Well all know that Kim Kardashian is the very pinnacle of media whoredom, leapfrogging other visionaries as Paris Hilton, Tulisa Contostavlos and the rest of the Kardashian sisters, to the crown of Most Annoying Slag 2012. And we all know why, because she wants to show everything that happens through the medium of television, even though her television shows are so tucked and trimmed that if they were pies, they would be the most disgusting tasting pies ever. Though they would look great.

But what happens when TV turns against her? We’ve seen public opinion of the Kardashian Klan flip recently with claims of her marriage being a sham; even her soon to be ex-husband is throwing some fuel onto the hair extension, Sketchers-advertising fire, with news reaching us that he wants to show the divorce trial ON TV.

In a move that will take the Kardashian/Humphries debacle into a whole new universe of meta-awareness, we’ll be watching them divorce live on TV! Which is very Matrix isn’t it?

You have to wonder which pill Kim took, just so we know which one not to take. It’s at times like this that we’d rather be in a pod, having our very essence drained from us, than know that somewhere Kim Kardashian is swanning around thinking she’s Queen Poop or something.

Kris Humphries and his lawyer, Lee Hutton, are wanting to “expose the M.O. of reality TV” by showing that K. Kardashian had as much intention of staying married to him than we do of using anything that the Kardashian Kartel advertise. Humphries is also claiming that Kim only wanted big ratings for her show. Which anyone could have told him. Helen Keller could have told him that.

According to TMZ, who would NEVER lie or speculate wildly, Kim has filed for divorce on the grounds of ‘irreconcilable differences’ which probably means he didn’t want to sit and brush her hair a hundred times each night, whereas he wants the marriage to be annulled on grounds of ‘fraud.’ Which is a bit scary isn’t it?

Just like every other Kardashian news, Kris Jenner has stuck her beaky beak in with some objections. She thinks that the publicity that Humphries has gained has made him a much more pleasing opportunity when it comes to marketing himself, even though having anything to do with that family will leave a 666 tattooed on your scalp, and that they drew up and long and complicated pre-nuptial agreement that Jenner is saying that Kim wouldn’t have bothered doing if she was only intending to stay married for a matter of days. Even though it was probably Jenner who drew up the agreement in the first place.

To be honest, seeing anyone wipe the self serving smile off any one of the Kardashian’s faces is A-OK with us. They’re very awful.

Hahaha! Aw, bless! Kim Kardashian is making a tall claim. A really, really tall one. So tall, it’s a certifiable freak-show. Basically, she’s trying to convince us all that she’s got a soul. And with it, she’s searched it. A lot.

That’s right, the term, ‘soul-searching’ has been mentioned in the inevitable and orchestrated break-up between Kim K and thundering, hoof-footed ball tosser, Kris Humphries.

Basically, that’s a lot of soul-searching over a 72-day marriage. The kind of soul-searching that saw the willfully stupid Kim going to the vapid, finance hungry Kardashian family for advice on what to do. It’s like Wuthering Heights or something.

She said, without any trace of irony:

“I really did some soul-searching, and I needed that. I needed to just be with the family.”

Presumably, the family reminded her that she never loved Kris Humphries and in fact, the whole reason she went through with this farce wedding was to make money and that, if you believe the reports, she made up to $18 million from it.

Basically, the advice would have been: ‘Don’t worry sweetie. It was only ever about money and prestige. Therefore, it’s the most successful marriage you could’ve ever hoped for, right?‘

BUT WAIT! WHAT’S THIS?

She told ‘Live! With Kelly’ host Kelly Ripa:

“If you really think about it, if [the marriage] was a business decision, and I really made all that money that everyone was claiming that we made off this wedding, and if the wedding was fake and just for TV.

“I’m a smart business woman. I would have stayed married longer. This was a bad business decision. If you really think about it, it doesn’t make sense.”

It’s at this point, we’d speculate that the business deal fell down because the couple would need to have sex at some point, but that obviously isn’t a problem for Kim ‘Starred In A Presumably Self-Leaked Sex Tape With Brandy’s Brother Ray J’ Kardashian, is it?

She continued:

“It’s been a hard couple of months. I really didn’t think that following my heart would create this much backlash.”

Quick! Someone call a WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHmbulance!

Hello! This story doesn’t make any sense! In fact, this story is so categorically stupid that it requires a key. So, here is a key.

KEY, YEAH?

*SCOTT JORDAN – Man who says he looks like Justin Timberlake and substantiates this claim with a photo of himself in a trilby, which apparently is something the REAL Justin Timberlake would do. In 2002, at a stretch, possibly, Scott.
*KITTY BRUCKNELL – Lead singer of Wham OR something a bit Councillor of the Exchequer-y, we forget. Something a bit like that.

So Kitty Brucknell (Check the key)  Yes, THE Kitty Brucknell, has reportedly broken up the marriage of a Justin Timberlake impersonator. That’s what we’re working with here. That’s entirely what has happened, yep.

It’s just exhausting really, isn’t it? We work hard all day. We come home, and Kitty Brucknell has had sex all over a Justin Timberlake impersonator. Well, we suppose we could take the coherent objective of: “HEY! Who hasn’t?” But as we well know, we would be lying to both you, us, and perhaps most importantly of all: every single person in the world who has not had sex with Scott Jordan, the Justin Timberlake Impersonator.

And nobody is quite NOT having any sex whatsoever with Scott Jordan, The Justin Timberlake Impersonator than his wife (Shit!) Mrs Justin Timberlake impersonator. (SHIT!) No sur’ee, definitely not a wink of frottage going on in that partnership, that’s for sure. Not any more at least, for that heart has been taken into the warm, ethereal, in-need-of-a-good-moisturise-if-you-ask-us hands of Kitty Brucknell, whom has been named on the divorce papers as being the sole reason for the relationships’ demise. You know, that man who you haven’t heard of at all ever.

No, not Matthew Wright from the Wright Stuff! This other one.

Dare you to thumbs-down it, just to be a dick.

Anyway – according to “Scott Jordan” (*Throws up arms in manner of Michael McIntyre demonstrating something we can relate to*) this woman is KRAZY. Like KANDY FLOSS WITH A K, kind of crazy.

‘She is a monster who does not think twice about tearing other people’s lives apart to get what she wants.

‘She thought being with me would make her famous and get her in the papers and she didn’t care about how her manipulations and lies could have destroyed my career and my marriage.

‘My wife has been subjected to Kitty’s disgusting taunts and lies over the phone.

‘She makes me feel sick.’

Come on, Woman from The X Factor who looks like the sort who person who eats their own leg hair for sport and spent time in rooms containing lockable doors with Louis Walsh? Crazy? That word gets thrown around too much these days. CHEERS FOR THAT ONE, “GNARLS BARKLEY”

Come on Scott, the second best pop star impersonator of all time, (Yeah, as if we were going to let THIS sucker slide) she’s one of those lovable mentals, like Jack The Ripper, or Amanda Holden. All she did was break up your marriage with sex and violence. We do that sometimes instead of sleeping, or eating toast. Yeah, we beat our wives. That’s how we’re choosing to sum up this one. BAD WIVES.

