Piers Morgan, the ever lovable former Daily Mirror editor and man for whom the word smarmy was invented, certainly has gotten his large, soiled knickers in a twist of late.

We’re not even half way through the week and he’s already attempted to take some cheap shots at 2 people who are infinitely more famous and loved than him.

It’s the equivalent of the school weed slagging off the popular kids because they won’t invite him to their fancy pool parties when their parents go to Tuscany for the weekend.

On Monday, Morgan went on Chelsea Lately, one of the billions of late night talk shows more popular than his own in the States, to have a pop at Madonna, claiming that the baby catcher’s Super Bowl performance was akin to that of, “a gruesome drunken Aunt.”

TAKE THAT MADONNA! You just got served. Piers Morgan, a man who will struggle to get the same amount of viewers all year that you got during your brief Super Bowl half-time show, just told you how it went down!

Why don’t you start acting your age and visit a W.I. meeting once in a while, huh!?

After dispatching of her Madgesty, Piers pointed his pistol of perfunctory towards former footballer, Match of the Day presenter and UN ambassador for crisps, Gary Lineker.

Morgan decided to brag to the former Spurs star about a review he got in the San Fransisco Chronicle, praising his talents as a football pundit on Fox TV. Lineker went on to question how long Morgan had spent searching for that, lone, positive review, to which Morgan replied, one can only assume with a look of post-mastubatory smugness plastered across his sweaty brow:

“I currently air in 200 countries/territories – how you getting on? #SmallPondMinnow”

Despite forgetting to mention that even though he’s aired in 200 territories, he still only draws a crowd of about 6, Morgan mopped the mix of bile and man lather from his keyboard and went to make a cup of tea, safe in the knowledge that he’d given Gary Lineker, ‘a Madonna.’

But our Gary isn’t Madonna, he doesn’t take things lying down, or from Malawi, he rebutted Morgan’s smugspunk with this:

“I think the 2 world cups I played in probably edged that.”

BAM! He had Morgan on the ropes, but wasn’t finished yet, fearing Morgan could possibly steal his presenting gig, Salt and Lineker wound up and struck the final, devastating blow to Morgan’s inflated ego:

“Spoke to the powers that be at the BBC and they are very interested in you… staying in America”

He may work for Walkers, but Lineker is definitely the Real McCoy.

Sorry.

There’s only one way to start an article about Piers Morgan and that’s with an unabashed string of obscenities and threats aimed squarely at the former Mirror editor and dough-faced clown. Unfortunately though, we have to be (minutely) more professional than that and would therefore urge you to launch your own insults at this image of his pompous face.

Still, what brings us to bother writing about alleged phone-hacker and self-confessed crymaxer, Morgan?

Well, it turns out that he’s had enough of being a sideshow to Howie Mandel (whoever the hell that is) and is taking time out to focus on becoming America’s most hated Pariah.

He’s not quitting the media though. Oh no. He makes far too much cash to do that.

Luckily for us, Morgan has decided that the American public gives two hoots about his opinion on US politics and is going to focus on presenting upcoming news events like the 2012 presidential election in which Herman Cain will undoubtedly win because, as their enjoyment of Piers Morgan shows, America loves an absolute dickhead.

Speaking on his CNN programme, which we still can’t believe he has, Morgan said:

“I can exclusively reveal that I’m leaving ‘America’s Got Talent. I’ve loved every single second, but discovered that juggling, to my surprise really is a bit more difficult than I thought.”

Morgan took a moment to thank charity-botherer and Crown Prince of the Calculated PR Move Simon Cowell for the opportunity, stating that he would be nowhere if he hadn’t taken pity on him.

Okay, he didn’t actually say that but we imagine that’s what Simon Cowell heard.

Rumour has it that Morgan has thrown his hat into the ring to present The Oscars after incumbent host Eddie Murphy bowed out of the show on Wednesday, declaring that he wasn’t interested unless he could host, present and win all the awards while dressed as different characters.

Piers Morgan presenting The Oscars. Imagine it for a second. Now clean up your vomit.

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Kelsey Grammer is a magnificently dislikeable human being. Away from his fine role of Frasier, he supports some real crackpot ideas. He thought George Dubya was a cool guy for a kick-off. Of course, this means he’s nothing like his most famous televisual role.

And it seems that us plebians aren’t the only people who wish he was more like Frasier.

