Dear hecklersprayers, this article contains information that may ruin your appetite and could even inflict some serious mental damage, distrust of the female nether-parts up to and including the Predator’s face.

Right, with that legal stuff out the way, it’s bad news for all straight men and gay women out there. Susan Boyle is on the look for a suitable mate.

We can’t actually bring ourselves to speak of the hairiest winner of Britain’s Got Talent in a sexual light. It just seems very, very wrong. Like how you wouldn’t want to know about your grandparent’s sex life, or how your mother explains the first time you find a condom in their bedroom. An uneasy, topsy turvy feeling in your stomach makes you want to vomit enough bile to make Example think ‘Jeez, they’re being a bit harsh.’

So, we’re not going to dwell on the unfortunate facts that come with having a first boyfriend; the heated frisson, the ‘do they/don’t they’, the damp patches on her knickers, and instead think of how happy the stubbly singer will be.

Apparently the hirsute honey isn’t short of offers either. Which must make all of you’s with no girlfriend/boyfriend slightly envious. I mean, if a woman approaching the sweaty depths of menopause with natural hair like that can get someone to boff their brains out, what’s wrong with you?

The stubbly siren is ready to settle down with a lovely fella who looks after her and thinks of her in a nice way. Just like what she did for her mother until she died in 2007. And for a few years after that until she decided to audition for BGT and Simon Cowell ditched her corpse in the usual place: under the stage of Red Or Black?

But who would be a good suitor for the closest thing we’ve got to explain the Missing Link in human evolution? Well, she thinks Donny Osmond is good enough for her. Which is going to stress middle aged women the World over. Perhaps they’ll rise up in a Justin Bieber-style army to find Cowell’s pet pig and string her up. Or maybe just pop down to Waitrose for some prosecco before she picks up the kids in the Range Rover.

We think that because Donny Osmond isn’t available at the moment, we could come up with three people who would be perfect for her.

Harry from Harry And The Hendersons

It’s a perfect choice for a hairy mythical beast to be the one that makes an honest woman of Susan Boyle. Both are things of legend. They’re both equally as hairy as each other. And Harry has the Hendersons, who wouldn’t mind another surrogate beast roaming around their house, drinking all the milk and getting up to general mischief.

John McCririck from your nightmares

Tell the truth, having Susan Boyle as a love rival to Booby would make an excellent reality TV show. One can sing Nessum Dorma like no other, and the other is Susan Boyle. Instead of The Bachelor’s rose, McCririck could wipe a freshly picked nose baby on his chosen wife.

Trevor Eve/David Essex/Cliff Richard

Any one of these would be a fantastic addition to the celebrity landscape, and on the other hand, would really irritate all our mothers.

As if you couldn’t have guessed, the bushy babe is telling us all this because she has a new album out soon, and wants people to buy it and listen to her Depeche Mode cover. If she does that by slamming her fleecy face in the papers, then so be it!

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Remember when we all laughed at Susan Boyle because she had a funny face? Then she started singing and everyone said in unison; ‘Wow, you can have a funny face AND sing! Who knew?!’ Remember?

Then, when the initial shock of Boyle’s voice ebbed away, everyone went back to pointing and laughing at her. Remember that?

Well, she’s going to turn that hooting mockery into hatred from Depeche Mode fans. That’s because a) Depeche Mode fans are some of the weirdest, most dedicated, joyless nutters you’ll ever meet and b) Susan Boyle has recorded a cover version of a Depeche Mode song.

Susan Boyle is returning to the CD racks with her third LP, ‘Someone To Watch Over Me’.

On the album she tackles ‘Unchained Melody’ which has never been covered before, but more interestingly, she’ll be crooning ‘Mad World’ and, here you go Depeche Mode fans, ‘Enjoy The Silence’.

This will drive Depeche Mode fans insane with unwarranted grief as they see one of their favourite songs wrestled away by someone from a talent show.

The only other times they will have felt this awful is when Dave Gahan nearly died of a smack overdose, which was nearly as bad as when The Saturday’s covered ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ (or indeed, Crazy Frog’s cover).

Depeche Mode couldn’t give two hoots about their back catalogue could they?

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And here we are again. You all look so incredibly tired.

So before we begin, let’s really think to ourselves – what do we really WANT from episode 2 of The X Factor 2011? Because so far, nobody has really got what they want, have they? Nobody really voluntarily asks for Kelly Rowland, for example. Nobody really wants Gary Barlow to be angry to them before 9pm.

Hopefully this week, things will change for the better. We would like to see integrity. We would like to see a jazz singer sing an ironic version of She Wolf. We would like to see at least three testicles. But most importantly, we would like X Factor to bring us a window of entertainment that preceeds an ENTIRE EVENING with Will Young, preferably singing low-key versions of his amazing selection of pop hits, preferably in a tuxedo. Hey. What can we say? We dare to dream.

Actually, sod that – can we have a talent programme which circles entirely around the cinematic technique of  a montage sequence instead? It’ll be like watching a Shane Meadows film or something. EXCEPT WITH GLAMOUR!

