Hello. Are you a Westlife fan, troubled by the news that your Princes are going away to enjoy their moneyed-lives with their families and friends? Are you worried that there will suddenly be a void of mawkish, soaring ballads to sooth you while you self-harm in a bath of ice?
It’s bad news we’re afraid.
Westlife’s members have confirmed that the musical equivalent of an itchy jumper are unlikely to ‘do a Take That’ and get back together in a few years. Is it because Take That were always more relevant to pop music or is it because the Boyzone tribute market isn’t as lucrative as it once was? Who knows. Certainly not us.
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Walter Pandiani might be little more than a jobbing footballer to those of you who have actually heard of him, but from this day forward, he’ll be known as that poor, poor, sweaty bugger.
He currently plays for RCD Espanyol as a striker and has played for a bunch of other teams that you don’t rightly care about.
Anyway, El Rifle should perhaps change his name to El Desodorisante after he leaked roughly nine thousand litres of sweat out of himself during a press conference. Watch over the jump and mock away.
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Hey! Arnold Schwarzenegger! Has your regret and sorrow turned into anger? Are you now pacing around your luxury stud-pad in your luminous thong, gritting your teeth and wondering who leaked the story on you? Political enemies? Movie producers you’ve crossed in the past?
Looking for a conspiracy theory to help aid your feeling that someone has it in for you, trying to damage your good reputation?
Well, unlucky. See, the person who had it in for you is the woman you scorned. That’s right. If you want to know who told the world about your illicit affair with a maid and resulting child, then look no further than Maria Shriver – the wife you managed to upset to the point where she wanted to bury you up to your own neck in your own shit. Right? It’s a hoot isn’t it?!
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Thanks to the writers' strike, last night's pared-down Golden Globes took the form of a news conference – like the ones appealing for the return of missing children, only bleaker.
It was the oddest Golden Globes you're ever likely to see – no stars attended, no fancy frocks were worn, results were blasted through in a matter of minutes and the traditional Golden Globes pursuit of trying to second-guess which rabbit-eyed young starlet would be fighting off the advances of Jack Nicholson by the end of the night was put on hold.
And if that wasn't harrowing enough, Atonement won a Golden Globe as well. We're all doomed.
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