On Piers Morgan’s chatshow (another dolt with a face like a doleful yam), he asked Grammer whether he thought his ex-wife, Camille, married him because he was a TV icon. Kelsey replied: “no, I think she married me because I was Frasier.” He really doesn’t know what to do with those toss salad and scrambled eggs.

And so, what does Grammer think of his ex-wife? Is he nice and magnanimous?

Grammer also told the CNN host that his “parting gift” to his third wife was her role in the reality series “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.”

“Whether or not it worked well for her doesn’t matter. It was my way of saying, ‘Look, you always wanted to be famous. Here you go.’ “

And now, after three tumultuous marriages, The Man We Wish Was Frasier says he has at last found true love with his fourth wife, Kayte, who he met in an airport.

“There was a warmth, a glow about her that I was drawn to. And I thought, ‘Boy, I hope she’s on my flight.’ “

Presumably, she doesn’t mind that he’s a Republican. Yep. An actor in Hollywood who is openly right wing.

“I’m a bit of a rebel. I don’t tend to warm too well to people that tell me how I’m supposed to think. So, my life in Hollywood — I’m afraid I was destined to be a Republican.”

And those Tea Bagger nutjobs?

“I’m sympathetic to some of the principles, but I’m not sure that the tea party has behavioural problems, other than the ones that can be identified by people who are inimical to them.”

WAIT!

Hahaha! It doesn’t matter what he says because he sounds like Sideshow Bob! HAHAHAHA!

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Is there a name for that collective feeling of wanting no-one to win a fight? Is it possible for both combatants to lose a scrap? If so, this is the best outcome for the lamest celebrity dust-up, Steve Jones v. Piers Morgan.

That’s right! The man who presents the US X Factor who has teeth like foam is going head-to-head with a man who has a face like the Pilsbury Dough Boy’s stomach!

Why? Words, that’s why. They’re always getting stupid humans into trouble aren’t they?

So what went down?

Well, Jones appeared on Piers’ terrible American chat show to promote The X Factor, but alas, he stormed off-set when Piers’ questions turned ugly.

Apparently.

Steve tweeted, probably getting everyone pregnant in the process:

“For the record I’m not ashamed to admit I stormed off @piersmorgan tonight. His line of questing was highly offensive. You judge #thisfriday”

Of course, Piers – a man known for his sensitive spirit and reasoning – replied:

“Had him thrown off my set yesterday for lewd conduct”.

Lewd conduct eh? Did he try and force his Welsh penis into Piers anus? Americans will find out Friday night if they watch their televisions.

If there’s a round two, we hope for a televised fight to the death. It’s the only way Britain can sufficiently apologise for our exporting of these two woeful presenters.

Next week: Turns out Rick Edwards is actually a really nice bloke.

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Sir Paul McCartney, of forgotten ’70s beat group Wings, has for some peculiar reason, had his phone hacked by ‘so-called journalists’ and he’s gone grassing everyone up to the police. Including us. We got a letter informing us we’d be under investigation.

Even though we only have one PAYG mobile phone (the one with Snake II on), we do use it to get into people’s voicemails. We’ve got a great story about the not very famous comedian David Schneider, but that’s for another time.

Anyway, Macca is not pleased that we’ve been in his messages, very much in the same way his former wife, Heather Mills, was hopping mad (fnarr) that she’d had her voicemails hacked into and, of course, John Lennon’s chest was very much breached by Mark Chapman with his best gun.

Sir Paul says:

“I am going to talk to the police because apparently I have been hacked. I don’t know much about it because they won’t tell anyone except the person themselves.”

“I do think it’s a horrendous violation of privacy. I do think it has been going on for a long time and I do think more people than we know knew about it.”

Of course, these incredibly famous people aren’t bothered about us. They only want to sue famous people. The Muccas are subsequently going after CNN suet head, Piers Morgan, who edited the Mirror from 1995 to 2004. He’s getting all this lovely stick, thereby allowing us to get off scot-free.

Naturally, Piers denies any involvement in phone hacking, despite the fact he once wrote:

‘At one stage I was played a tape of a message Paul had left for Heather on her mobile phone. It was heartbreaking.’

‘The couple had clearly had a tiff, Heather had fled to India, and Paul was pleading with her to come back.

‘He sounded lonely, miserable and desperate, and even sang ‘We Can Work It Out ‘ into the answerphone.’

Aaaw! Bless Sir Paul. Although, he really should’ve crooned one of his more erratic hits. Any of these would have been great.