We are greeted by the usual selection of bints all wanting to make their dreams come true as usual. Like the selfish bints that they are. Bints. Just get a job at Costa, and buy a keytar like the rest of us, why don’t you. This goes on for quite a while. Dermot O’Leary is for some reason overlooking these proceedings, equipped with a brand new monologue about how a large quantity of people are standing outside a building waiting to sing an acapella Jason Derulo song. Doesn’t Dermot O’Leary crave a better life sometimes? Jesus, Dermot. Just get a job at Costa and buy a keytar like the rest of us.

The judges are introduced to us once again, just in case we were by any chance excited about that. Kelly Rowland, Gary Barlow, Louis Walsh and Tulisa Consideryourselfoneofus-StavrosFlatley.

After a few lonely months, a couple of brutal divorce battles, some mild alcohol poisoning, and the fading of a strange pigmentation issue on our upper thigh, the first contestant of tonight’s show is eventually introduced. He is called Johnny Robinson, which sounds like one of those names that was made up on the spot to get out of a tricky situation. Don’t worry, JOHNNY. Your secret’s safe with us, JOHNNY.

‘Johnny’. Brilliant.

‘Johnny Robinson’ is one of those rare male hybrids who is a cross between John Inman and that lad from that C4 Boy Who’s Skin Fell Off documentary. Oh, and he has a personality. This could potentially get charismatic, so put on an extra jumper for this bit.

He sings ‘At Last’ (by Katie Waissel) for the judges, and is ultimately amazing. He sounds like Orville the Duck and everybody absolutely adores him for it. One of the Mature 2008 Take That Albums plays in the background as his verdict is revealed. But only an instrumental version, because Gary Barlow is humble. He gets through.

Another montage now. Everyone is kissing everyone else on the lips, like we’re in bloody Basic Instinct or something. Disgusting. This is followed by another audition, just as a rare treat. Oh no wait, it’s just a disguise for an audition which is actually another bit about how some people in the world like to bone each other sometimes. What is happening? Don’t the X Factor producers know that they have a registered sex offender on the judging panel this year? Things start off pretty normally. The auditionee in question sings a Kings of Leon song badly (WHICH HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE IN THE WORLD EVER) and then a man comes on stage and asks him to marry her, in a crazed act of unscripted, love-driven spontaneity. It’s a lovely moment for a show which is usually so intently driven to be all about the music, so we simply have nothing else to add, except congratulations. Congratulations for pretending to love your girlfriend so she would get through her X Factor audition.

Up next is Derry, who is black. But that’s cool, because ITV1 totally get that, and play some 90s Will Smith records over the top of him so that Derry will more likely feel at home. We also learn that Derry voluntarily likes Kelly Rowland. In fact, he voluntarily likes Kelly Rowland to the point where he is actually excited to meet Kelly Rowland, which is a bit of a new one on us. ITV1 obligingly celebrate this fact with getting Kelly Rowland to film herself in a dark room blowing kisses for him, which really puts the whole concept of ‘money’ into perspective.

Derry has brought 800 people with him all wearing DERRY HAS THE X FACTOR T-SHIRTS. They look fantastic. If anybody knows where you can get hold of those things, please contact us because we really would like to know. Topman only do knitted versions of it, and quite frankly we were hoping for something a little more breezy.

Derry goes up for his audition and sleazily sleazes to Kelly Rowland about how great her vagina is, or whatever. Jesus, is this the X Factor or CASABLANCA tonight?? He sings an acapella Usher song. Kelly Rowland effectively tells him to sod off and join JLS. In fact, all of the judges tell Derry to change little aspects of himself. Because celebrating who you are as a person is so very 2010, you know. You wouldn’t catch Official Representative of Modernism in Western Culture Tulisa pulling shit like that now, would you? Nonetheless, Derry gets through, and also gets a cheeky kiss on the cheek from Kelly. The sweat on our collars is LITERALLY LIKE THE NILE.

At this point, we’re approximately in the second trimester of the show, and all that really seems to happen in these moments is Kelly Rowland changing the title of The X Factor to ‘The Cool Factor’, some obligatory Louis Walsh is Harmlessly Gay match cuts, the ‘record scratch’ joke still being like BILL HICKS X 1000, and the Polar Bear off the Birdseye advert developing some sort of horrific advanced level of Schizophrenia.

But now everything is fine, because we’re in LIVERPOOL now! Yes, Liverpool! In Liverpool! Dermot boasts that ‘they’ve never been to Liverpool before’ on the X Factor. Presumably to try and comb over that pretty heavy Ray Quinn situation they got themselves into a few years ago. Gary Barlow proclaims that if they don’t find an X Factor star in Liverpool he will literally and definitely not figuratively eat his own suit, which is such an incredibly crazy thing to say. Still though, if you think about it, Gary Barlow does look exactly like the sort of person who readily eats his suits, so all in all – pretty plausible statement.