Dreadful orange sloppy-seconds-bargain-bin-Jordan Chantelle ‘Chantelle’ Houghton, not content with hawking her fake breasts, fake eyelashes and, we presume, non-fake pregnant belly has this week launched an all-out assault on anyone with any sense of decorum whatsoever.

Appearing in nothing more than a bikini in more tatty publications and websites than we were even aware existed (Celebrity Baby Scoop anyone? Anyone? We’re not even making it up) Chantelle has been coining it something rotten from her four-month old child, serving only to remind the world that she is swelled with the product of ex-Katie Price ‘Reidenator’ Alex Reid.

‘Reidenator’. Yes. Katie ‘Jordan’ Price said that out loud.

Do you know what Chantelle said out loud, discussing her apparent inability to get pregnant – because that’s just the thing to mention when promoting one’s new range of fake eyelashes that no-one will buy when the Girls Aloud ones are still on the shelves in Boots no matter how pregnant you are – do you? This:

‘What’s the saying? Where there’s a sperm, there’s a way. I only release an egg three times a year, so the chances of me actually getting pregnant naturally were one per cent – slim to none. I think maybe it happened because we weren’t just having sex to get pregnant any more.’

Ensuring that any right-thinking person vomits from their very eyes at the thought of ‘Reidenating’ in action and never has sex with anyone again.

Chantelle’s unborn foetus was unavailable for comment at time of publication, but sources claim it could live without all the front-page manky magazine coverage until it’s at least born, but is getting-on ok with its housemates and has even nicknamed them “The Silicone Twins”.

And is very proud of it’s mother.

Remember when Kelly Rowland didn’t have that nose and those boobs? And all that new hair too. She’s a transformed woman! As a result, she’s got herself a moderately successful solo career and some TV work.

Alas, everyone was absolutely convinced that she was drunk all the time. Y’all. Y’ally, y’all y’all.

And so, now she’s happy with the way she looks and got herself a healthy bank account, she’s a dream woman to date, right? Not that any of you pig-ugly berks stand a chance… but you can dream. NO YOU CAN’T. That’s because, and this is from the Destiny’s Horse’s mouth, she’s not an easy woman to date.

You won’t believe this, but the wealthy, successful, lived-in-a-bubble for over a decade superstar has revealed that she is often too bossy and demanding and can put men off with her overpowering nature.

That’s a massive shock right? We all thought she was really down to Earth. Honestly we did.

Speaking to The Mirror:

“The desire to be in control and decide everything myself as much as possible gets in the way.”

“The fact that I can act a little bossy has ruined quite a few dates. I choose the restaurant, I open the door myself, sometimes I’ll even pay the bill. I really have to learn to let a man be a gentleman.

“That’s probably one of the reasons why I’m single. I get in the way of myself when it comes to men.”

Wait. Sometimes she pays the bill? She should ALWAYS pay the bill, not least because she’s helped to further the career of David effing Guetta.

She may be single but that doesn’t mean that the Destiny’s Child star is celibate. She admitted that she currently has the best of both friends, with a ‘special friend’ that she likes to get a bit jiggy with every now and again.

She added:

“I’m actually single but, you know, you have your little things on the side. There’s nobody I’m dating but I have a special friend.”

Ah yes. Kelly’s booty calls that she’s so determined to tell everyone about all the stinking time.  One has to assume that this is different to any other woman in a similar situation in Kelly’s mind. That’s because she’s gaspingly deluded. It’s kinda fun to watch, right?

Let us hope that she ends up going a bit more mental in the coming months.

Hey you, quick, come out from behind the sofa. It’s all over, honest. After nearly four months, the auto-tuned X Factor singers won’t be making anymore feature length appearances on ITV to ruin your weekend.

As we all know, Little Mix were voted as the winners. Or, it was all fixed by Simon Cowell for them so we can have a girl group that are slightly more polished around the edges than when Girls Aloud first started out. Learn from your mistakes and whatnot.

So how exactly do you celebrate winning a national competition which has been steadily declining in viewers each week? Sip on champagne whilst hanging out with record execs? Little Mix had Tulisa as a mentor. She took them for a kebab instead.

For the scum of society like us, a kebab is nothing more than delicious thin strips of oily brown meat, presented in a polystyrene box. The grub itself is nothing more but lamb baws and horse gristle smashed together to make something described as a food stuff you can shove down your throat ’til you wretch.

But Little Mix and Tulisa aren’t like us common folk who’ll coat their post pub treat in gallons of garlic sauce before dropping it all over themselves.

They’ll be dining in places where kebabs are from fresh cuts of wild boar, unicorn and bear.

Taking to Twitter after they’d all munched a rough piece of meat that had been stewing in its own juices for weeks, Tulisa said:

“What do ya do after ur act wins the xfactor?”

You should bloody know as we already written a few hundred words about it, but anways:

“…go 2 ur local kebab shop of course, wooooiiiiiii….”

We’re looking at you Jesy Mix. You greedy little Muffin you.

Hello. Do you remember when you watched The X Factor final yesterday? Well, by an astonishing coincidence, so did we. And crikey, wasn’t it just totally and definitely and absolutely unequivocally passable? Yeah. Take that, H8ERS.

*Dermot tongue roll* ALRIIIIGHT. It was in two halves, like the bloody brilliant darling that it is. Is it possible to be too entertained? The answer is of course c) Kaposi’s sarcoma.

Nonetheless, yes they absolutely poured out a grand total of FOUR. HOURS. That’s like an hour and twenty minutes per finalist. How many times can we hear Marcus say, “I used to be a hairdresser, and now I’m a singer a bit.” over and over in varying incorporations? Obviously, once you chop out all the adverts that’s only about twelve minutes or so though, obviously. No bigz.  So then. We love adverts. They really really make us want to buy produce via an amusing or creative short film piece. Our favourite advert of course is the one where the little boy can’t wait to give his parents a Christmas present, and how it really really made us want to buy padlocks for our doors. Oh alright, “The X Factor” then. Here’s loads of wank about it, in two sections.

SATURDAY

Hello, we didn’t watch Saturday’s X Factor. Why would we? But if we HAD, the review would have gone something along the lines of this:

Oh crikey, look at all these dead sparrows and PVC and contraceptive pills strewn upon Wembley Stadium. We guess it must be the penultimate X Factor final show! So for those of you who missed it (JEEZ GUYS WHERE WERE YOU? We bought dip, and everything) – Dermot hot stepped to Domi Aragoto Mr Roboto in a tank with women wearing Jodie Marsh’s army belt outfit (this was before the pumping steroids into her neck phase) and – were those tears? Oh no, it’s just perspiration from being sewn into grey woollens for the past three years.

Well, first up to perform was definitely Amelia Lily, which we know for absolute definite. Well, wasn’t she good, gang? Yes, she really sang that Christina Aguilera ballad with quite the pazzazz and passion that Christina Aguilera hardly ever bothers about. And not to mention that bit where the smoke surrounded her and the other stuff happened, that was our favourite bit. Obviously that key change was a little bit too emotional for our tastes, but that’s just because we’re fragile. Amelia’s choice of outfit was a bit ‘punk’ as well, wasn’t it? You could take someone’s eye out with that thing. Nick Broomfield basically did a documentary about it because it was so sadomasochistically wounded. The judges LOVED. IT.  Louis completely rammed Kelly in approval of picking a song for Amelia that he had heard of. It wasn’t our favourite sex we’ve ever seen, but it was better than the Alex Reid porno marginally, and we’re very lonely. He’s having a baby now.