Still, funny how everyone is taking phone hacking seriously, given that everyone thought Heather Mills was mental for saying such a thing all those years ago.

You fickle ogres.

Meanwhile, Ringo wonders why no-one ever wants to hack his phone and has been seen handing out his phone number to strangers and telling them his pin-code for his voicemail.

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Queen Bee of the America’s Next Top Model Bitches, Tyra Banks, can smile with her eyeballs. Now, she’s winking with her pelvic floor muscles as she begins a period in her life which is completely condomless. What? She’s trying to catch a sexually transmitted disease?!

Don’t be silly. Obviously, she’s trying to get pregnant because she’s reached that stage of her life when she feels like she’s got absolutely nothing to offer the world other than identical pictures of a baby coughing up mashed-up swede through it’s crusty little nose holes.

Imagine Tyra’s mothering skills! *shudder*

For some inexplicable reason, CNN are still showing ‘Piers Morgan Tonight’ as the network still hasn’t worked out that this pudding faced git box has about as much charisma as a pan lid. It was on his show that Smizer decided to tell the world that her legs where very much open all hours at the moment in her and her boyfriend (some twit called John Utendahl) are desperate to get a child stuffed up their like a clergyman, quivering in a priest hole.

As proof, here are some of the words she said:

“I definitely want babies”

See? That’s absolutely conclusive.

Piers Morgan went deeper down the rabbit hole and asked if she was trying. Tyra coyly replied:

“Yeah, maybe.”

SEE?! She’s DEFINITELY having a baby! She’s probably got a dozen or so growing inside a special back-pouch as we speak!

But she’s not going to bother getting married before she has a chile, mainly because marriage is a wholly useless, old-fashioned construct for people who simply can’t wrestle free from pointless superstition and routine. Or, in the words of Banks

“I don’t think it’s necessarily necessary.”

Whatever.

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Malaria never really took off as the celebrity illness du jour. Cheryl Cole had it for a while and got the tiniest violin in the world out to moan about facing death square in the face – much like Bill and Ted did in that movie. However, George Clooney’s had a dose of it and he probably tried to seduce it with that handsome square head of his.

That’s right kiddiekins – George Clooney has revealed that he contracted malaria but has now completely recovered from it, and not once did any stories appear with him giving us the doe-eyes and acting all frail.

Clooney caught the disease while he was in Sudan doing some stupid charity work with the UN and Google. Apparently, Clooney and his handsomeness were trying to prevent a new civil war. Sorry champ, you’re not that good-looking.

George’s rep says:

“George is completely over the Malaria he contracted while in the Sudan during the first week in January. This was his second bout with it. This illustrates how with proper medication, the most lethal condition in Africa, can be reduced to a bad ten days instead of a death sentence.”

Yeah. Whatever. Who gives two poops about what some faceless representative has to say? WE DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU! OKAY? YOU CAN GO AND DIE OF MALARIA FOR ALL WE CARE!

We want to know what the ravishingly good looking George Clooney has to say. Did he beat it by raising an eyebrow and saying something kinda funny?

He says:

“Well you know, even with malaria it’s just good fun. I’ve had it twice, I guess the mosquito in Juba looked at me and thought I was the bar.”

Aww! Isn’t he just adorable? He even managed to seduce a disease riddled fly! TWICE! How many Hollywood actors can say that?

Sadly, you desperate, hormonal ladies will not be able to offer your services as bedside nurse because he’s all fit and well again. You’ll just have to put away your PVC nurse costume and rectal thermometer and save it for a rainy day.

Apparently, the pudding faced simpleton, Piers Morgan (who was interviewing Clooney) said that he’d had a few offers from people thinking that they might be more use to an ailing Clooney than, say, AN ACTUAL DOCTOR WITH A DEGREE IN MEDICINE.

Morgan said:

“Clooney malaria update: now have 24,563 offers to nurse him. But his rep says medication worked and he’s OK. Sorry, ladies. If the nursing offer still stands though, I’m beginning to feel a bit hot under the collar myself.”

Jesus Christ. Anyone game for taking that offer on? Essentially, is anyone willing to swap the notion of a charming, smooth rascal like George Clooney for the chance to dab Piers Morgan’s bedsores through the night?

Anyone? No?

Good. You’ve clearly got at least one functioning eye then.

