE YOU WALKING PAST THE PREMIERE TODAY? WHY NOT TAKE A PICTURE OF THE STUPID PEOPLE DOWN THERE AND TWEET IT TO US ON TWITTER? ADDRESS BELOW. STUPIDEST PICTURE WINS A PRIZE.

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Daniel Radcliffe seems like a nice chap doesn’t he? That’s despite that fact he got naked once and showed everyone his ghastly, sinewy, gym-honed body which made him look like a pale He-Man figure (didn’t see it? Click here at your peril).

How does someone get the confidence to derobe before the public’s eyes? Easy. Get absolutely hammered ’til your liver starts to hurt.

See, what you didn’t know about the Harry Potter star is that he had a drink-problem. These days, he’s tee-total. The odd thing about that is, is that he’s no more or less interesting than he was when he was hitting the sauce with an impressive regularity.

Radcliffe says:

“I became so reliant on alcohol to enjoy stuff. There were a few years there when I was just so enamoured with the idea of living some sort of famous person’s lifestyle that really isn’t suited to me.

“I really got away with that because there were many instances when a paparazzi shot like that could have been taken.”

Drinking to have a good time? That’s wimpish talk. The hecklerspray writers drink heavily to become more maudlin than when we’re sober. Still, Radcliffe seems irritatingly happy now.

“I’m actually enjoying the fact I can have a relationship with my girlfriend where I’m really pleasant and I’m not fucking up totally all the time. As much as I would love to be a person that goes to parties and has a couple of drinks and has a nice time, that doesn’t work for me.

“I do that very unsuccessfully. I’d just rather sit at home and read, or talk to somebody that makes me laugh. There’s no shame in enjoying the quiet life. And that’s been the realisation of the past few years for me.”

PARDON?! There’s no shame in enjoying the quiet life?! That is utterly appalling, shame-filling talk! We want our celebrities to be jaundiced and in a constant state of disrepair, falling face-first out of nightclubs and being sick into their expensive clutch bags!

Radcliffe. You have some work to do. Get addicted to sexy auto-asphyxia or something! Or heroin! ANYTHING! PLEASE! WE NEED TO WRITE ABOUT YOU WHILE THAT STUPID DEATHLY HALLOWS PT 2 COMES OUT! DON’T MAKE US EARN OUR ARTICLES!

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Music lovers the world over were last Friday celebrating the news that Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson had decided not to release his forthcoming new album “Black Magic” due to an unspecified spat with his record company Interscope.

In a cruel reversal of fortune for anyone with ears and a brain, Jackson (we’re not going to dignify the whole “50 Cent” thing, much less “Fiddy”) has now announced that he has “begun to resolve” the problems so it looks like the globe will yet again be gifted with another turgid 45 minutes of monosyllabic mumbling and barely-concealed misogynism.

The big mystery is what sparked the whole thing off in the first place. We investigate…

Jackson, who has as many facial expressions as he has tones of voice – honestly, do a google image search, he always looks like he is struggling with a particularly vexing Countdown conundrum – threw his rattle out of his pram via twitter, as is the fashion these days.

Rumours that it was due to an executive suggesting that naming an album after a brand of chocolates last popular in the nineteen-eighties are unconfirmed at time of publication.

Jackson’s twitter updates on the subject are sadly about as clear as his vocal enunciation:

“Ok I tried to be cool with my record company. I went to the meeting talk to everyone and s**t feels like there moving in slow motion (sic),”

Not many clues there.

“I’m sorry to announce I will not be releasing a new album this year if we don’t get on the same page. I would rather not launch my album without a plan the whole system is executing.”

Not much better. “A plan the whole system is executing”? Really. What?

“I don’t know why they play with me. They know how I get. My whole career I’ve been doing s**t and they have been playing catch up. This is the last f**king album. THEY BETTER WAKE UP AND WORK.”

We’ll agree that he HAS been doing shit his whole career but he shouldn’t be so down on himself. It’s a big marketplace, not everyone can be talented.

Basically it all sounds like a massively girly hissy fit, with Jackson being unhappy with the rate of progress and deciding the best way to speed it all up was by cancelling the whole thing and refusing to play anymore, like a great big bellend.