And then up came LITTLE MIX to perform some songs about what on Earth it could possibly be like to be young normal women, which we’ve always been completely nonplussed about. We mean, “women who are down to earth”. It doesn’t really seem to make much sense, seeing as how Queen Elizabeth I was a woman, and how Heidi Klum is DEFINITELY a woman. It makes sense, no. Nonetheless we’re sure you all enjoyed Little Mix’s medley of “Survivor”/”Sisters are doing it for themselves”/”I Will Survive”/”You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman”/”Woman”/”Women”/”Girl”/”Girls”/”Girls Girls Girls”. We sure did. But you know what we’re like, we love everything. We’re like a walking Tom Jones allegory.

Finally to perform was MARCUS COLLINS. Warraguy. Loved it when Marcus trotted down those steps in Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka costume from 1971 and sang the entire saxophone solo from Careless Whisper in particular, all the other stuff we could take or leaves. Tulisa going off on a massive scavenger hunt for self esteem half way through his performance was a trifle odd though, we must say – but then again she did grow up in a box in Camden so we’ll let her off.

Then they all sang again, this time with the judges because otherwise they’d have to dare we say it, ask professionals or something, and Gary Barlow played the piano in a manner of sincerity. Don’t say they don’t treat you. They do. Sound about right? Okay good.

(Oh and Amelia Lily got voted out. Devastation for da nation.)

SUNDAY

Christ sake. This again.

So this was the final FINALLY FINAL kind of X Factor final. Everything was so darn, FINAL about it. Wembley was there, Coldplay was there, Louis wore the entire concept of Hugh Heffner. It was all just very much there. All you could ever want from television. Olly Murs was there for Christ sake! Olly Murs! You don’t see him around much these days, do you? Aside from every waking second OBV, but who can’t have enough Olly Murs?

The proceedings began with a manic display of wonder and glory. (Oh no, not glory, what’s that other word? Oh right yeah, tedium.) and that. Yes, it was the group performance we’ve all been wrestling in our sleep over for the past three months. But wait one cotton-picking, Stacey Solomon singing Chris Rea MOMENT OF COMPLETE LACK OF REASON, there was Goldie! As in Goldie off of When Goldie Used To Be On The X Factor fame, who sings something inexplicably wrong and then crushes Dermot to death with a loving embrace akin to that of the bloke that gets spattered by a propeller in Titanic. Absolutely outstanding work, and better yet, no Frankie Cocozza – this just gets better and better. WE LOVE THE X FACTOR! Merry Amazing Christmas.

And, as Tolstoy always said, you can take the Frankie Cocozza out of the M&S advert, and apparently you can edit him out of life too. Always a rushing flurry of hope to our hearts, that little factoid. And seeing as we love not committing lots and lots of suicide, it works out pretty well all round.

Now, talking of singing some songs by some singers of song…

Kicking things off was Marcus with his personal highlight of the series, which turns out to be Higher and Higher, even though it was Reet Petite and oh, it doesn’t matter. It’s a minute and a half orchestration of something that at some point or another was made with love and care with the express determination to never be on a Debenhams advert. AS IT IS… Sherlock Rowland cleverly deduces that Higher and Higher is not only a song, but the way Marcus’ career is no doubt going, Y’ALL. Obviously she’s wrong in every single fibre, but to be fair does look like she’s been necking Terry Wogan’s special hand lotion for the past decade.

What do you mean, you want to know how Marcus did? No you don’t. There were still two hours to go. Time is actually replenishing. Next up after Marcus, was definitely not Marcus, which was kind of encouraging. LITTLE MIX of course. Or Little Muffins as Tulisa will desperately chip away at until she gets through the door and hacks Shelly Duvall to death clearly. Little Muffins though… Is that sentimental? Or is that just referring to your ‘friends’ (Tulisa. Seriously. Pull the other one) as big doughy balls of fat? We mean… Muffins. Don’t let us go on about it or anything, but muffins? Did Tulisa even stop to think that there might be a manifestation of foetal rubella infection called Blue Muffin Syndrome? Congrats Tulisa, sterling work as ever. Oh she also calls N Dubz fans her little ‘dublettes’  Nope, we’re staying well away from that one. Well away.

Remember when they used to be called Rhythamix? Those were the days. They should have just called themselves CHICKS WITH DICKS. That would’ve been awesome. We think this is possibly where The Saturdays are going wrong.

So what did the ITTLE WITTLE SUGAR LUMP GANG BANG IN CAR PARK MIXYMOOMINS pick for their final song? Obviously obviously it was the En Vogue one, due to it being catastrophically fan-fucking-tastic. Hark, it’s a bit like music almost. Get used to it.

With the contestants done in four and a half minutes, you’d think ITV1 might have to succumb to some dodgy filler material. Not a chance. We were proved staggeringly wrong with a very well thought out outside segment (YES, IT’S THE OUTSIDE SEGMENTS! Last year someone made Matt Cardle a David Cameron pizza! No one knows why!) of Olly Murs and Caroline Flack (or cock-whore-pedophile-bitch as we hear she’s moonlighting as these days) try and communicate with Dermot (HAHA ‘communicating with Dermot O Leary.’ THE THOUGHT!) whilst shoving screaming mental patients away from their shiny knees and precisely measured hints of popularity. Like we said before, we love The X Factor.

And then, to cries of ‘oh go on then‘, four hundred extra songs for the two contenders then. It’s Sunday night, we’ve got a busy working week, let’s treat ourselves… with Christmas songs. Bum. Marcus sang what confusingly sounded like a retro version of Last Christmas. A ‘retro’ version of Last Christmas, that came about in 1985, that would be. Bloody hell Marcus, buy some roller blades. Don’t get us started on the whole saying “Happy Christmas” instead of “Merry Christmas” in such a throwaway manner anyway, when we all very very much know the correct way to say the Merry Christmas bit when performing the popular festive number Last Christmas.

We’ve not been this disappointed since Bono didn’t sing “WELL TONIGHT THANK GOD IT’S THEM INSTEAD OF YOU” really loud in Band Aid 20 like he did in the 80s one. Or alternatively, we haven’t been this disappointed since Bono. We cater for all your needs.

Gary at some point around this stage accidently said “Sex Factor” we noticed, which is a bit of an exciting thing for him to do, for him, isn’t it? He would have had to listen to an entire Fleet Foxes EP to get back on track there. Little Mix then followed with their version of Silent Night and it was dull, but Christ, the hot blonde one is quite notably attractive. But then Westlife come on. We’re never complaining ever again. COME BACK LITTLE MIX AND SING AN ACAPELLA BARBERSHOP QUARTET VERSION OF SHALOM. Or a terriballs cover of Cannonball. We’re good either way.

You know how all the teenagers of today say how ‘good’ is like, ‘bad’, and like ‘sick’ is like ‘good’ and how ‘bad’ is like ‘good’? Well we mean good in the sort of ‘not good’ kind of way of good. You know, like how the teenagers do.