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The past 12 months has been weird for Cheryl Cole. She’s got malaria, which no-one ever gets because it’s a bloody tropical disease… and she got divorced from her husband… which in fairness, is very common in this country.

Neither of these things are particularly pleasant to go through, so when prodded and poked by a man with a face that looks like it is made from suet, there’s a good chance all the pain and anguish will rise up through your eye-sockets.

And that’s exactly what happened when Cheryl did an interview on TV show, Piers Morgan’s Life Stories.

If that isn’t enough, she’s got to put up with Louis Walsh every bloody week. We’ll let you decide who is the little bitch of the two.

But poor ol’ Cheryl has been left crushed by Ashley Cole and his wandering genitals. The popster told Piers Morgan, increasing looking like a pillow case with a face drawn on it, that her split from England footballer had left her heartbroken.

Not literally. That’s a different thing called ‘a heart attack’.

She managed to keep pretty quiet about the whole split while it was going on, which some may suggest is ‘dignified’. Others may proffer that the reason she kept quiet is because she was holding out for the biggest payout on the interview.

She’s now ready to talk and we’ll get to see the tiny tears on Life Stories which will air on October 23rd.

She explained:

“Looking back on it, I feel numb. We had a great marriage and a fantastic wedding day but I don’t know where it went wrong. To this day I still question that.”

Maybe Ashley Cole is so toxic that when you fall in love with him, you catch a disease like malaria.

What actually happened was that she got it from a trip to Tanzania and a mosquito decided that she looked like she might be a good person to bite.

Of course, the mosquito in question went onto become something of a celebrity in Africa, where it now has it’s own chatshow where it gurgling the blood of television stars and pulls funny faces before delivering the punchline “this show sucks!”

Melodramatically, Cole said that she felt so ill as a result of the disease that she thought she was going to die.

She said:

“It was touch and go for 24 hours. It was serious. I actually thought I was going to die.

“All I thought was that if I was going to die, please let it be soon.”

No comment.

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Cushion faced TV and media mollusc, Piers Morgan, is bafflingly successful. He’s a man of no discernible talent who, oddly, is asked for his opinion on popular culture despite the fact he looks like he’s dressed by the same tailor who throws clothes at Jeremy Clarkson.

As well as claiming to be good at stuff, he’s now claiming that it was in fact he who got Dannii Minogue pregnant. Imagine that? Imagine Piers Morgan hunkering down on Dannii Minogue. Think of each grotesque little squirting detail. Go on.

Anyway, I’m not sure having a fiddle over her ill-advised nudey calendar that she released in the late ’90s counts, eh Piers? Oh… hang on… 

Of course, this is all one big wheeze from the suet faced TV chump!

As well you know (don’t pretend you don’t) the lesser-Minogue and her partner Kris Smith recently celebrated the birth of their first child Ethan.

Minogue made an appearance on Morgan’s Life Stories series last year, and now boiled cabbage Morgan says that the dates all add up.

“I effectively made Dannii Minogue pregnant because you may recall I interviewed her for my Life Stories show and asked her, ‘Do you think you may want to have children soon?’ and when it was announced she was pregnant and three months pregnant, I got my diary out and realised it was three months to the day since my interview!”

HAW HAW HAW!

Now pay child support you needlessly wealthy twerp.

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Without question, Larry King has the easiest job in the world. But even easy jobs can become boring.

Especially when you’ve been doing it for a while. And Larry King has been doing it for a while. Although he started presenting his daily CNN show before modern records began, physicists have used carbon dating to estimate that it’s been going since roughly the times of the Vikings. The number of public figures that Larry King has interviewed stretches well into the thousands, and the number of genuinely taxing questions he’s asked them stretches to about four.

But now it’s emerged that Larry King is going to quit his CNN show. Don’t look too pleased, though. His replacement could well be Piers Morgan. Yeesh.

Whatever you think of it, you have to admit that Larry King Live performed an invaluable function. Without Larry King, incredibly minor celebrities would have nobody to turn to when they wanted to apologise for whatever dumb crap they’ve just done. Dog The Bounty Hunter and Chris Brown and both Gosselins and that beauty queen with the sex tape who hates the gays -  they’ve all found the time to wail about their flaws on Larry King’s show before waddling off to sleep outside Al Sharpton‘s bedroom window for as long as it takes him to get bored and forgive them.

