Sometimes, you hear a piece of news that changes everything. Where were you when you heard about 9/11, for example? Do you remember the exact second you heard when Brookside was being cancelled? When Osama was killed? When Slobodan Milosevic was finally taken to task for his war crimes?
But this is next level.
Simon Cowell, the man with perfectly cube-shaped hair, has announced to anyone who’ll listen (idiots) that he almost, but didn’t, put his glans into the former American Idol judge and cat botherer Paula Abdul.
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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.
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Have you ever looked at Simon Cowell and thought to yourself; ‘I’d like to get a load of plastic explosives and blow him and his botoxed face off the face of the Earth, just for giggles’?
Well, that’s exactly what Cheryl Cole did yesterday. Remarkably, she did it with the help of the British Army.
We don’t remember seeing Simon Cowell’s face on the infamous War On Terror playing cards though. Paula Abdul, yes, but no Cowell.
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Fancy puking your ring up? Then continue reading because we’ve got an image to place in your mind that no amount of brain bleach will remove. This is the kind of thing that will haunt you ’til the day you die.
Simon Cowell has had a threesome.
Imagine that. His flaccid moobs being gently slapped by two separate ladies wearing see-through body stockings with enough hairspray to erase the protective gaseous layers on every planet in the solar system. Just think of that. His todger, flapping around to the sound of an expensive water bed while he mutters his dirty thoughts in their ears. JUST THINK ABOUT THAT.
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Everything changes and develops into condensed shiny version. Even social networking has evolved. In the beginning we had MySpace, a tool where any idiot could upload appalling songs in the vain hope of being snapped up by a label. Facebook pinched the audience of MySpace, simplifying the clumsiness of its predecessor before Twitter cut out the marketing spam and made everything feel more communal.
Twitter allows the entire world to know what you’re doing in a continual burst of status updates. Refreshing as it is to know your mate is suffering from chronic diarrhoea, it’s the celebrities who are best value as sometimes, they totally fail to self-edit.
We think of it as friendly stalking from afar, eliminating the chances of you being caught furiously masturbating outside your favourite slebs house. And now, poor Cheryl Cole who has been out the spotlight for a while, has signed up to twitter which means we can find out exactly what she’s thinking (follow her here).
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Should you be unlucky enough to live for the next 300 years, aside from the agony of reanimation, the clawing sense of disenfranchisement with our new ape leaders and, of course, the horrible realisation that you are a disappointment regardless of the time you live in, you might be on the end of a withering aside from Simon Cowell.
That’s right. The music molester has stated his desire to live forever and ever so he can belittle people long into our dark future.
Basically, he wants to have his body frozen after his death as “an insurance policy”, where in the distant future, he can hold a talent contest between cannibalistic apes to see which one can sing the best, while reintroducing the phrase ‘this means everything to me’ and getting some monkeys to cry about being orphaned by science, and that this Whitney Houston song got them through genetic experiments.
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You may remember a few months ago (and if you don’t remember, you’re a liar, because we ALL remember. We just don’t talk about it anymore) someone, somewhere on the horizon of logic sacked Cheryl Cole upon realising she is an entirely pointless human woman.
Yeah, you remember. It was brilliant.
After years being mollycoddled (and there really is no other word for it, that bitch got mollycoddled good) by Simon Cowell after a number of years of voluntary blindness, a promotion to LA fell flat on it’s arse, because some brave stallion of a man stood up in a board meeting and suddenly realised “Hang on a second. This woman’s dimples aren’t cute enough to warrant a legitimate and vibrant media career at all! We’ve all been duped!’ and Cheryl Cole, alas, alas, hung up her stupid purple stupid trousers which were stupid, and headed back to England, to do something or other.
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Simon Cowell isn’t looking as old as he used to. Sure, he’s looking weirder than he used to, but that’s clearly down to American dentistry, leaving him looking like a boiled potato with some dentures jammed in.
While you may think the music mogul/overlord has been under the surgeon’s knife, well, you may well be right. We’ve no idea. We’re more interested in the news that he’s been swigging a magic potion to thwart the ravages of time.
But is it so magic that it will reverse the ageing process so much that he will return to his baby form, gurgling and filling his high-waisted trousers with liquid green crap?
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