Then…

THE BIT WHERE THEY ALL SING CANNONBALL EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS TO THE POINT OF RELAPSE

We hated it very very much and wish it had not happened ever.

Finally, after a lot of faffing about and Coldplay, and all that sort of thing, we came to a rough compromise that we’ll let ‘inspiring women’ win The X Factor for a change instead of a shivery man. CONGRATULATIONS LITTLE MIX. You have made X Factor “history” as Phil Schofield is calling it these days. What a terrible Christmas No. 1 this is going to be though. Maybe we should fritter away our entire Christmas holiday, all join forces and try and get a post-post-ironic non-entity to Number One instead! Fuck family and Argos and Jesus!

(Just checked Brian May’s blog for his thoughts on the X Factor winners. Don’t think he’s caught up on the results yet. He must have been busy playing Bohemian Rhapsody for a cow in a field.)

Now for god’s sake, look at the state of this.

FOR GOD’S SAKE. Let’s never EVER do this ever again.

Tomorrow is the final of the X Factor. It’s the one episode of the series that most of the general public tune-in for, apart from the audition rounds when we can laugh at delusional, frog-eyed members of the public.

Other talent shows may spend the maximum of sixty minutes announcing their winner, but X Factor will be stretching the process over four hours across the weekend. Unless you bought into the conspiracy theory that Amelia Lily is set to win due to the HMV pre-order error, then you have no real reason to watch. Unless your life is completely empty and devoid of any human contact.

X Factor has never produced a winning group, meaning that Tulisa will be spurring on her act – Little Mix – to victory. Aside from the records, the magazine shoots and inevitable quirky interview with some Channel 4 yoof show, what else can they do for us? According to mentor Tulisa, they can make a massive difference to our lives. We hope so, the guttering needs doing.

Like a gypsy at a carnival who alleges they can predict your future, the claim that they can make our meaningless existence better is a rather bold one.

Surely it’s some sort of scam that’s been hatched in a Nigerian internet café?

These claims have surfaced before. It’s not the first time someone in pop music has told us that buying a record can make your life better.

And did The Tamperer make our lives significantly more worthwhile? Basically, this was the musical equivalent of magic beans. An empty promise that delivered nothing but shattered dreams and endless streams of hot tears. After the long recovery to normality, we’re dubious of another bold claim, this time stated by Tulisa. The cynic in us makes us think that she partly wants to win to make a name for herself as well:

“I’m the youngest judge, it’s my first year and I want to change X Factor history with these little muffins behind me. I think the thing about these girls is that if they got this record deal, they wouldn’t just bring a record out, they’d also be inspiring women across this country. Young and older. I think they’d made a difference to people’s lives as well as their ears.”

When we think of women who inspire, we immediately cast our minds to the Pankhurt sisters who fought for the right for the female vote. Elsewhere, the panel on Loose Women demonstrate that, if you’re vaguely known in the public eye, you can sit round a table for an hour and make sexual innuendo for a lunchtime audience.

Tulisa has built them up to be some sort of pop act that’ll happily nurse defecating pensioners in a home and then, in the blink of an eye, they’ll shoot across the country to fill in at a school variety show when one of the acts pulls out due to a sore tummy.

Let’s just forget about all the ‘nearly running a charity into the ground business’ eh?

If the worst happens to Little Mix then they can always exploit their own band name to make a living in the confectionary trade where they’ll glam up the pick & mix industry. Or, they won’t charge £3 for a handful of cola cubes.

Maths. That most hated of subjects for millions of schoolchildren every year. It’s truly evil. And last night, it proved that its terrifying evil grip extends beyond the classroom and into reality TV, as Lord Sugar found himself having to fire four people at once because somebody somewhere had forgotten to match the number of candidates to the number of weeks they’re on air.

You’d think that one of Lord Sugar’s minions can count, wouldn’t you? But it seems that millions of pounds can’t buy you competent staff or stop simple maths from cocking up your reality TV show.

And so Lord Sugar found himself with six children, and only two spaces in next week’s final. His solution to this problem? Popcorn.

Yes, the Dark Lord wanted his tiny little minions to come up with a new brand of popcorn. And then he was going to fire the entire losing team. And one person from the winning team, just because he felt like being really, really unfair. He said something about it being a first on the Apprentice which we assume was meant to make us go “oooh, how exciting!”

We didn’t.

After the rejig, Posh Harry and Other Harry found themselves working with Lizzie, whilst Zara, Irish James and Heya formed the other team. And then they were all irrationally dragged up to Leeds, presumably just so they could sit in the back of the car and whinge about whether or not they were there yet, and maybe give each other dead legs a few times.

Once safely in the hotel, it was time for the weekly battle for the position of Project Manager, which oddly became like the last election as Lizzie and Heya found themselves playing Nick Clegg and picking the winner. Strangely enough though, both of them steered clear of the posh idiots, and so Other Harry and Irish James became Project Manager. Which stomped on our Clegg-Cameron analogy quite nicely. Stupid children.

Posh Harry was inevitably deeply unhappy about not being appointed PM, and so decided to act like a spoiled brat. Just for a change. He came up with a dreadful idea to name their popcorn “Smoochies” and WOULD NOT SHUT UP about it.

Even after Lizzie and Other Harry had decided on American-style popcorn and called it Empire State, he still kept going on and on and on and on and then a bit more on about Smoochies. Apparently it had something to do with molesting people in the back row of the cinema. Which is something we NEVER want to think about Posh Harry doing.

Irish James & Co meanwhile had come up with a plan to sell Mediterranean popcorn. Unfortunately for them though, they suffered from a terminal lack of imagination and a complete misunderstanding of where the Mediterranean actually is, and so called their popcorn “La Popcorn”. Because obviously, popcorn with Italian flavours should have a French name.

The name wasn’t even the worst of their problems though, because it turned out that their feta and olive popcorn tasted like the rankest thing on earth. Everyone who tried it pulled faces so disgusted, that you’d think they were watching a girl defecate into a cup.

After the teams went off and did some disappointingly good pitches, it was time for the boardroom, where Irish James’s team and their cheesy popcorn surprised everyone by winning the task thanks to a gigantic order from Morrison’s. Evidently, their customers don’t own tastebuds, so it isn’t surprising at all really.

It was a business decision that seemed to completely cock up the Sith Lord’s plan though, as he found himself having to pretend that he was absolutely fine with having what was quite clearly the worse of the two teams through to the final. He gave the Harrys and Lizzie his card, and tried his best not to sob like a child when saying his overly emotional farewell to them. It was so overly emotional that he didn’t even tell them they were fired. THAT’S feeling for you. We know your secret, Sith Lord.

But maths wasn’t done playing its evil, horrible tricks on Lord Sugar just yet. No, he still had to ditch another child, so he called the winners back in to interrogate them about who was a bit shit.

The unanimous decision was that Heya was a bit hopeless, so she got sent home, leaving Zara and Posh James in the final. And Lord Sugar probably in need of some form of therapy. Or a maths tutor. Either would probably be fine.