But lo and behold, the first auditionee from Liverpool doesn’t sing very well at all, despite the fact that Paul McCartney is from Liverpool and DOES sing well, which is pretty confusing. He has a nice collar, and has quite a pleasing blonde hue to his hair however, so still makes it on to TV. An overweight man tries his luck instead, which obviously can’t work because he’s a bit overweight. AND they’re playing Razorlight over the top of him as if he were in a Louis Theroux documentary about Death Row. Regardless of this, the overweight man WHO DOESN’T DESERVE A NAME (but if he did, we assume it would probably be something along the lines of ‘Craig’) comes on to the stage and tells everyone about how he is from Liverpool. The audience absolutely crap themselves with excitement that someone from Liverpool is auditioning at the X Factor auditions in Liverpool. Even Brian Cox would probably admit he couldn’t fully measure the universal aspects of that one.

Craig tells the judges that he works in a biscuit factory, presumably not knowing that you’re not meant to take  taunts from people in the street literally. Then in a shock twist, it turns out that the slight fat does not obstruct his lungs after all and he sings a lovely Adele song to the delight of the entire of Planet Earth. All of the judges tell him how they didn’t expect him to sing well, because what were the odds that after Susan Boyle, there was actually another talented, unattractive person in the midst of our hemisphere after all? Another disappointment from Brian Cox this evening.

Next up, X Factor remind us that they also let groups audition for their show too. A duo called ‘The Duos’ (POST-MODERNTACULAR!) are just one of these. They sing badly and everyone laughs at them. Gary Lucifer Barlow shoots them a disapproving glare. So a group called ‘BROMA5NCE’ (*Google explodes out of confusion *) try their luck instead, but unfortunately have not picked up any of the Beatles overwhelming musical talents despite being a band from Liverpool, which is yet again devastatingly bad luck. Still, Broma5nce is definitely the name of our next budgie, so it’s not all bad.

Another horrific moment from Louis, as he mistakes a masculine looking woman in a checkered shirt for being an actual man, even though the Guinness World Records clearly state that Louis Walsh was the guy who pitched the whole idea of lesbians in the first place anyway.

Eventually, things begin to stagger (jagger) to a halt, and we begrudgingly listen to the words of our final auditionee of the night, Misha Bryan. Take it away, Misha! Misha is a poor, penniless girl who sobs dramatically to the camera about how she is so skint she has to humiliate herself by travelling on Arriva buses sometimes. ITV1 apparently have a clause where X Factor contestants are not allowed to wipe away their tears, and the poor girl is Sinead O Connorring all over the ruddy shop. Eventually, they let her sing a song called ‘RESPECT’ by an old woman called ‘ARETHA FRANKLIN’ (*Google explodes out of confusion*) and does a rap too. Just like how Cher Lloyd used to rap. Seriously, it’s like the world is shrinking.

Coming up next week!

More people go on stage and sing, but we will most likely never get to see that. AND – to give our internal organs an extra bit of a kick, we we will be teaching you how to play your very own home-version of the Kelly Rowland cocaine-taking game!

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Susan Boyle may well be known partially for her angelic singing ability, but really, we’re more interested in her crazy antics. She’s like Michael Jackson, only without the crazed fans, dance moves and court appearances.

And now, it is that time of year when your obese uncle visits because he’s eaten his own cupboards bare, Britain’s Got Talent has rolled round to gnaw away the ITV schedule.

So it seems only fitting that Susan Boyle gets a waxwork replica dedicated to her in the world’s most cruddy museum chain, Madame Tussauds. This way, the PR behind Britain’s Got Talent can revert to a former success story when the UK public realise that this year’s so called crop of talent is a load of drivel.

The waxwork of Susan Boyle is being showcased in Blackpool, a town famous for being a poor man’s Las Vegas [Vivaaa Las Blackpool! - Ed]. Instead of having any genuine glamour, the glittering billboards and grand hotels are replaced with 32 watt lightbulbs that blink every other minute and need replacing every other month. The only people fascinated with Blackpool illuminations are those living in rural areas who haven’t been introduced to the invention of colour and still believe in incest.

With the UK and the world in general suffering from crippling debt, it’s great to know that somewhere, someone thought it would be great to blow money on honouring image of yet another disappointing Scottish person. We’re not just talking a a couple of quid you could pay school children to make a ropey knock off model. Instead, £150,000 was spent on the model of Susan Boyle.

But what exactly has Susan Boyle contributed to the world? Has she made the Scottish national dish – the deep fat fried Mars Bar calorie free? Perhaps she’s written detailed blueprints on how to overthrow the dictatorship in Zimbabwe? No, none of the above are correct. Instead, she is known for being the crazy woman who went on Britain’s Got Talent, looked like she’d had an argument with a bag of flour whilst dressing in the dark and surprised us all when she opened her gob and started singing.

Yes, we did all look like idiots afterwards and the goody two shoes of the world started telling us that we should never judge a book by its cover. Either way, Susan Boyle ruined the internet for a couple of months as the video of her performance was spread quicker around the internet than a lady of the night giving out STDs to clients. But we’re not here to whizz on her chips; she seemed to have a jolly good day out, commenting on her wax likeness:

“What can you say? They have done a very good job. It feels fantastic”

Fantastic indeed, as you see, dear reader, people who come from West Lothian can’t afford mirrors. Therefore, most of the population have never seen their own image unless they live close to a lake or a river. Even then, the excitement of seeing themselves results in accidental drowning as they attempt to rescue the person trapped under the water.

