Simon Cowell has made stars of boybands, Chico, Susan Boyle and a variety of completely forgettable singers like Steve Brookstein, Leon Thingy and DooDah Sneddon. Possibly. We’re get all those talent shows confused these days.

So what’s his next move? Well, apart from publicly wooing Cheryl Cole again (presumably Kelly Rowland can’t be bothered saying ‘boo’/sitting next to the bizarre Tulisa on the X Factor next year), he’s decided he’s going to make a talent show about DJs.

Seriously. While this may pique the interest of some, there’s little chance it could work in a primetime format… surely?

The music vampire-cum-mogul is launching a new talent competition to find the world’s best DJs.

Cowell says:

“DJ’s are the new rock stars, it feels like the right time to make this show”

So what kind of thing will the DJs be doing, to showcase how brilliant they are? Of course, the best DJs show off their skills  over a series of hours when they promote then play a set for a dancefloor filled with people. Will the show be around 40 hours long while a variety of DJs try and make a crowd go nutso?

Of course, the most notorious way for a DJ to show-off is to scratch. For those that don’t know, there’s a variety of ways to approach scratching. There’s the usual thd-dghgdggy-thd stuff, as well as the infamous wiki-wiki-frrssshh scratch. But that wouldn’t make much of a show.

There’s more showy people out there who can do things like this…

Or beat juggle like this…

In which case, if that’s what Cowell is going for, then he’s trying to reinvent the DMC Championships which, as brilliant as it is, isn’t going to be winning over any primetime mums and nanas any time soon, is it?

Away from that, Cowell wants Cheryl Cole back in his loving, tender, televisual embrace. When asked whether Cheryl could potentially return to the ITV1 programme, he said:

“She could be a panellist again if she wanted to – 100 per cent. I don’t know if she would. I think she probably misses me.”

Whatever. She’s off washing her hair for money. We’re more interested in what Cowell plans to do for DJing. Will we see a good-looking DJ getting off a stool for the key-change?

Oh god. Cowell is thinking of DJ Talent isn’t he?

OfCom, the protector of modern decency and punisher of all who swear at Manuel from Fawlty Towers, have ruled that ITV were breaking the rules when they let Tulisa waggle her arm at the cameras.

And not in a Rebel Without a Cause, sexy, doing it with the lights on, leaving the lid off the margarine and swearing at the Pope kind of rule-breaking way, oh no.

They were breaking broadcasting rules, which are as old and fierce as time itself. Unless you’re Ricky Gervais, and you want to insult disabled people, obviously.

Tulisa got in big trouble this October for her attempt at reinventing Cheryl Cole’s now notorious “dickhead salute” in an even more irritating and fatuous manner, by doing a sort of half-sentient gurn at the camera whilst displaying her classy The Female Boss tattoo.

As well as being awkwardly worded and sounding like a low quality but potentially filthy spanking film, The Female Boss is the name of Tulisa’s perfume, which we had a sniff of when we were doing our Christmas shopping, and can assure you smells like Glenn’s vodka and a handful of Wham bars.

Tulisa, taking a break from glassing a child in the face while keying someone’s Fiesta, gave far too much credit to the intelligence of The X Factor’s audience:

“someone wouldn’t go into a shop and buy my perfume just because they’d seen my tattoo”

They probably, would, Tulisa. They bought Canonball by Little Mix, didn’t they?

Meanwhile, Ricky Gervais’ joke about Susan Boyle being a “mong” is apparently totally fine and AOK and Ofcom thinks maybe you should just calm down about it, yeah? You see, Tulisa was flogging her rank odour pre-watershed, while Ricky Gervais waited until half 10 at night to insult people with Down’s Syndrome and “therefore most viewers of the programme would have been expecting stronger and more challenging content.”

Which leaves us to wonder, would we rather live in a world where Tulisa’s perfume is pumped into the atmosphere 24/7, or where Ricky Gervais’ comedy is considered ‘challenging’?

It’s a tough one to call.

This was a post by Becca Day-Preston who is really bloody amazing

Runaway bride Simon Cowell has broken off another relationship, this time to his makeup artist Mezhgan Husaiany.

“It’s quite a complicated relationship. We have had a break from each other, and we are still incredibly close,” Cowell told The Sunday Mirror. “I’m vulnerable. It’s not on, it’s not off, it’s somewhere in the middle. I don’t know if I will ever get married, but I am happy.”

You know how painful it is when you drop an M&M and it rolls under the sofa, and is juuussstttttt out of your reach? Welcome to Mezghan Husaiany’s life.

Why would Simon Cowell want to get married? He’s so rich that he could walk into a christening, drop-kick the baby over the font and he’d still leave with the phone number of half the congregation.