Here at hecklerspray, we’re generally less than thrilled when one of our colleagues has any success that we weren’t part of. In fact we hate them and wish them nothing but sorrow on a daily basis.

We generally despise anyone who seems to be doing well or progressing in their career because we’re entirely aware of how useless we really are and that the only difference between us and a 5 year old, is our ability to drink heavily and use spellcheck.

Are we bitter about this?

Of course.

However, someone who isn’t at all bitter about the fact his fellow McFly band member Dougie Poynter won ‘I’m a Celebrity’ this year, is Danny Jones, who celebrated on Twitter by showing everyone what he looks like underneath his clothes, much to the delight of the female hecklerspray staff who haven’t seen naked flesh in over a decade.

Possibly responsible for Dougie’s win, Danny tweeted:

‘Ok I’ll go even better!! If Dougie wins I’m a celeb I will tweet a naked picture

Funnily enough, Dougie won.

So as promised, Danny exposed his body to the world, hiding his penis in a cup which he’ll no doubt autograph in blood and we’ll bid for on eBay.

SO WHERE IS THE DAMN PICTURE?? you whimper…..well you can see it below if you like that sort of thing.

Just remember. God is watching.

We have two more weeks of The X Factor left, and then we can go and do something else in our brains. We know. It’s amazing. Amazing how it’s all gone so marrow-achingly slow isn’t it? Amazing how time can absolutely not shift for three months in the slightest sometimes.

Amazing. A bit like how 2001: A Space Odyssey covered thousands of years scoping from the dawn of men to beyond the infinite. Or a bit like how The Curious Case of Benjamin Button lasted infinity-hundred hours long and achieved absolute zippo. A bit like that, a BIT like that…

And hey! Talking of clutching at straws…

This week on The X Factor it was of course Psychological Meltdown Motown week and Unrelated Other Song To Fill In The 50 Minute Gap week. Well, it’s about bloody time.

Last week we ‘lost’ Janet Devlin, and by ‘lost’ we of course mean “We sat on our clammy posteriors and watched as her popularity slowly dwindled into nothing as appropriated by the people who do actually vote for X Factor.” We just like to be concise.

Okay so, life changing recording contract, “I want to be in the final so much”, “I am excited”, and all that sort of thing. That’s what we’re contending with as we cross through into the semi-final, so kind of a big deal. Not in the scope of reality or anything, but in the scope of Louis Walsh’s bath nights schedule for the week, it’s absolutely paramount.

For your viewing pleasure or something to that effect, we of course had:

• AMELIA LILY!
• MISHA B!
• MARCUS… We usually forget his name and have to Google it! Marcus Brigstocke possibly!
• LITTLE MIX!

There you are. No no. YOU’RE welcome.

FACTLET: The X Factor Opening Titles go on for 2 minutes and 35 seconds. You know what you can do in 2 minutes and 35 seconds?

*Do 2 minutes and 35 seconds of a task that ultimately will take much longer but perhaps might be more emotionally fulfilling!
*Listen to the entirety of Wipeout by The Sufaris with no burden to bear!
*But mostly the first thing we mentioned!

For those of you haven’t watched it/did not take part in the Ludovico experiment this week/think that Dermot O Leary fella is a bit ‘ehhh’, we have provided you with a blow by blow fully detailed description of this week’s dance routine, because we are kindly and attentive and want to mother you. No no, seriously guys, it’s absolutely no bother.

1. The X Factor doors open to the tune of Do You Love Me by The Contours, which is a song about emotional insecurity and doing the mashed potato.
2. Dermot appears in badly fitting suit perpetrating a basic Stationary Hand Jive routine.
3. Scantily clad women stand next to him perpetrating a basic Stationary Hand Jive routine.
4. Dermot jumps a bit to the left, and then a bit to the right. (This bit’s important.)
5. Dermot turns around and shakes around his backside like he’s in the SEX PISTOLS or something.
6. Dermot looks embarrassed, and all the girls run away.

But, hey. That’s just involuntary abstinence for you.

“Tonight they’re facing the toughest judges of them all. That’ll be YOU,” Dermot warned us in the sort of Orwell-esque manner of omnipotence that only he can pull off and first up to perform, and for an absolutely incredibly sparse chance at performing in the live final because she’s been unreasonably edited to fuck from Day 1, was Misha B!

This week in her everlasting menagerie of Humble Field Trips, the X Factor producers forced Misha visit lots of sick children to try and evoke some sort of caring in her artificial vestibule of hatred that the X Factor producers created in the first place. It didn’t work obviously. Slag.

Misha sang the covered to death Dancing in the Street in a dress made out of broken records, and here is a carefully orchestrated joke about that.

Hey Misha! Maybe you should change the record!

(dress!)

…

Alright.

Well everybody loved that performance, especially Kelly who managed to unfurl 80 extra hidden meanings from the Mick Jagger barnstomper by saying “You’re not just dancing in the street! You’re dancing on OTHER indeterminate locations too!” Seriously, this woman is the effin’ Sphinx. Exhausting. Then we had to go through the WHOLE Louis Walsh says Berry Gordy is dead thing which is a bit of a silly thing to say considering at no point on Saturday the 3rd of December was Berry Gordy actually dead. No biggy Louis, we all make mistakes.

And then there was Amelia Lily with Aint No Mountain High Enough, which is a song about how no level of altitude can keep James Stewart from dressing Kim Novack as a double of his dead wife. Or something. You know, WE’VE GOT A LOT ON.

This all led to us being very confused over whether she looked darn attractive in a 60s Nancy Sinatra way or just a bit trashy in a modern day Twiggy M&S advert kinda way. Either way, it’s a bit of a grey area for us, and it’s probably easier for us not to bother. The dress code of the dancers seemed altogether a little bit more confusing. Houndstooth and tartan? Is that ‘The 60s‘? Let’s just check Wikipedia’s page for the 60s just to make sure. Blah blah blah – radical political change – blah blah blah – centre left social reforms – yadda yadda yadda – The African American civil rights movement… Oop. Hang about. “EVERYONE IN THE 60S LIKED TO WEAR FUNKY PATTERNS” it says. Ah, fair enough. Amelia sang the song vaguely well, basically giving her the exact capabilities as all the Jesuses. That sounds pretty serious. Let’s not deal with that.

“YOU SOUND AMAZING!”IOO”JOJI!IO!HIDBISH!” Kelly Rowland reported in a kind of cerebrovascular accident kinda way. (This is the same Kelly Rowland who wrote the song Stole, which is about a song with a girl who has same size hands as Marilyn Monroe, FYI)

Little Mix up next, singing We Are Nonthreatening But Women Nonetheless! By The Supremes. Ah, that wouldn’t be The Supremes, the collective compromising of quite a fair few women singing at the same time would it? Because… Wait, hold the phone. Don’t Little Mix do something to that effect? Flaming, third degree burns Nora! That’s too much of a coincidence. Assumingly then this was going to be absolutely amazing. So, what degree of amazing did it end up being we hear you cry whilst you claw at our ankles sobbing for catharsis? WELL. If only we had some sort of scale…

Oh dear. So what went wrong? HOW COULD THIS HAVE POSSIBLY GONE WRONG? What is THAT ANSWER? Will we ever even truly know?