We’re sure that when all the Susan Boyle hype fades away, she’ll be allowed to keep the model so she can sit it in her kitchen and count it as a real life non-talking friend.

Bless.

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From the bulging mailbags and comments we receive, it appears the three blokes and Matt Bellamy who make up Muse are the greatest band in the world.

In terms that even a simpleton could understand, Muse are like the Jesus H. Christ of music. Everything they belt out is phenomenal and lapped up by their disciples, otherwise known as their super massive nutter of followers.

Even though the group have don’t do anything particularly exciting, they still have a dedicated bunch of fans willing to testify that a recording of Matt Bellamy crying is audio gold. Fair play if you’d be willing to fork out £50 for a 7” copy of it, but when it comes to physical sales, the Cornish band aren’t leading the way in sales. They’ve only been beaten by someone that Muse fans would consider unrock n’ roll, Susan Boyle.

We’ve never had one of those religious experiences that people often report of having when close to death. When this does happen, the term “angelic” is often thrown around. How do we know what an angel sounds like? It’s something that has always confused us. The mental image drilled in to our mind is of someone wearing a white bed sheet with eyeholes poked out whilst singing in a high pitched tone.

So that’s basically a ghost that’s been kicked in the testicles then?

For a guaranteed way of selling records, just slap a sticker on an album with something saying “the voice of an angel” or if you’re feeling cheeky, “a literal slice of heavenly pie.”

Even though Susan Boyle has the voice of a fictional creature, the Scottish singer has the looks of a gargoyle that has been run over and then beaten repeatedly with a stick [she'd fit in at the 'spray bedsit just fine, obviously - Ed.]. Given her mental temperament, the two compliment each other well.

Some Music Mag Who Didn’t Invite Us To Their Award Ceremony give the lowdown on the surprising statistics that show people still bother buying albums:

“Newly-announced figures show that her second album ‘The Gift’ sold 3.7 million copies abroad last year. She beat second place Sade, whose ‘Soldier Of Love’ album sold 2.3 million. ‘Sigh No More’ by Mumford and Sons is third in the list, selling 1.3 million copies abroad, while Muse’s ‘The Resistance’ sold one million.”

We’re amazed that the hardcore Muse fan haven’t raided the bins of the band and created an effigy of their heroes in order to gain them some sales through the power of voodoo.

It just gets worse for poor Muse doesn’t it? You can forgive Susan Boyle for kicking their arse due to exposure from Youtube, but getting owned by terrible folk act Mumford and Sons? That’s worse than having your nipples sawn off with a bread knife and reattached with barbed wire. Mumford & Sons make songs so twee and dire than a loud fart would send them hurtling in to an pylon.

This year, Matt Bellamy has taken the tedious celebrity marriage route which will presumably gain him more coverage and further overshadow the rest of Muse.

BECAUSE HE’S LIKE TOTALLY AMAZING AND SHIT.

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Bloody hell, why aren’t people paying attention to the wants and needs of one woman?

OK, let us rephrase that, there are nasty individuals who are making the world’s most famous mentalist opera singer a little bit uneasy. Now we’re not being cruel, but it’s safe to say that Susan Boyle isn’t the sanest of folk. Tell her there’s a portal to Mars directly through your belly button and she’d try and enter it.

Only the week did we tell you that it’s easy to make Susan Boyle cry. Because it’s only natural to pick on someone different, a brutish gang of louts laughed and jeered and called her names. Oddly, this was done on a train. Thank christ it wasn’t on a city centre bus. Not only would she have to endure the stench of piss, but potential happy slapping. Now Susan has been reduced to tears by ex-Velvet Underground member Lou Reed. Guess it wasn’t such a perfect day for her! Sorry, it’s Friday, we’re running short of material.

Lou Reed doesn’t seem the sort of man who’d go around stealing sausage rolls from children or pushing pensioners down hills. He looks like the perfect gentlemen who’d go out of his way to help people. Unless Susan Boyle was subjected to his experimental noise album Metal Machine Music, comprised solely of feedback and static, she’d probably find herself not dreaming a dream but locked in an eternal nightmare.

Classical singers like Susan Boyle do one thing only, and that’s sing well. You’ll never see her release an album of brand new songs. The entire genre roughly has a few thousand original tracks. These are then rehashed every other year by artists who put their ‘unique’ ‘spin’ on ‘things’. This time, she wanted to have a butchers at the only solo song most people know by Lou Reed, Perfect Day. Like Susan Boyle’s salty tears, stories flooded the interet:

“On Wednesday, TMZ reported that Reed refused to allow the Scottish singer to perform the track on “Americas Got Talent.” After learning the news, SuBo tearfully departed Los Angeles, according to the website.”

But would we ever copy and paste a quote off the internet, write some jokes around it and then serve up the results to you, our dear readers? Depending on deadlines, possibly, but as the stories developed like mould on a left out piece of toast, it emerged that Lou Reed didn’t call her a “freaky gargoyle Scottish goon” or “a big lump of wobbling virgin flab” as he turned down the request of poor Susan Boyle.