But lately, Larry King has been the celebrity in the spotlight. Thanks to news of his divorce, and the allegations that he’d been having an affair with his wife’s sister, and the rumours of his wife’s subsequent suicide attempt, had become bigger than most of the people he interviewed. Plus, you know, you can only interview so many shitpot celebrities before the urge to lean over the desk and pummel them to within an inch of their life becomes too much to bear. So maybe that had something to do with it as well. The LA Times reports:

After a quarter century as host of “Larry King Live,” the centerpiece of CNN’s prime-time lineup and a required stamping ground for striving politicians and contrite celebrities, the 76-year-old announced Tuesday that he will be leaving the program this fall… “The daily grind is tough,” King said in a phone call.

Still, let’s not forget that Larry King is an old man, and so if he leaves, then he should absolutely be allowed to do… hang on. Isn’t Piers Morgan going to take his place? No! Larry King must host his show until he dies! Until AFTER he dies! CNN should buy his corpse and just prop it up in a chair while Angelina Jolie drones on at him about her humanitarian work or whatever. It might stink out the studio a bit, but it’d work. Anything but Piers Morgan, seriously.

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If you tried to think of a celebrity as equally unappealing as shrieking harridan Heather Mills for her to have a public dispute with you couldn’t go far wrong with odious potato-faced toad Piers Morgan.

And you’d be right, because that is what’s happened in a Press Complaints Commission investigation completed yesterday.

The unintentionally hilarious Mills – whose face increasingly resembles a crude caricature drawn by a ‘special’ child – has objected to an article written by Morgan in which he describes his “eternal shame” at having been the cretin to introduce her to Paul McCartney in the first place. She says this isn’t true – not the ‘shame’ thing, but the ‘introduction’ thing, in the mistaken belief that anyone gives a toss.

Adding fuel to the self-righteous fire that constantly burns inside her head, Morgan went on to compare the song-writing ability of McCartney with Mills’ own literary output, which he unfavourably described as “nothing but bleating letters of complaint to newspapers and divorce lawyers”.

Mills’ genius response? She told the commission that actually, she’d written some books as well, so it’s not all ‘bleating letters’ is it? That was genuinely her big comeback.

When probed by the Commission as to exactly how many of these books she had written, Mills is reported as having replied “at least three”.

At. Least. Three.

This is the point we like to imagine the Commission staring at her without blinking for two solid minutes whilst trying to work out if she was taking the piss before telling the screeching peg-leg to bugger off.

At time of writing the Press Complaints Commission has entirely rejected her complaint, although does concede that she had “written a number of books”, according to The Independent.

Any sympathy generated for Piers Morgan immediately evaporated when everyone remembered that, well, he’s Piers Morgan isn’t he?

A number of snarky celebrity websites have expressed their concern that Mills may do them out of a job if she continues to act like such a colossal tool.

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It’s always good to have a chance to slap down a young, upstart colony.

So we’ve let the US have their few hundred years of fun, with their constitution and their hamburgers and their total monopoly over low and high culture internationally, but this? Pretending they’re interested enough in football to not only cobble together a World Cup team but then – the audacity – not capitulate immediately to a 10-0 tonking at their masters’ hands? How incredibly dare they.

“Something must be done,” muttered the nation as Robert Green sullenly plucked the ball from the net and our inferior American cousins whooped and hollered as if they had any comprehension of what had just occurred. But good old Great British justice was swift. The US had wronged us, and they must pay. And there’s only one punishment fit for this crime:  They must receive unto their shores the grim spectre that is… Piers Morgan.

That’s right! Half-human-half-Jabba oleaginous berk Morgan has, according to The Telegraph, signed a £5.5 million, four-year deal to take over Larry King‘s long-running chatshow/shamed celebrity confession booth on CNN.

You read right. Four years. That’s four years those Yank scallywags will have to put up with Piers Morgan oozing his fetid charm-slime all over horrified starlets and impassive Congressmen. Four years where his wobbling jowls will self-righteously park themselves in the middle of judging panels on innumerable talent shows, and proceed to quack criticism at dead-eyed singing children and borderline whack-job variety acts. Four years where he will not be here.

Take that, America! Trying to beat us at our own game, are you? Well, we’ve been making smug bastards since the Crusades and it’s time for you to sample our finest wares.

The transfer of a Premier League tossbag like Piers Morgan to the States is the continuation of a fine tradition of British arsehole-exporting. We’ve successfully removed the Posh Spice irritant from our green and pleasant land, and if we play our cards right, those N-Dubz hooligans will soon be texting death threats exclusively to women called Darleene and Cletusella as they attempt to flog their casual misogyny and funny hats on the sidewalks of the US.