Again, reports of renaming the album to the more popular “Milk Tray” brand of chocolates are unsubstantiated.

No official release date has been set. So there is hope.

Oh and he’s also writing a book, adding ‘poor writer’ to his personal credits that also include ‘dreadful actor’, ‘appalling musician’ and ‘video game character more convincing than the human it was based on’.

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Howdy pardners! Emma ‘YeeHaw’ Watson is in the good ol’ U S of A to work on her American doodle dandy accent for a role in ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’, which is one of those varmint adaptation of the hella controversial book doobry  about teenage life and sexuality.

Whyayeoudda!

As you critters can see, we Limeys are rootin’ and tootin’ when it comes to doing the American accent! We can all do the New Yoik accent too. We even have the punchline, but not the joke, for a New Yoik accent joke about dolphins. The punchline is ‘they were suffering from crossed porpoises’. And so, like, Emma Watson will like, toootally be great at doing, like, an American accent, like. She ain’t so sure.

When taking a break from the shoot of ‘Wallflower’, she spoke of doing the accent.

“I was really nervous! I think it sounded terrible.”

However, dudes and dudettes, she’s totally optimistic in a bodacious way.

“Having been out in Pittsburgh for four weeks — it’s OK. It’s good. I’m hopeful about it.”

All she has to do now, to really become Apple Pie, it to develop an unhealthy loathing of Mexicans, buy a gun and start believing in Jesus Christ.

Easy.

Now here’s Emma trying an American accent a while back with the rest of the Harry Potter cast who are all irritatingly charming.

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Back in 2004, there was a video released of two WWE wrestlers going at it hammer and tongues. Seriously. Sadly for you weirdos, it wasn’t a ‘feature’ that starred Hulk Hogan and Ric Flair in a bath giving each other toe-jobs, but rather, a proper grotgramme that saw X-Pac and Chyna grunting at each other.

So what did we learn from the experience? Well, we discovered that X-Pac likes to wear incredibly tight trousers away from the ring and that Chyna has an ugly piercing in a delicate part of her anatomy. The pair also rut like pigs in swill.

The whole thing left a bad taste in the mouth, right? Well, not for Chyna. That’s because she’s making another porn film which X-Pac is graciously refusing to watch, saying: “It’s too hard remembering how devastated she was the first time around.”

Ho ho! Someone being devastated! Oh how we love personal trauma and the destructive behaviour that can sometimes result from it!

See, Chyna has a history of worrying behaviour. She’s had problems with substance abuse, battling drug and alcohol addiction. Oh! Not to mention mental illness. So if you’ve jacked off to that bongo vid, then you’ve become aroused by someone who is clinically insane. That makes you a special kind of weirdo. Well done you.

Still, either way, we couldn’t help but laugh when we read that story in the New York Post about the time she stripped naked in a nightclub and then jumped in a fish tank. Insanity or no insanity, that’s a riot!

But X-Pac, a man who promotes pantomime violence for a living isn’t so amused by it all. He says:

“It saddens me … but she obviously hasn’t progressed very far in life.”

“Chyna used to say how low she felt after the first sex tape was released … what does that say about where she’s at in life now?”

She’s in the vicinity of a group of well endowed men we would have thought, with her privates being dunked into a bucket of ice.

D’uh.

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In a shocking revelation this week, pop entity Cheryl Cole laid down the gauntlet to that lassie from Harry Potter that it’s now all right to fancy, Emma Watson. Harry Potter girl has been accused by former Girls Aloud star and alleged racist Cheryl of stealing her Style Crown, given to her by Glamour Magazine for being the world’s best dressed woman

The Harry Potter star has topped Glamour’s 9th Annual Best Dressed Woman List, beating renowned malaria sufferer Cole and Twilight actress Kristen… Kristen… uhh… yeah, that lassie out of Twilight to the top spot.

The other female X Factor judge Dannii Minogue also makes the most pointless top 10 list since a hecklerspray advertorial along with Rihanna and some bimbo from Glee.

Cheryl Cole was supposedly so incensed at the literal theft of the ‘Best Dressed Woman’ crown from her walled mansion that she immediately hired a team of private investigators to track it down.