Access Hollywood clears up the mess for us, ensuring that you can sleep tonight, knowing that the situation is resolved, Lou Reed isn’t a dick and Susan Boyle really needs to relax and stop fucking crying when things go wrong:

“Susan not performing was due to “a contractual thing,” but didn’t elaborate beyond his initial comments.”

We’re now going to cry ourselves thin that our Godlike editor Stuart Heritage is leaving us, forcing us to become totally independent. We’ll join Susan Boyle in the corner rocking back and forth, wishing for everything to go back to normal.

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As you may have read yesterday, the world briefly paused for a moment and shrivelled in size due to the taunts thrown at Susan Boyle. Come on now, it isn’t like we’ve all been trained to make fun of people who are clearly different to the social norm. Ginger folk, glasses wearers, bald people and the left handed types will have probably received some verbal anger from the trendy Topshop nation

Roll several elements in to one and it will be almost impossible to resist taunting someone you’d never ever meet in real life. Cue Britain’s Got Talent to offer us Susan Boyle who looked a) a complete mess, b) slightly mental, c) suffering with delusion that she could sing and worst of all was d) Scottish.

Once she opened her gob, we knew that point “c” could be removed but “a”, “b” and “d” would still haunt her. Such as incidents on trains. But fear not Susan Boyle, someone from X-Factor loves you!

If you watched X-Factor on Saturday or just read about the red hot scandal of shit people being helped out with editing techniques, you’d have heard about eighteen year old Gamu Nhengu. Amazingly, she was a normal person who wasn’t told by her family she was the best thing ever, despite everyone knowing she sounded like an abandoned cat in a wheelie bin. Hooray for Gamu – or Gammon as we’ve accidently called her, she progressed to musical concentration boot camp.

Gamu Nhengu doesn’t really have much in common with Susan Boyle. Taking away the obvious visual differences, there is also the ease of which Simon Cowell can cast a wicked spell on such a young talent and groom her to be as dull as Leona Lewis or more upbeat like Alexander Burke. But stop everything, we’re not just typing an extreme excess of words to make sure this article fills its quota of words, the two have something that bonds them. It’s not vocal style or the name of their cat, it’s the fact they both live in Scotland. See, the country has more than just Irn-Bru and deep fried everything.

Speaking to stv.tv, Gamu said:

“Wow! She’s got a set of lungs doesn’t she? She’s amazing!”

If it does emerge that Susan Boyle has no lungs and is somehow producing sounds through her unused vagina then we’d delete all the negative stories we’ve ever published about her. Given the trend for collaborations of late, then expect the two to join forces together and release a single when Scotland stop being shit at football and qualify for a Euro or World Cup tournament. Tediously called I Dreamt A Dream Of Walking On Sunshine At Whatever Tournament It Is.

Scrap that actually, the average life expectancy in Scotland is only twenty-six. This won’t be happening anytime soon.

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People just can’t decide whether to bully Susan Boyle or not. First, the country sniggered at her for merely having the audacity to stand on a stage looking a bit gormless. Then there was a collective staring-at-shoes moment as she belted out a rubbish Elaine Paige song. Then she got a new leather jacket and everyone starting hurling abuse at her again.

And so the tug o’war continues as Susan Boyle was driven to tears and shouting on a train after a bunch of braying gits thought they’d gang up on her and mock her mercilessly.

At the time of press, it cannot be confirmed whether it was a group of hecklerspray writers on the annual team-building exercise to Scotland. That said, when ‘spray writers actually bother to go outside, it is mostly spent weeping and feeling cheated by a world that owes them nothing.

Boyle was apparently riding alone (no, that’s not a euphemism) on a train journey home from Edinburgh to Blackburn (the one in West Lothian, not the town full of glue-sniffers in Lancashire) on Sunday afternoon, when suddenly, she was set upon by fellow commuters who began laughing at her.

The Sun reports that she said:

“I’m normally patient but I am about to greet, greet, greet. I don’t normally get angry with people. I’m ashamed of you all – shut up. I’m warning you, it’s not funny. You wouldn’t like it.”

It would have made for a better story if she’d sang it mind you.

Anyway, in this utterly depressing state of affairs, an onlooker is quoted as noting that Boyle was visibly upset as the taunts continued.

They said:

“Susan was minding her own business on the train. Some people were taking pictures. There were people laughing at her – it was not nice. People noticed she was sobbing. Something was upsetting her.

“She then turned to the people sitting opposite her and told them off. Susan certainly put them in their place – and good for her. It can’t be easy dealing with the fame she has but she handled it well.”

So there you have it. People of Britain – prone to upsetting women on trains. Thrilling stuff.

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Susan Boyle has proved that nothing earns money faster than making people feel guilty with your hairy face.

She’s loaded. And it’s all for one simple reason – because Susan Boyle is so staggeringly odd-looking that people are truly amazed when she’s not massively incompetent at everything she tries her hand at. Oh, and also it’s because she’s got a clever financial team who don’t let her spunk all her earnings away the instant they arrive. Which has made Susan Boyle furious, by the way.

Susan Boyle is apparently complaining that she’s only allowed £300 of her £10 million fortune a week, which isn’t even enough to buy furniture for her new house. Honestly, with strict rules like that anyone would think that a) she has experienced mental difficulties in the past and b) is unaccustomed to dealing with large sums of money. Oh, hang on.