But Piers Morgan is the mother-lode: the H-bomb of rank that will ensure those Merrrcan fiends will start to behave in a manner more befitting a nation that is dangerously close to getting its botty smacked. And if they even think about besting us in a sporting arena again: James Corden is loaded in the torpedo tube ready to launch across the Atlantic, and he’s got his belly out.

God help them all.

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Don’t you ever wish you lived in Victorian times?

Minus the threat of the occasional killer disease and lack of George Foreman grills, life really wasn’t that bad. After all, northern people weren’t discriminated as much; everyone wore fancy-looking frocks and spoke like Queen Victoria.

But what about Victorian entertainment? Nowadays we submerge ourselves in online gaming where we can melt JackBauer2453’s face off with a flamethrower in a futuristic alien-smashing game. In olden times, Victorian people used to visit the local freak show, purchase some peanuts and point at the local exhibits which frequently travelled the country. Children pointed in amazement at the bearded lady, and grandparents chortled at the man whose finger had fallen off. Fast forward to our apparently sophisticated times and we can all gawp and laugh at the entertainers on Britain’s Got Talent.

Instead of big rusty iron cages for people to showcase their talent, hopeful contestants are instead thrown onto an oversized stage, have lights thrust in their face and have to perform their stupid act before the biggest audience they’ve ever come across. Oddly, the hopefuls usually discover that their crap comedy act is more torturous then humorous to a crowd more hostile than a gaggle of woman lining up to buy discounted designer leggings from Topshop.

But it gets worse for someone like Derek, 78, from Dagenham. The gentle old man who can whistle out of his belly button might believe he’s entertaining but, realistically, it’s for people who a) are under the age of seven, b) have a single-digit IQ, c) are forced to see him do it at family gatherings or d) drunks. After the performance, he then has to face the wrath of the judges.

Those judges are Simon Cowell, Piers Morgan and Amanda Holden. Now, we all know that Simon is mainly there to play the big moody twat who’ll quite happily tell a small child to piss off and laugh when someone’s well planned performance goes tits up. Then there’s whipping boy Piers Morgan who desperately wants to be the lead judge but fails because nobody likes him. Perhaps he should stop being an arrogant cocky prick. To top it off, there’s Amanda Holden. We can’t call her ‘eye candy’. More like ‘the emotionless woman who just sits there and occasionally cries’.

Over the years, we’ve seen all sorts of acts pass through Britain’s Got Talent and for the fourth series, surely there can’t be anything we haven’t seen before. Ooh look, a man juggles something covered in barbed wire. A girl comes on with a sob story and then does something rubbish. Finally, a group comes on who want to make a better life for themselves. And then there are the frumpy mental Scottish ladies who can sing quite well despite the nation thinking that she plucks feathers out of chickens and eats them.

But it seems that Simon Cowell is slightly sick of actual people winning the competition. This series, it seems he wants to find a talented animal to beat a man on a unicycle in the final so he can make millions off it in various films. After all, animals don’t have bank accounts; they’d just get paid in dog biscuits or kitty litter. The Press Association reports that Cowell said:

“I want to find the next Lassie. I would like a talented dog act to win.”

Putting it in simple terms, unless you have the ability to shit out baguettes with multiple fillings, you probably won’t win Britain’s Got Talent. That’s unless you’re a lovely cuddly dog who could get through to the second round by chasing its own tail on stage.

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With Simon Cowell leaving American Idol soon, thoughts have naturally turned to his successor. Who should it be?

Anyone but Piers Morgan. That’s our opinion. Just because he’s British, posh and has an inexplicable fondness for his own voice, it doesn’t mean that anyone wants Piers Morgan to be the new American Idol judge. Imagine it – imagine spending several months staring at Piers Morgan’s braying, swollen, amphibian head and being forced to listen to all the self-satisfied guttural noises that spew out of it. Imagine it. Imagine the damage to your mental well-being that would be caused if Piers Morgan was ever allowed to be a judge on American Idol. Imagine it.

Luckily, though, Simon Cowell wants Lady Gaga instead. So that’s something.

Although they were technically stopgap fill-ins to ease the transition between Paula Abdul and Ellen DeGeneres, the news that Simon Cowell is off to inflict X Factor on America next year means that this year’s crop of temporary American Idol judges were also unconsciously auditioning to be his replacement. And the good news is they all failed.