Simon Cowell is famous for three things; an oddly-smooth Frankenstein-esque forehead, unnaturally high-waisted trousers and the habit of leaving ex-girlfriends with huge pay-offs. He’s like a modern-day Professor Higgins – picking humble girls out of the gutter, teaching them to speak all puurrrttty, then setting them up in multi-million-dollar mansions.

Unlike our last relationship, where our pay off was a keyed-up car and a strongly worded letter from a lawyer.

Instead of playing out this awkward Ross-and-Rachel-on-and-off-yes-that-does-count-as-cheating-you-bastard snooze-fest Hussainy should just take the money and run.

Sometimes, you hear a piece of news that changes everything. Where were you when you heard about 9/11, for example? Do you remember the exact second you heard when Brookside was being cancelled? When Osama was killed? When Slobodan Milosevic was finally taken to task for his war crimes?

But this is next level.

Simon Cowell, the man with perfectly cube-shaped hair, has announced to anyone who’ll listen (idiots) that he almost, but didn’t, put his glans into the former American Idol judge and cat botherer Paula Abdul.

Despite being engaged, Cowell told American press all about the almost-romp, telling sources that he just “couldn’t go through with it”.

Ah, been there mate. “Too many drinks”, “nerves”, I get you. Wink, nudge, weep.

hecklerspray doesn’t expect you to be able to function properly having read this, and then, considered the image (funnier if you think about MC Skat Kat looking through the window at their writhing bodies in disdain) of either Simon Cowell’s penis as an instrument, or the actual thought of their having sex.

The thought of Cowell and Abdul having sex reminds us of a particular scene from Lars Von Triers’ ‘The Idiots’. If you’re a Guardian reader, you’ll absolute get that joke and be appalled by it.

For everyone else, we tried to reach Cowell’s reps (by simply shouting at the sky) but could not get a confirmation or denial that Simon Cowell “settled for a blowie”.

Ah well.

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.

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.

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.

Who doesn’t love the X-Factor? Oh that’s right, people who listen to supposed “real” music. They’re the types who’ll only listen to music made by those who play their own instruments, write songs without the word “love” being mentioned and only release fifty copies of their album on limited edition cassette tapes.

For everyone else, Saturday nights on ITV are awash with yoghurt adverts, technical glitches and the occasional performance. This year, the judging panel line up has changed dramatically with only Irish demi-arse Louis Walsh remaining to continue to mentor the novelty act category.

The most surprising judge to break the dreams of overweight teenagers this year is Kelly Rowland. Prior to getting work in the UK, she was best-known for being one of Beyonce’s backing dancers in Destiny’s Child. We can’t knock her for hitching a cheap way to the top. With the sole responsibility of mentoring the girls category in X-Factor, you’d think she’d have a clear focus. But no, it seems she’s sex mad.

Frankly, it’s about time that Kelly Rowland developed a bit of personality and became more than just the shouty American woman on X-Factor who seems a bit lost. After all, Gary Barlow is badly filling in as the pantomime villain whilst Simon Cowell wanders off across the pond to exploit an American singer to stardom. Elsewhere, Tulisa is filling in for whatever Cheryl Cole did. So what does Kelly have to say for herself?

“You can’t keep me away from a good sex shop. Those are interesting places. I go with a bunch of people that way no one recognises me.”

Now some people would class an interesting place as somewhere that inspires them; a stunning piece of art in a gallery, carefully constructed architecture or just venturing out of their comfort zone to experience something new. But for Kelly Rowland, the sight of a PVC gimp suit with matching vibrator belt seems to do the trick.

However, Kelly only visits good sex shops, so what makes a bad one? Would it be if any dildos returned to the shop weren’t disposed, but instead repackaged with the pubes removed and put back But if you’re a star like Kelly Rowland, how do you visit filth shops. That’s right, use a disguise and she supposedly did this the other night when Janet was evicted. It was reported she donned:

“An orange turban and huge sunglasses.”

Unless she managed to hide her boobs and female figure, any perverts in the sex shop would pounce on her like zombies and literally maul her to death, kind of like when Mufasa got destroyed by those wildebeest in The Lion King.

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.

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?

THIS WEEK! ITS TIME! TO SING! SONGS FROM MOVIES! And probably not do a very good job at them. It’s ‘Movie Week’ everybody. That’s song from films that have been released in the old cinema.

Past year’s have had some truly terrifying performances, like Olly Murs waggling his penis to ‘Twist And Shout,’ Joe McElderry being generally closeted singing ‘Circle of Life’ and the Dreadward doing ‘Ghostbusters.’

There was also the dichotomy of awful and brilliance (and the resurgence of Louis Walsh’ famed Rulebook) when Jamie Afro (the awful) sang ‘Crying’ by Roy Orbison from the brilliantly nihilistic film Gummo. Needless to say Louis had no idea what Gummo was and almost lost his Lucky Charms over it, but what was stranger was Simon Cowell did know what it was. Perhaps he tried to buy the rights to remake the film with Eoghan Quigg as Bunny Boy. Or perhaps he knew that the most diverse film Louis Walsh has seen was ‘Priscilla, Queen Of The Desert,’ and wanted to really blow sand up his vagina.