The important thing to remember with Susan Boyle is that it won’t last forever. She’s essentially a YouTube sensation, so sooner or later the world will move onto to another YouTube sensation – maybe a baby that looks like Vladimir Putin, or a seagull in a top hat – and forget about her.

But at least when that happens, Susan Boyle will be set for life. Her management team has set up a system of trusts and investments to ensure that, even if her popularity wanes, she’ll still have the bulk of her £10 million fortune to live off when she retires. The downside to this is that Susan is only allowed £300 a week in spending money, which seems fair enough.

Remember that Susan Boyle was admitted to The Priory just because she didn’t win Britain’s Got Talent, and that her mental frailties could cause her to spunk away her entire fortune on a giant fibreglass statue of a dancing pony if she had unrestricted financial access.

But still, Susan Boyle’s brother Gerry has got wind of this system and has expressed concern that he won’t be able to buy that private jet he’s had his eye on it’ll have a negative effect on his sister. He told News Of The World:

“Susan said to me, ‘I’ve been told I get £300 a week because I’m a novice. I don’t have the money to go and buy the furniture’. So she’s still stuck in the small council house where we all grew up. She should be able to walk into a bank anywhere and say she wants £50,000 cash. That may not be advisable, but it would be HER choice because it’s HER money.”

Yes, surely she should be able to do that. Surely Susan Boyle should be able to walk into any bank she likes and say “I’d like £50,000 cash, please, so that my brother can buy an expensive month-long holiday, an enchanted amulet and a necklace made of buzzard eyes.” The fact that she can’t is madness. Pure madness.

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You know when you take a picture and you keep photocopying it until you end up with a page of impenetrable scrawl?

Good. So does Susan Boyle. Not only is she a picture of Elaine Paige who’s been photocopied until its voice isn’t quite as good and its eyebrows get all enormous, but now she’s searching YouTube for a bad photocopy of herself to guest on her next album.

In other words, Susan Boyle is being generous enough to offer a member of the public a taste of what it’s like to be her. Which presumably means that, as soon as they’ve finished recording their vocals, a combination of pressure, public backlash and proximity to Piers Morgan‘s face will force them into having a debilitating nervous breakdown. But at least it’ll be an authentic taste.

We’ll say this for Susan Boyle, she’s generous to a fault. She’s launched a competition to find an unknown talent who’ll duet on her new album The Gift. The Mirror reports:

The Britain’s Got Talent star wants hopefuls to upload videos of themselves singing Silent Night in a competition she has dubbed The Susan Search. Scot Susan, 49, said: “A lot of people wouldn’t have the confidence or perhaps the means to enter a big competition like Britain’s Got Talent. This might be less daunting as they can record it in the privacy of their home.”

See? Generous. Susan Boyle – and this was definitely Susan Boyle’s idea, not the idea of someone at her record company who doubts Susan Boyle’s potential as a long-term recording artist and thinks that tacky pseudo-auditions are the only way to keep the public interested in her – has thought of everything.

Some people just wouldn’t enter Britain’s Got Talent, either for fear of a negative backlash or because they don’t like the idea of being exploited for someone else’s gain or because they’re in possession of all their marbles. And where better for them to showcase their talents than on YouTube – famous for its lack of negative comments and entirely rational userbase – to promote someone else’s album?

It’s important to remember that Susan Boyle won’t want to be upstaged, though, so applicants can’t look or sound better than her. So if you’re horribly disfigured and covered in hair and make the noise of a wounded animal when you sing, this could be your lucky day.

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Look, there’s no other of putting this, so we’ll just say it – we want Susan Boyle and the Pope to fall in love.

And get married. And have kids. And, no, that’s not just so we can rig up a secret camera in the Pope’s bedroom and film them having sex and sell the ensuing Pope/Boyle sex tape on the internet, although admittedly that is a big part of it. No, we just want to see what the offspring of Susan Boyle and the Pope would look like. Hopefully they’d have Boyle’s monobrow and wiry hair, and the Pope’s terrifying eyes and willingness to overlook systematic child abuse. They’d be adorable.

And luckily our dream might just reach fruition – Susan Boyle is going to sing for the Pope in September. Let’s just hope the Pope has the foresight to kit his Popemobile out with a mattress beforehand.

Hey, you! Yes, you! Couldn’t get into a festival this year? Think that modern rock music isn’t nearly as intimidating as it could be? Sold your Glastonbury tickets because you realised that you wouldn’t be constantly threatened with the prospect of an eternity spent burning in hell there? Well fear not – in September there’s going to be a 95,000-strong open mass in Glasgow featuring both Susan Boyle and Pope Benedict XVI, and it sounds right up your alley.

It’s been announced that Susan Boyle will sing at the Bellahouston Park mass that’s been organised to mark the first visit to the UK by a Pope since 1982. Poor Pope – he’s never visited the UK in an official capacity before, and he’s being punished for it by having to listen to a squat lady with problem hair singing about some horses. No wonder he looks so miserable all the time. Digital Spy reports:

The Britain’s Got Talent runner up is said to be the final stages of negotiations to sing at the public mass in Scotland, which marks Pope Benedict XVI’s first visit to Britain. Simon Cowell’s brother Tony recently claimed that Boyle would “drop everything” to perform for the pontiff, admitting: “It would be a dream come true for her”.