They supposedly found a long paper-trail of editorial emails hidden in the servers of Glamour Magazine stating that the crown would be stolen back from Cole in order to present it to Emma Watson who, by some numerical miracle, had managed to actually win the (supposedly) coveted title.

When confronted with the information, Glamour Magazine instantly folded its offices down to the size of an envelope and flushed itself down a nearby public lavatory leading conspiracy theorists to wail pointlessly that Glamour might be ‘in the pocket’ of a certain boy wizard and his friends, which would explain Watson’s sudden and unexpected victory.

Cheryl, being the incredibly rational human being that she is, has supposedly laid down the gauntlet (in this case believed to be a single Burberry glove) to Watson and challenged her to an all-out scrap with no rules and hair-pulling very much on the agenda. She wants her crown back and is willing to get in the ring to do it. Many celebrity commentators are already predicting a win for the peevish Geordie over the Franco-Oxfordian Watson.

Here at hecklerspray, we don’t like to comment on celebrity fights but even we have to admit, on previous form, Cheryl Cole does seem to have the upper hand and, most likely, the upper-cut. Will she take her crown back? Who cares?

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Oi! People who like Harry Potter! It’s the trailer for the thing you’ve all been waiting for! That’s right kiddiekins (and adultkins as well), the final instalment from Hogwarts is upon us with Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows Part 2 looking rather explodey.

In the trailer, which you can see over the jump, you’ll see Harry squaring up to Lord Voldemort who still hasn’t found his nose. No matter though, because what the baddies lack in noses, they make up for with gigantic fire-breathing monsters.

And the flick seems to be keen to go out with a bang, which is remarkable seeing as the early books/films were so twee. This is going to give some kids nightmares. And nightmares are great.

Like all Potter films, half of the British equity members will be appearing, with Helena Bonham Carter, Robbie Coltrane, Tom Felton, Ralph Fiennes, Brendan Gleeson, Richard Griffiths, John Hurt, Jason Isaacs, Helen McCrory, Bill Nighy, Miranda Richardson and Alan Rickman all showing their faces.

Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson et al, will all be on the red carpet in London when the film opens on July 7th in what is one of the most highly anticipated films in recent memory.

And so, sneering naysayers (our favourite type of human), you have a few weeks to brush up on your cusses about the film and how awful it is that adults are reading books designed for children (unless it’s Alice In Wonderland or The Little Prince, which are socially acceptable children’s books which adults can delve into).

Here’s the expensive looking trailer.

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Hardened critics love having a pop at Harry Potter. They prance around, nose in the air, clutching their copy of whatever obscure flawed masterpiece is in vogue at the time, claiming the Potter films to be quite rubbish – a two-star at best.

Well, Potter fans don’t give a stuff about them. And so they shouldn’t. No one expects these films to be artistic triumphs. They are entertainment.

We pick up where the last film left off. Dumbledore is dead, Voldemort has retaken control and Harry and his pals are forced on the run. Knowing that the key to Voldemort’s defeat is the destruction of his horcruxes (bits of his soul he left in various objects in order to become near-immortal) the trio head off on a mission to track them down. There’s no cosy Hogwarts, no cutesy school classes or Quidditch games. Potter has grown up.

The first two films, when the characters were 11 and 12, were, as you may expect, mostly just good kids’ films. Once Alfonso Cuarón got his hands on The Prisoner of Azkaban they turned a corner.

This seventh is largely a set up for the final climax. This is not a criticism. It is one half of the final book after all. It was never going to stand alone as a single work of art. Occasionally it plods, sometimes it sputters – an awkwardly peculiar dance sequence with Harry and Hermione being a case in point. Similarly watching Harry give Ginny a snog is like watching two siblings get it on – there’s been better chemistry between two tins of baked beans.

However, there is plenty of good to cling to.

Hermione’s telling of a wizarding fairy tale is performed in an excellent shadow play animation. A frenetic sequence where the trio are being chased through the woods is breathtaking. There’s an amusing early scene where many of the Order of the Phoenix take polyjuice potion to turn into multiple Harry Potter look-a-likes before being caught in an exhilarating broom-based ambush in the sky.