This week’s show, if the rumours are true, is set to be another blandfest, with songs that everyone knows from films, like ‘Purple Rain’ or ‘Stand By Me’ being wheeled out to the delight of people who don’t understand the true beauty of the movie theme.

Well we’ll look after you, avid hecklersprayers.

Get your flask of Bovril, your Viscount biscuit and we’ll take you on a magical trip through what songs the contestants should be singing if the people playing the X Factor strings had any cojones

Janet Devlin – Kiss From A Rose

Janet is the dullest contestant in this competition; she’s the blandest dullard since beige pissed off the rest of the rainbow and set out on his journey to be the worst of all colours. Even black doesn’t get as much guff as much as beige does. And black has the worst body odour since Russell Grant went onto Strictly. Stand next to black while you’re waiting for a bus and you’ll think you’ve been eating some good cheese or bad fish. Or Pixie Lott.

There’s not much that Janet can do about it, even being edited to be bolshy and uppity isn’t doing the desired effect. All that’s going to happen is that when she leaves the competition, no one will want to touch Ellie Goulding Lite because she has such a bad attitude to things that she doesn’t like, so why not try what we suggest and give her an ultra-dramatic song that sounds like the one that she likes to sing?

Which is why we picked Seal’s Kiss From A Rose. It’s not the most taxing of songs to sing, admittedly, but when it comes to Janet Devlin, everyone is more concerned with how Irish she looks. She’s like the most Irish woman. Even Gerry Adams, a man who lives in a perpetual state of Movember, would think that she was taking it too far.

Everyone likes Kiss From A Rose, just like everyone likes Seal, despite his face. It won’t save her from being kicked off, but we might as well make the very most of her before she leaves the show and resigns herself from falling out of China White with her mosquito bites on show.

Misha B – Coconut

Coconut by Harry Nilsson is a genius song. It’s equally great parts of reggae Island swing and a song about medical procedure. Which you just don’t get enough of. Imagine if the staff of Casualty released a song about how shit the NHS was. It would be 100% fantastic. Of course it would end with Charlie getting off with that bird with the big hair and Jude getting stabbed by a smack addict.

The problem with Misha B is that everyone is getting bogged down by the claims of bullying slung at her like a monkey slings poop. Does anyone really, REALLY care whether she’s a bully and that she said that one from Little Mix looked like the lovechild of Sloth and Quasimodo, using a frog as a surrogate?

Of course we don’t. It’s not going to affect our lives one little quark is it. In fact, it just gives us a chance to get outraged at something we can do something about. Y’know what that’s called people? Pointless. If you want to change the World, why not stop showering and wiping yourself after a number two. Eventually, because humans are essentially cowards, people will stop talking to you.

This probably won’t happen to Misha B, but she does take everything so seriously. To such an extent that when she talks now, post-performance, or gaping into Olly Murs’ bulging crotch on ITV2, she talks like an excitable puppy on it’s first Christmas, after just regaining it’s sight, and getting a crafty BJ. Don’t think that she hasn’t been told to do this. Of course she has. It’s like when Rachel Adedeji mimicked the nonsensical neighings of Stacey Solomon the brief time that she wasn’t in the Bottom Two. Reeks of insincerity and weirdy icky-woos.

So what Misha needs to do is do something so unbelievably stupid and happy that it blows every sad thing into the World’s orbit, leaving behind sunshine, rainbows and Gregg’s pain au chocolat.

‘Coconut’ would do this. Add a dubstep-lite beat if you want, and even add a rap about the toil of a nurse’s working day. But as long as she keeps the bare bones of the song intact, it would change the World of X Factor as we know it.

Craig Colton – Wise Up

Not very many people know of Aimee Mann, and those who do are maudlin weirdos. Although she may be an accomplished singer/songwriter, she has yet to write a song that wouldn’t want to make you take a long bath with a razor blade. It’s very depressing songs about lost loves and wasted opportunities.

Which is just what the male version of Adele is making a niche of. And when we say the ‘male version of Adele’ we mean all the savage obesity as well. He’s so fat that somewhere Donatella Versace is having an eppy. Although how you would know is beyond me, she already talks with a slur with a half drooped face. Someone should probably alert Queen of Strokes Su Johnston to see if Donatella is alright. Go on. We’ll wait.

Everything alright? Fantastic.