All of them. Shania Twain was too alarmingly sexual, Katy Perry was too furious at the world and Victoria Beckham looked too much like the world’s sternest haute couture leather-flavoured lollipop. They all failed. Howard Stern has been mooted as a Cowell replacement – but his speciality is forcing booby models to have orgasms on slightly low-rent radio shows, not giving professional advice to aspiring musicians, so he’d hardly be very good. So the question remains – who will replace Simon Cowell on American Idol?

Luckily, Simon Cowell has his own ideas on the matter. He’s analysed everything that’s made him popular – the pointless affectations, the ludicrous haircut, the deliberately horrible outfits, the endless speculation over his sexuality – and picked the person who fits that criteria most accurately. Lady Gaga. Simon Cowell picked Lady Gaga because Lady Gaga is basically his identical twin. Reuters quotes:

“I think we should have Lady Gaga because she is the most relevant pop artist in the world at the moment. So I think she should be number one (on the list). And I’ve met her. She is very smart. I like her.”

We can completely see Simon Cowell’s point here – Lady Gaga would be a brilliant American Idol judge. Especially if she brings that big button she had at the Brits that said the word ‘bitch’ out loud every time she pushed it. It’d be excellent – Randy Jackson would have ‘dog’, Lady Gaga would have ‘bitch’ and Kara DioGuardi could pick another offensively misogynistic slur, like ‘slag’ or ‘custard knickers’.

Or maybe Simon Cowell secretly thinks that Lady Gaga would be the worst American Idol judge possible, and has named her so that she’ll destroy the franchise and force everyone to watch X Factor instead.

No, that can’t be it – if that was his game, he would have suggested that Piers Morgan should be his replacement. Nobody would be a worse choice than Piers Morgan. We really can’t stress that enough.

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You Americans just want all of our glorious items don’t you? One of Blighty’s few remaining cultural importances may be lost forever if Kraft gets its way.

Soon, obesity will reach a whole new proportion as chocolate cheese is introduced for fat children to gobble up. However, there are a few exceptions that we’ll be proud to give away. And as we’re such a generous bunch of sods, there isn’t a need to return the favour.

Take Piers Morgan, for example. No, really, take him. Despite all the negative publicity from his doctored photos scandal, Piers has still managed to bag countless TV programmes for himself. You can’t go anywhere in the UK without seeing him – and know he wants to expand his annoying portfolio in America, too.

At the moment, Piers Morgan the man who judges both Britain’s Got Talent and America’s Got Talent. Over there, the prize is bigger, the set is glitzier and the contestants are so bonkers that they make Susan Boyle look normal and, in some cases, attractive.

America’s Got Talent works to an extent because it’s one of those shows we can all watch together as a family. You know, like in the old days when Family Fortunes was on and wasn’t presented by Vernon Kay. Once you see someone swing a tortoise through some burning hoops, though, it gets a bit tedious. Especially the sob stories, although sometimes it’s hard to avoid laughing when pensioners roll up in their electric scooters with delusional dreams that speed-knitting will win.

So what’ll be the next big talent show to take America by storm? Well, it has to be X Factor, of course. There the contest is all about the singing. Definitely not about your background, your appearance, your weight, any disabilities or your marketability. No, it’s based on pure raw talent. Minus the exception of Leon Jackson.

Now we don’t want to throw a spanner into Piers Morgan going to America. Frankly, we’d love that to happen as he’d be away from our own screens and not prattling on about much he knows about everything. But that’s what he seemingly wants to do. But where is his musical experience? On the UK X Factor Cheryl Cole has a successful career on her own and with Girls Aloud, Dannii Minogue lives in the musical shadow of Kylie Minogue and Louis Walsh inflicted Westlife on us all. They all know music. But Morgan? Speaking to The Sun, he said:

“I would love to work with Simon on it as we have a laugh on Britain’s Got Talent. I give him quite a lot of stick and he quite likes it. Americans would find it hysterical.”

From the country that gave us Friends, yes they probably would be choking on their deep-fried triple cheeseburgers with your hilarious banter, Piers. Oh the laughs we’ll get when once of you disagrees with the other. It’ll be extra amusing because you’ll do it in a charming English accent. Probably why Cheryl Cole won’t be getting the job. Damn her Geordie roots.

America, he’s yours forever, courtesy of us.

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