And Rupert Grint’s newly broadened shoulders are a delight to the eyes.

None of the three young stars are natural actors. They were cast at a young age and regardless of their talents it’s a testament to the franchise that they’ve stayed the full course. However, their performances have improved over the years and this latest offering is their best (read: least wooden) yet.

And they remain flanked by one of the strongest ensemble casts (Alan Rickman, Ralph Fiennes, Helena Bonham Carter, Bill Nighy, Jason Isaacs, John Hurt, Robbie Coltrane etc etc etc) ever seen in a British film, even if they are largely pushed to the sidelines.

What we’re gearing up for is an explosive showdown at Hogwarts, which will arrive in July. For what it is, it’s been an entertaining ride – and, for Warner Bros and JK Rowling, an overwhelmingly lucrative one.

Potter is what it is: familiar escapism.

This guest review was by the ultra-cool Catherine Gee

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Good comedy should always have a victim – even if the victim is the person telling the joke. From Only Fools And Horses taking the rise out of Yuppies, to Pulling savaging the crisis of being a thirtysomething, comedy always works best when it has something in the crosshairs.

And the latest thing to come dishing up the kickings is Popatron and, well, it might just be the best thing on television at the moment.

See, comedy is in a funny place at the moment, with many alternative comedians becoming the thing they rallied against in the first place, appearing on screen like some guffawing gentleman’s club and others far too keen to appear offensive as some lame protest against a perceived mothering state. However, tucked away in the Saturday afternoon hangover slot is a show that treads the line of absurdist silliness and ravaging the world around it.

A lot of comedy writers have taken their eye off the ball, focusing on tried and tested things that won’t ever get anyone’s dander up. Look at Peep Show – a hugely likeable programme, yet, one that is only as silly as real life. The IT Crowd and Miranda both take the real world and make it trip over a hatstand.

While these shows take the plaudits, some cocky young upstarts have gone about flicking the fingers up at everything and doing it at the expense of those that pay their cheques. Popatron is withering look at the world of television, where no-one gets off lightly.

If this was the late ’90s or early 2000s, this show would have been slapped into the listings at a peak-time. The television execs would’ve thrilled at the impish humour and ability to poke fun at itself. However, it seems that television has become austere and unwilling to take risks at times when the advertisers might want to spend their money.

Maybe this is why Popatron has been tucked away at 12.50pm, every Saturday? Even so, thanks to iPlayer, you can stop wasting your time wishing there was something great on, because Popatron is here to give you a dose of daftness, as well as give us some much needed sarcasm.

In the show, the collectively brilliant cast, tear strips from Yoof TV shows, with T4 and Popworld getting the biggest portion of bloody noses. Rick Edwards must watch this show and feel his cheeks burn (unless, of course, he’s just too thick to realise that they might be lampooning him).

Fact is, this notion than T4 is the only viable youth programming on-air is long gone. There’s a stench around it that feels like a world that has collapsed in on itself, like a septumless nose crumpling from too much cocaine. And still, the assembled pretties pass themselves off with self-effacing sarcasm, not realising that they’ve turned into the thing that they were hired to be the antidote to.

Which is why it is wonderful to see Popatron coming along and mocking these bovine brained gits with everything they’ve got.

The ugly, needy ambition is all there, mixed in with glassy-eyed idiocy and the listless, jaded mutterings of people suffocating under the weight of their own bullshit. We always need satire and we have it, slotted into the BBC’s ‘Switch’ slots.

There’s a definite sense that Auntie doesn’t realise what it has on its hands here, just like the way people must have wondered what those working on The Frost Report were all about. Popatron isn’t exactly comparable to The Frost Report, but there’s something about this show that feels similarly fresh and invigorating.

With shooting completed on the first series (a handful still to air over the coming weeks), we must collectively cross our fingers that this gets recommissioned. Oh, and BBC – put it on in a slot where everyone can see it. You’ve got a potentially great show here – don’t fuck it up or chicken out like you did with Pulling.

Okay?

Popatron is snarky, witty and a reason to be well and truly cheerful.

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