With his cheeky quiff and the way he sings out the side of his mouth, like Dot Cotton with a fag hanging out of her scabby anus of a mouth, Craig is irritatingly talented. It seems like he can sing any Adele song almost as good as the chain smoking eclair maven. What a talent! Gary Barlow must have a right wide-on thinking that he can give Craig any song sung by a woman and get accolades thrown far and wide about how they have put their own spin on the song, even though you could go to LITERALLY any gay club and find some man singing a song by a woman. It’s not that big a deal. REALLY.

Wise Up is a depressing missive that Craig can snarl out on a Saturday and people will coo ‘Isn’t he sensitive?’ between mouthfuls of Domino’s Pizza. Job done Barlow, you can thank us in your Knighthood speech.

Marcus Collins – Loco In Acapulco

Marcus Collins is fast becoming one of the most consistent performers on this series of the X Factor, with his full toothed grin and his trademark catchphrase of “I’m having fun” bringing out those homoerotic feelings in straight, not-so straight men and Louis Walsh alike.

Of late, Marcus has been told to sing songs with a rock and roll type production, with fancy dance moves and trousers that maybe are a little too tight for someone who wants to move around and not look like he’s got a constant erective presence. I mean, what would OFCOM say if they realised his Dondelinger was practically on show. Well, we’ll probably find out a few weeks after everyone gets their boxer shorts knotted in impotent rage.

So it would be a shame for him to put away his penis and Buddy Holly-esque tendencies just yet. So instead of going all Bruno Mars-lite on us another week, we suggest that Barlow brings the whole production forward a decade and emulate the Soul Train era of Motown.

Tighter trousers, brighter teeth, take everything to extremes. Lets blind Katie Price with Marcus’ teeth Gary. Let’s blind the bitch. Let’s do to her what she’s done to teenage boys for years.

Amelia Lily – Beauty School Dropout

To be quite honest, we can give or take Amelia Lily at this stage in the competition. Her addition at this point seems a bit rapey, in that it’s forced and not what everyone wanted. Her booming vocals might be just what the producers are after but have you seen the clip of her? The candy floss hair and enough makeup to blot out the Sun just scream college education, and this isn’t what anyone likes to see when watching X Factor. We want good looking people who might or not be able to sing. They might be batshit mental like Kitty, or unnervingly charming like Johnny, but as long as they look good then we’re not bothered.

It’s generally give and take in the hecklerspray hovel. If there’s no masturbatory undertones then you probably won’t win our X Factor. And there’s no wanking material with Amelia Lily. Do you know why? Because she’s sixteen and already been fingered by professional coke monster Frankie Cocozza. That’s not nice at all. It does give anyone the belief that anyone could have a gan on her; she’s clearly not fussy.

Having Amelia sing ‘Beauty School Dropout’ from Grease is a fantastic idea for all because it’s a bit tongue in cheek. She looks enough of a mess to authentically be a beauty school dropout and has Frenchie’s hair as well, so this would be the most aesthetically hilarious.

Little Mix – Hip To Be Square

hecklerspray disclaimer: If you think that saying nasty things about Jesy Little Mix is one of the World’s worst things, then you probably shouldn’t read this. Consider this a warning.

Listen to a joke we all know: What’s green and smells of pork? Jesy’s mam and dad. That’s right everybody. We’re going in for the kill here. If someone has actively gone out of their way to attempt to make us feel sorry for someone who thinks its acceptable to dress in such a ridiculous manner, then they deserve everything that we say about them, Sir.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Little Mix are probably going to win this year’s X Factor. The combination of public pity because one of their member looks like someone over inflated a rugby ball and somewhat catchy interpretations of songs will carry them through to the final at least, where Jesy will probably crack under the pressure of having to march on a box AND sing a song everyone knows, making her head will pop like what happens in that Total Recall.

Sounds great doesn’t it?

Even though her face will be blown into numerous squidgy pieces, she will still be able to look at her bandmates with the fervent excitement of a toddler who’s just pumped for the first time*.

To get Little Mix some sort of credence before they shuffle off into some Cher Lloyd-esque nightmare, we think they should sing ‘Hip To Be Square’ by one of the best things about Back To The Future, Huey Lewis and The News, but not just any version. We want to see a version that is either a) a military marching band a la Gwen Stefani during the most successful part of her career, b) a plinky plonky sounding homage to The Cure with someone looking like Robert Smith or c) an acoustic version to show us how well they can actually sing.

In reality, we would probably get a version that Rizzle Kicks could pass off on their difficult second album, with rhythmic marching on perspex boxes and ill fitting trousers on. But they’re just like every other girl in Britain so that’s alright.

Except that most other girls in Britain are screaming harridans who threaten to make their boyfriend’s lives Hell in the local branch of Peacocks because they haven’t paid up some money they were promised. That’s what men have to look forward to now.

And that’s that. Do you agree or disagree? Tell us below. You know it makes sense. If you don’t, we’ll send Jesy round and she’ll just peer in your window at night; looking, planning. Touching herself.

* Remember how great life was back then?

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