Well, they didn’t sing it very well and someone forgot the words. Next week, we’ll sort all that Atlantis and Jack the Ripper stuff out everyone keeps harping on about. Anyway, hot blonde baritone Mix kind of saved it a bit though, which our Spiritual Guide Gary Barlow later points out saying that Peri (Oop. careful Gary, if you name them, you might generate an emotional attachment) should be the lead singer.

“That’s what this group is missing. A lead singer.”

A very interesting Robbie Williams ’90s solo career-y point well made.

“DIANA ROSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” – Louis added.

It’s actually something of an achievement that The X Factor has gone this far in the competition (Say about..six weeks) without featuring Robbie Williams actually. And here we were worried that the show was…dare we say it, missing the mark of what constitutes as entertainment! Pah. Oh how wrong we were!

Oh wait, there he is with Marcus Collins wearing a cravat. Ah well, we had a good run.

Yeah, that brings us quite messily on to Marcus Collins, who was performing a song that may or may not make us want to ‘get up and dance’ as the dubstep generation like to call all that sex these days. Oh, alright. Not really. God, we’re such jokers. He sang My Girl, which he presumably sang about one of his female platonic friends that he is not boning dry. Ah, so that’s why Robbie Williams came in to give him some advice this week! Gotcha. Gotcha. (Banal early 2000s Robbie Williams homosexuality jokes! Yes we ARE really pushing the boat out this week, thanks for playing!)

“I was hoping you were singing for me.” Kelly told Marcus. Marcus smiles and nods respectfully, as that is all he can offer her.

Mi-Icantbelieveimintouchingdistanceandidontwantittoend-sha B was up again, singing “Humble” the Gary Barlow remix, by SadPink. It’s good-at-singing kind of good. But that doesn’t matter.

Amelia came back singing I’M WITH YOU by AVRIL LAVIGNE which is a song about feelings and being with someone but them not actually being there. Still confused? Okay. It’s like An Affair to Remember with early 2000s pop-punk, and when we say ‘like’ we mean EXACTLY THE SAME. Deborah Kerr probably got a bit angsty and wore a tie with a vest top in her spare time too. We’ve all been there. And we all made it through. Clearly.

Amelia sang the song in that classic Amelia Lily Loud singing/Whisper Singing/Louder Singing/Nicole Kidman Bronchitis Moulin Rouge Whisper singing way. But does this mean that she didn’t absolutely definitely mean EVERY SINGLE WORD? Of course she did! God, we really aren’t taking this very seriously tonight. Apologies to Avril Lavigne, or alternatively: People with actual problems. Cheers guys.

“With that song [That song being ‘I’m With You’ by Avril  Lavigne just to remind you] it’s like you are telling a story. And you have to sing that song as if you are telling a story.”

Which you’ll be shocked into a catatonic state to hear Tulisa came out with at one point. But it turns out it’s actually a very fair point! Seeing as:

“I’m With You” by Avril Lavigne is about Avril Lavigne standing on a bridge waiting in the dark for someone to come and take her hand, and then if there’s time, take her somewhere new. Now, she doesn’t know who this IS, but rest assured she is with them in a metaphorical sense despite him not being physically there. Now CALL US PICKY but we’d think of that more as an experimental William S Burroughs Beat Novel more than a story, per se Tulisa. But hey, ‘that’s just us’.

“Pipes” Kelly Rowland added.

Marcus Collins was up again, or if you prefer, Marcus“afewmonthsagoiwasahairdresserworking9to5andnowiminlondon&itssofunny” Collins, as is is his more catchy pseudonym, sang Can You Feel It. Well, when we say ‘Sang Can You Feel It’ we mean more like ‘inquisitively questioned Can You Feel It in a tentative yet hopeful for one singular sensual brush of the skin of another kind of way’, which we assume is the way Michael Jackson intended it to sound! Hurray!

Sadly, he didn’t muse on what ‘she’ would look like with a ‘chimney on her’, which would have been amazing.

And finally, Little Mix came along to sing ‘If I were a Boy’ which doesn’t work as a group song at all, so Tulisa spits mentals and starts rifling off every single local region in the UK and telling them to vote for Little Mix, like how Winston Churchill used to do when he was trying to get people to vote for Little Mix.

The Little Mixicans (As nobody should EVER call them) say something about how ‘they don’t want to be perfect’ which is why they sang the song about wanting to be boys, because women are biologically inferior as we all know – and then everything came crashing to a close in a mass of violent shrugs.

Shit on that ending, Shawshank Redemption.

THE RESULTS

*Call us picky, but we absolutely loathe Justin Bieber’s bollocks excuse for a Christmas song and don’t like Justin Bieber at all or would ever try and single out any redeeming quality to the fabric of his existence.

*Bye Misha. That’ll teach you to try and bring your talent and very broad vocal range on to The X Factor.

*The sound editors surpass themselves by playing Dream Is Collapsing from the Inception soundtrack over Marcus’  VT where he talks exclusively about how getting through to the final would be his dream. Very good.

*We got to hear that really emotionally taxing Jessie J ballad again, and only for the third time in the space of three weeks. Oh Mr Ambassador, you really are spoiling us etc.

*It is uncanny just how much Tulisa looks like Debenhams and Mkat  sometimes.

*Perez Philtrum appears in the ad break even though nobody wanted him to.

*Kelly Rowland uses soliloquy in pop music, and it is theoretically hells-a-mazing. It was perhaps the most precise mixture of Orbital and Dr Faustus in RnB pop history we have ever seen. But we’re just speculating.

Next week is the final. Or as we like to call it: ‘The Hecklerspray Christmas Party where we’ll deliver a really drab, hungover last minute mess of a review’ This means we’ll only be putting in aprox. 5 billion percent more effort into the review than ITV will be putting into the actual contents of the show, so we’ll call that fifteen love.

Well, what another hotbed of mayhem and violation of societal norms it’s been on the X Factor this week.

Whatever you do, don’t let us go on and on about it, kay?

This week on The X Factor, the sound editors got in an extra crate of Aftershock (Spiced Berry black, obviously. They’re not squares) and decided to insult our intelligence! Yeah, as opposed to the norm of respecting us with sincere background music choices that somehow formulate a narrative on a reality entertainment show. Yeah, truth man!

For those of you who sat in the dark murmuring, “Mother, please. I don’t want to” last week, instead of watching The X Factor, never fear – for we have a handy update for you!

That’s right: Life isn’t fair.

This week however, there’ll be none of that because we are now three live shows away from finding out who will be the ultimate winner of THE HALF-BAKED 2011 SERIES OF X FACTOR! We genuinely have no idea who could possibly Marcus Collins win this year, so it’s going to be a really tough Marcus Collins race to find out who will Marcus Collins reach the Marcus Collins crown, that’s for sure. No idea. Anyway, it’s all rather important. And as Gary BarWOAH (we think sometimes the onomatopoeia helps the large boring factors of his personality along a bit) rightfully said last week:

“This is a singing competition. NOT a song-CHOOSING competition.”

Alright cheers for that, Gaz Lurhmann. This is, of course, immediately followed by the judges waltzing out onstage to their pedestal of affection to some pompous Wagnerian (no, not THAT Wagner, the other one who Hitler liked… NO, NOT THAT ONE, YOU’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE NOW) orchestrations, so we all learnt a valuable lesson there.