This just goes to show how far the influence of Britain’s Got Talent has spread. Hopefully next time the Pope visits the UK, he’ll be treated to a command performance by a drumming child or a clever dog or a man who can fart the theme-tune to Dallas. He’d like that.

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Celebrities are dropping like flies at the moment. Gary Coleman’s gone, Dennis Hopper’s gone. They’re all dying.

If you were a celebrity, you’d be terrified. What if you’re next? This is why Susan Boyle has decided to grab the bull by the horns. Fate might choose to take her next – maybe in a road accident, or maybe by positioning her under a falling piano, or maybe by reducing the amount of food that she can scavenge in her native woodland – but when it does, at least her estate will be in order.

Or at least she’s said what song she’d like played at her funeral, which is sort of the same thing. It’s Nellie The Elephant, by the way. Because Susan Boyle’s crazy.

It’s now been a year since the people of Britain welcomed Susan Boyle into their hearts, then pushed her out of their hearts when she went mental and started swearing at everyone, then made her lose a talent contest to a bunch of dancers, then pretended that they actually liked her all along. The last 12 months have brought Susan Boyle wealth and fame and global recognition and, for the first time in her life, a hairless patch of skin between her eyebrows. But is Susan Boyle happy?

It’s hard to say. Take her choice of funeral song, for example. When we die, we’d like our funeral song to be a special two-hour composition that we wrote ourselves called You Are All Responsible For My Death, that blames each individual funeral guest for our death by listing every single bad thing they’ve ever done to us until they become paralysed with guilt. Because, you know, if we’re not around we may as well make sure that we bugger up everyone else’s life.

But Susan Boyle? Susan Boyle is different. At her funeral she’d like Nellie The Elephant. STV reports:

Her charm and angelic voice have seen her become a global hit but the Scottish lady has managed to retain her down to earth sense of humour, saying she wants to have Nellie the Elephant played at her funeral because: “You’ve got to leave them laughing.”

That’s all well and good, Susan, but what if your body mass and diet kick back and you die by farting so hard that you rupture your internal organs? We mean it – playing a song that goes “Off she went with a trumpety-trump, trump trump trump” wouldn’t be funny at all, would it Susan? It’d just remind everyone of the circumstances of your harrowing death. It’d be harrowing. You’d leave those guests in tears. You’re sick, Susan Boyle. Sick.

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Glee really is one of those shows that couldn’t have a British remake.

For a start, there is no casting agent alive who’d be able to find a group of over the top, sugar-coated kids who vomit up rainbows and live somewhere like Cardiff. Only in America does everyone look scarily groomed enough to resemble some sort of warped Barbie doll monster.

The cynics may have noticed that Glee shares vague similarities with another school based singing and dancing extravaganza called High School Musical. In both sickly shows, hideously annoying songs are sung, but there is a difference! Glee forces the children and dance to songs by groups we already know and hate, such as Journey and Madonna. Because Glee is taking over as the world’s foremost guilty pleasure show, it’s time they wheeled out the odder appearances for the show. Including Justin Bieber and Susan Boyle. Just when it couldn’t get worse.

It’s strange that the producers of Glee want to rope Susan Boyle into appearing on the show. She is as relevant in teen culture as groups on Facebook are to the current UK government. Besides, everyone knows that it’s easy to see a Scottish person sing. All you need is a few cans of lager and there you go – one loopy screeching singer. And it’s not like Susan Boyle needs the encouragement.

Now if this odd cameo does pay off, we already have the dream role lined up for the Britain’s Got Talent loser. Imagine the scene – it’s prom night and the boys are nervously discussing fingering techniques in the toilets. But oh no! It’s embarrassing auntie Susan Boyle. How will the children cope as she attempts to be ‘hip’ and boogie on down with the kids by doing some karaoke gangster rap? She might even spike the punch with Irn-Bru or haggis. Entertainment & Showbiz is reporting that Susan Boyle could very well be playing a role such as an all-singing, all-dancing toilet cleaner:

“Britain’s Got Talent” runner-up will appear at the Christmas episode and is cast in some not-too-glamorous role.”

Justin Bieber can sod right off as far as we’re concerned. The man-child creation would only play the role as a naïve exchange student who’d get mocked before ending up beating the bullies. What you really want is some funkier, edgier characters to appear in Glee and make it better. Such as…

1) Naked Vanessa Hudgens – During the Christmas episode, an unclothed Vanessa Hudgens will appear telling them the troubles of ‘dancing future’. Basically, she’ll tell the girls on the show not to take photos of themselves and leave them around for people to put on the internet. Expect Glee to feature its first strip show scene.

2) Jesus – For Christ’s sake, the bloke could walk on water, so he’d bring a whole new dimension of radical dancing to the show which would piss all over Dancing On Ice, Dancing With The Stars, Strictly Come Dancing and the soon to be announced Dancing On A Bed Of Nails. There could even be a religious dance-off between our lord saviour and the Hindi God Vishnu. He takes breakdancing to the max.

3) A pirate – Because all pirates are cool and make any situation that little bit better. Or if you’re being fussy, a mystical Ninja called Horris who is returning to perform a Ninja spirit dance to bring back his dead family from the burial ground where the school is built.

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Susan Boyle taught the world to never judge a book by its cover – not even a hairy book that dresses like a homeless woman.

Not even if it smells. And thanks to this timely lesson, we know not to judge Susan Boyle’s actual book by its cover when it’s released later on this year. It doesn’t matter what’s on the cover – a big picture of Susan Boyle’s face, a big photo of Susan Boyle sitting in a bathtub drinking champagne with her legs in the air, a lovely drawing of a kitten – we refuse to judge the actual book by it. Instead we’re going to judge Susan Boyle’s book by the standards of actual literature, which means we’re probably going to end up quite disappointed by it.

Which is to say that Susan Boyle is releasing her autobiography this year. Contain yourselves.

The most endearing thing about Susan Boyle is that people want to know what it’s like to be her. What it’s like to be her now, we should say – if they wanted to know what it was like to be Susan Boyle in the days before Britain’s Got Talent then all they’d need to do is dress up like a visually-impaired social worker, stop brushing their teeth and go and live in the woods for a few days.

Instead, people want to know about how Susan Boyle dealt with the sudden whoomph of fame, with the makeovers and the breakdowns and the having to maintain intermittent verbal communication with Piers Morgan all the time. She dreamed a dream, which turned out to be a dream about people being quite patronising to her because she could sing quite well even though she wasn’t very pretty, and that’s what people want to hear about.

Fortunately, that’s what people will get to hear about, because it’s been announced that Susan Boyle is working on her autobiography. Hooray! The New York Times reports:

[Publisher] Transworld said the book… will be called “The Woman I Was Born to Be.” [Susan Boyle said] “When I strutted on to the stage for that audition, I was a scared wee lassie, still grieving for my mother, not caring how I looked. I think I’ve grown up a lot in the last year, become more of a lady, and I’m not so frightened anymore.”

In a world where every old Z-list bastard has a ghost-written autobiography, it’ll be difficult for Susan Boyle’s The Woman I Was Born To Be to stand out from the pack. The book needs to capture the initial thrill of seeing Susan Boyle onstage for the first time, and here’s how she can do it.

1 – In the first chapter, Susan Boyle should play loud music and canned applause and cut to a shot of Simon Cowell pulling his moony-eyed dream face at her every three lines. This will make her look better than she actually is, so that when people get to chapter two and realise that it’s only a mediocre book and not a brilliant book, they’ll be too emotionally invested to care.

2 - Susan Boyle should hand-write the book in the ugliest possible handwriting she knows, and she should deliberately misspell every fifth word. That way, people will swamp it with praise in the mistaken belief that pretending to love something so awkward and lumpen will make them look deeper than they actually are.

You’re welcome, Susan Boyle.

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To be an internet sensation these days, you need one thing – a monobrow that looks like an upturned bikini wax strip.

It worked for Susan Boyle. All she had was a monobrow, a haircut that looked like it was made out of animal pubes and a voice that was relatively pleasant compared to the ghastly atrocity that was her face. That is why people like her, isn’t it? Because they can’t get over the fact that funny-looking people can sing almost as well as normal-looking people? Right?

But get ready to pretend that you’re much deeper than you actually are again, Susan Boyle fans, because there’s a new kid in town. It’s Lin Yu-chun from Taiwan, and he can sing I Will Always Love You almost as well as Whitney Houston. Plus he’s also got a terrible haircut and a lousy dress sense, so you can patronise the crap out of him too! Hooray!

We don’t know much about Lin Yu-chun, but we know that he’s in for a hell of a ride. The new Susan Boyle, they’re calling him, because he can sing quite well despite being a bit odd to look at. And also because he appeared on a talent show and has since become a YouTube sensation, but mainly because he’s quite weird to look at.

Here’s the official story so far: Lin Yu-chun turned up on a Taiwanese talent show called One Million Star and – once everyone had laughed at his stupid hair, awful bow tie, chubby frame and sole eyebrow that’s the exact width of his face, he proceeded to sing a version of I Will Always Love You by Whitney Houston in the style of a fairly accomplished karaoke performer. Look, here’s the video:

Wonderful, wasn’t it? We don’t know who this Hugh chap is, but he must be extraordinarily flattered by the fact that Lin Yu-chun performed a song about how he will always love him on the television. What’s that? He was singing ‘I will always love you?’ Could have fooled us.

Anyway, thanks to this video, Lin Yu-chun looks set for a Susan Boyle-style jet ride to the big league. Oh, the things he’ll experience – becoming a global punchline for the way he looks, having a nervous breakdown because of it, trying to make himself look smarter as a result, being verbally abused by people who say that fame has changed him as a result of that, checking into a recuperation clinic as a result of that, losing the final of One Million Star to a bunch of dancers, releasing a best-selling album and then living the rest of his life in a precarious state of emotionally fragility surrounded by meaningless objects of material wealth.

Yep, that Lin Yu-chun’s in for a ride alright.

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