So, with the big guns out… oops, no – that’s the war again, isn’t it? Okay. With the slightly complex-inducing fighting talk statements out, the judges (apart from Louis, who was knocked out of the competition in 2003) are going all out to get their precious little cornucopias of talent all the glory and unwavering respect that absolutely none of them deserve or naturally will ever recieve! *Jazz hands*

This week the theme is Guilty Pleasures week! Blimey O’ Jo Whiley, X Factor producers – that’s a bit of a risk, isn’t it? (hey – remember The Risk? Oh, okay, we’ll just talk about something else then, no worries) Songs we enjoy but are not fundamentally regarded as legitimate songs to enjoy, d’you mean? Crivens – this is a bit naughty, isn’t it? I hope they don’t lock up whoever thought of that idea for years and years on end or anything. So – alright, it’s Guilty Pleasures week on X Factor, which is the endearment equivalent of ordering a shot at a bar named after a sex position and not sniggering. I.e. very very endearing.

Dermot dances all over the ashes of his Media and Television with Politics degree with yet another strange selection of dance-moves, which is now becoming our least favourite tradition since Talk Like a Pirate Day, or that other one with the Jesus in it. Not entirely sure who deduced that this would be the new ‘way’, in X Factor ’11. It kind of made sense when Strictly Come Dancing made John Sergeant do it, because he was an elderly ex-journalist with a deeply rooted career in politics and broadcasting and *SMIRK* DIDN’T LOOK LIKE HE’D BE VERY GOOD AT DANCING! Whereas this is just Dermot O’Leary dancing, and there’s nothing we can do to CONTROL the dancing in any way – so therefore we do not like it.

Tulisa annoyed us by having not zero, not one, but two whole arms this week. Not entirely sure which arm annoyed us more – whether it be the one with saying ‘HOW ABOUT YOU PURCHASE MY POORLY TITLED PERFUME RANGE?’ in comic sans or the one telling us to vote for a band called Little Mix to win the X Factor. God, we hate arms so much these days.

Little Mix, or ‘Little Muffins’ as Tulisa has cleverly deduced could be a more annoying version of their actual name were up first, with a bit of a shocker for you here! Not ZERO songs, not ONE song, but TWO WHOLE SONGS were performed for our delight. Two! That’s, like, well that’s quite a lot. That’s like almost as many bits of bollocks Tulisa can write on her arm at one time! God, that woman is a temple of mystery.

One of the songs in question curiously enough turns out to be ‘Baby Baby Baby Ooh’ by Justin Bieber, or something along those lines. We don’t want to Google Justin Bieber, so that’ll be fine, we assume you’re totally okay with us just saying the songs called ‘Baby Baby Baby Ooh’ despite the odds being slightly against our favour that the KKK-esque wizards (Christina Milan, apparently! RIP “QI elves!”) responsible for co-writing that song sunk to the levels of depravity to call it ‘Baby Baby Baby Ooh’. Whatever. It doesn’t matter because it’s an not-very-enjoyable piece of music. Not as not-very-enjoyable as all the other not-very-enjoyable things that are filtered into the Little Mix performance, which in a nutshell involve ‘skater dresses’, kitsch, friendship, having fun, post-modern Pipettes angst, and ruining a Supremes song by putting lots of Canadian R&B smattered all over. Why don’t they just buy a hundred copies of the Female Eunach, strip down to bodices and pour fairy liquid all over them instead? And that is why, we here at hecklerspray moonlight as professional choreographers for popular entertainment programmes in our spare time.

There is a redeeming quality to the whole debacle of course, when Kelly suggests that the One That Embodies Many Aesthetical Traits To That Of The Golden Poison Frog One from Little Mix should beatbox more, and the audience actively boo at the suggestion. The only time the X Factor audience have ever used their evil powers for a slightly funny version of evil. Most of the time it just verges on a bit of o’ piss-annoying nuisance.

Janet “I’m not really into guilty pleasures because I’m not a guilty pleasures person” was up next to perform. Shuffling right along back out of the draining tedium which is your self belief for just a second though…

As you may have recovered in your last therapy session, Janet sang MMMBop by Hanson, and forgot the words. Possibly best if we just glaze over the whole thing and show you our notes that we made at the time.. (Yep, laugh it up. We have a biro. Hahaha. Very funny. Sure you want to download that Iphone 4 update are you?)

“What, did you forget the words or something  but you’re from Ireland, so you’re amazing?” Louis asked her. Janet responded by crying with Celtic charm.

But the moment that somehow clarified everything we’ve ever held close to our lungs was the moment Gary Barlow earnestly discussed with Janet how if he’s being totally, unflinchingly honest, that song required a strong groove vocal, which unfortunately, pre-pubescent 90s’ Hanson hit MMMBop strongly requires. Ah music.

Misha B (Or SatanJudas McMeanie Harold Shipman Pants as we love to scream at her in the street) returned again with some more steadily rising self esteem, in a VT which involved Misha standing around in her room for an indeterminate amount of time pretending to listen to music. You know, like that Clockwork Orange rape that used high speed time-lapse photography! OR ERM, YEAH! X FACTOR! To be FAIR, she does have headphones and a dress with a mouth on (which is where ‘singing’ comes out of) on, so she does actually take music seriously. What a BITCH.

Misha’s performance of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun was obviously very very good, because lo and behold, she’s actually GOOD AT SINGING beyond the tired Windows Movie Maker level of professional editing that led to people thinking she was a bitch in the first place. And she was pretty effing good. Maybe Prince should get a top with a mouth on and some headphones. Even the lighting and the gimp oompa loompa ghostchavs are great! The ironic sportswear is just HILARIOUS! And, altogether, the whole performance is very very fun! Okay. The song Girls Who Just Wanna Have Fun isn’t very fun, but the REST is fun! You know what we’re saying? Bullying. Bet Misha hates those. She’s still probably putting cats into microwaves though. Gary said something or other about 2012 and the performance ended, we assume she’s opening the Olympics. Good.

“I just had fun tonight.” Misha said of the performance. Well, if you want to be that black and white about it.

Up next was Marcus Bloody Collins, singing a song in a manner that plagues our hearts with indifference. Or amazement. Who knows? Maybe it could be both? Maybe it can’t be scientifically deduced? Maybe it’s Schrodinger’s Non-Descript Marcus Collins X Factor Performance?

Next up, to follow whoever the hell that guy was, was Amelia Lily. So young, and so ill-advisedly shoehorned, that she is, but here to stay – forever and ever until she almost certainly gets voted out next week. Amelia sang China In Your Hand, by T’Pau. Nuffin wrong about that, fair enough, they want her to be the awesome one – not a problem with us. Could’ve done with injecting some inflamed hysteric passion, and 80s, and suffering, and muff-strain (not sorry) into the performance, we suppose – but fair enough Amelia, you are after all, only one thousand years old.

“Pah! Nice to hear a version of T’Pau IN TUNE!” Gary chortled into the wake of nothingness of which all his statements tend to congregate towards. Of course, when Gary Barlow makes a joke – you cant expect there not to be unfleetingly dangerous consequences, such as, oh we don’t know, Carol Decker calling Gary a twat on Twitter for an amusing period of time.

Ah, the correct way to use Twitter. How we love it so. Oh, and in case you were wondering (YOU WERE, YOU JUST DIDNT REALISE UNTIL RIGHT BLOODY NOW!) how to use Twitter. Please enjoy yet another handy fucking guide.

THE CORRECT WAY TO USE TWITTER

THE INCORRECT WAY TO USE TWITTER

Here’s a sum up of the 2nd performances.

*Little Mix sing Beautiful! The one that most people do not regard as Beautiful, also sings Beautiful. Obviously, it’s very funny.

* “I am in a band and I understand all about Friendship.” Says Gary Barlow. “Which is why I exiled Robbie Williams for decades and spouted lots of shit about him to the press for years and then shoehorned him back in for extra money because I used up all the minor chords to write mature Take That songs.” he added.

*Janet Devlin sang the least juttery and staccato Red Hot Chilli Peppers song she could find and slabs layer upon layer of dross all over it. Her boyfriend totally gets it.

*“Janet you had a shitty first song” Louis does not say.

*“That is the Janet Devlin that will sell records, this is the Janet Devlin that will sell out tours.” Tulisa does say. Wait who is she talking about? Is she talking about Janis Joplin? Oh no wait, we just assumed Tulisa Contostavlos knows what a Janis Joplin is.

*Kelly Rowland can both emote, and wear a jumper. She is a survivor.

*Gary Barlow tries to start an argument. No body notices.

*Tulisa, clearly having read through too much of the Iraq’s Weapons of Mass Destruction September dossier, tells Janet that “She is predictable, that’s just who you are.” Totz. Amaze.

In conclusion: Little Richard to Win X Factor.

THE RESULTS

Tulisa wore the economy on her neck, The Muppets and Olly Murs defied the milk of human kindness, Janet got voted out, Jessie J suddenly realised how amazing it is that she writes serious music all the time. Yeah, it really is like Sylvia Plath never gave a shit sometimes, Jessie.

Americans are really touchy aren’t they? You say that their army are a bunch of gung-ho berks and they all start running their mouths off. You imply that they’re all nutters and they all start acting like nutters. You say something innocuous on a TV show and they all start crying.

Honestly. Some superpower!

It’s the latter that we focus on here as Steve Jones has somehow offended some X Factor USA failures called Lakoda Rayne (which sounds like some awful role-playing game on the Amiga) by saying something so inoffensive that you might miss it when you read all about it.

As hopefuls Lakoda Rayne were informed that they had been voted off X Factor USA, Steve Jones did his job of talking to avoid any awkward TV silence.

He said:

“the dream is over.”

The dream, in the immediate sense, was ‘your dream of winning the X Factor is over because you’ve been kicked off the show thanks to a lack of votes’. Okay?

No. Not at all.

Band member Paige Elizabeth said:

“I took what Steve said a little bit personally, I found it offensive.

“The dream is over? That was inappropriate. You don’t say stuff like that. That’s why I like ninja-gripped the microphone.”

Giving her view on the issue, mentor Paula Abdul, who isn’t batshit crazy at all, added:

“I couldn’t believe he said that, but I’ve explained to these girls as I’ve worked with them that it’s a TV show and people don’t say the right things at times. Maybe it was scripted and someone who wrote it didn’t realise. It’s a hard job what he does and I think Steve realised a dream isn’t over.”

Steve Jones doesn’t care one jot about the dreams of Lakoda Rayne, unless it involves them all derobing and jumping into a hot-tub with him to fellate him.

He’s on bloody heat that lad.

Anyway, watch the INSANELY OFFENSIVE AND SHOCKING MOMENT here in this conveniently placed YouTube video. Marvel at Steve Jones’ now bizarre accent.

Gary Barlow has always shared a certain stuffiness of his namesake, Ken Barlow. He was always something of a curmudgeon in the world of the boy band, and as he gets older, he’s showing no signs of changing.

Grumping into view, Barlow has criticised modern pop videos, saying that they’re just too rude.

You wouldn’t get Take That rolling around half naked with women smearing food all over their bared chests, thrusting their glittering thongs into camera in the Do What You Like video, would you? Never.

Of course, there’s nothing sexual about the Do What You Like video. It’s an instant boner-kill. Far too wacky to be arousing. And of course, there’s nothing steamy about Gary Barlow, unless you’re under the impression that, beneath that vague authority he carries around with him, lies a mean, dominating, S&M fantasist who will treat you like Maggie Gyllenhaal’s red arse in The Secretary.

No doubt, with that image, we’ve lost 90% of our female readers.

Those of you left with us, the X Factor judge and Take That tunesmith is showing his furrowed brow when thinking about his children being subjected to explicit content.

Speaking to OK, he said:

“The other day, I wanted some music in the kitchen and put on one of the music TV channels and a video came on which was so rude that I had to turn it off because my nine-year-old was with me.”

“I have had five nine-year-olds in my back seat singing along to Black Eyed Peas songs with F this, F that and I’m like, ‘Right, I’m stopping the car!’”

Speaking of how he thinks these videos have affected the X Factor auditions, he said:

“It all filters down. We had girls and you wouldn’t believe the kind of moves they were doing. I sat there and thought, ‘Jesus Christ’.”

By which he means, he couldn’t stand up from behind his desk for a good hour thanks to that funny, tingling feeling in his chap.

You’re still thinking about Gary Barlow in a bondage situation aren’t you?

This year, the UK version of the X Factor has gone through some serious changes. For starters, there’s no Simon Cowell with his rolling eyes and odd man-baps on the judging panel. Cheryl Cole vanished too, leaving us with Gary Barlow, Tulisa and Kelly Rowland to sit with the increasingly distressing Louis Walsh.

Tulisa, who has been surprisingly likeable in the past, ballsed up her chances of capturing our hearts after showcasing a staggering lack of pop knowledge (not knowing what rock music is and having never heard of the dazzlingly famous ‘Think’ by Aretha Franklin) as well as droning devoid of emotion like a post-match football interview. Don’t start us on her idea that Little Mix are somehow a feminist statement.

That leaves Gary to fulfil the Simon role and Kelly to be the ‘likeable, if slightly insane’ one. And now, it looks like she’s going to ditch the UK for X Factor USA because she obviously can’t be bothered dealing with Tulisa anymore.

Various reports are suggesting that Rowland will be ‘putting it down’ across the pond after Cowell eyed her up to replace Nicole Scherzinger on the X Factor USA judging panel.

Of course, this poses something of a problem for Kelly, inasmuch that her pop career in the States isn’t exactly setting the Billboard on fire and most of her action is happening in Europe.

A source told the Daily Star has said:

“Simon has been blown away by Kelly.

“He’s made no secret of the fact he thinks she’s the star of the UK show. Simon’s been less impressed with how Nicole is faring in the US.”

It seems that, after the familiarity of years of the same judging panel on X Factor, it now appears that there’s something of a revolving door and Cowell is adopting an approach that basically dispatches those that don’t immediately work.

Just like the auditions in X Factor then, eh?