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.

Tulisa off of ‘N Dubz’ has split up with that other bloke Fazer out of ‘N Dubz’ because they were just having a hard time. What’s that you say? Not the best of starts to the week? Well congratu-bloody-lations on that nugget of wisdom, Sherlock. You THINK?

APPAZ (It’s definitely an ‘appaz’ moment. Please give us one ‘appaz’.) Tulisa moved out of the couple’s North London haunt, at some point sometime in the past week probably, and the only reason we’re a bit hazy on that is only because we’re very vulnerable and are having trouble keeping our calenders straight in our shaky callous fingers right now, before you start.

What’s more, it’s not been looking too good for the Camden childhood sweethearts as it was, seeing as their holiday in the Maldives the other day didn’t half go all post-traumatic stressy bessy anyway. We just really didn’t fancy mentioning that at the time, because we didn’t want to make your lovely little faces do that thing.. YES, THAT. THAT THING YOU’RE DOING RIGHT NOW. With the tears. Stop that. Think our problems are really as big as Sinead O Connor’s, do we? Mmm. Well maybe pour another glass of brandy, listen to Mandinka on a slower RPM, and then grow a heart. (Sorry, we’re still sad.)

In a faintly exhausting-sounding poll that we didn’t read because we were really busy talking to all of our very interesting friends about  ’current affairs in ‘the newspapers’ –  it’s apparently all the more likely that couples are splitting up because it’s all January and nobody wants to buy anybody that Valentines Card with the cock jokes on, coming out a speech bubble of a blissfully unaware, compliant cartoon penguin. Apparently. Oh and according to, and we kid you not, The PR Representative of Sheila’s Wheels (Or ‘Moses 2012′ if you will)  it’s because ‘It’s a bit dark outside and stuff.’

Well that clears up Seal and Heidi Klum then, who also erased our hopes of a Utopia where they are king and queen, dressed up in their discrimAMAZING Halloween outfits, as we moisturise them thoroughly on blinded awe this week.

Or: ‘they broke up too’ if you want to be more black and white about it. Seriously, you guys are all about the fun today.

However, like that bit in Casablanca where the PMS slaggy one is all ‘Come on Sam, put a donk on it’ (Commonly misquoted, as you all know) this particular love story ends with a glimmer of hope, where Tulisa went out on the razz, got bollocked, and got HER ‘Member of Little Mix with low self esteem’ out for all to see.

And as for Fazer, he’s doing a solo album with that sensuous temptress of the night that is Chris Brown of course.

So, here’s looking at… At least 12-18 months of community service, we estimate. God, we really love Casablanca, so romantic.

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.

Okay. Hands up. Who’s missed Cheryl Cole? Hello? Did you hear us? Why can we hear tendons snapping? Well – erm – YOU’RE IN LUCK!

For that X Factor Expert and all round amazing woman what is good at chatting to people on strange curved sofas that don’t exist anywhere except post-watershed Channel 4 programmes has ‘reportedly’ (and Jesus Christ, we use that term lightly, this story was pulled from Star Magazine, where half the office are frequented by Nick Hardman’s idea of what women look like, and the rest: Frogs) agreed to be the face of a new late night chat show, like that time they did it with Charlotte Church, as part of the What To Do With Down to Earth Welsh People Scheme of 2006.

Anyway, the consensus seems to be it’s going to be a show kind of on the same lines.

Provisionally titled (Re: grasping wildly in the dark) ‘Late Night With Cheryl’, the show is promised by Mr T.V Insider:

‘They know she’ll be a massive ratings winner and is the perfect fit to pull in amazing guests.’

Well that’s put our mind at rest. FOREVER. And this ‘amazing guests’ thing – Graham Norton’s going to be kicking himself later.  So, yeah. This is happening apparently. Alongside that film career (WHAT? Don’t get upset at us, we didn’t do it!) she’s apparently having this year too, as it is paramount to heave multitudes of success on The Woman With Cheekbones and how brilliant it is that she has cheekbones, and how she should ultimately just have everything she wants time and time over until we can begin to try and fathom a world where a Geordie accent comes out of shiny haired people with teeth.

TEETH.

So there you go. Another one of those Balls of Fury/Rudetube dimly lit viral shows about hashtagging and pictures of celebrities is on it’s merry way to us, probably-not-really, with the crucial ingredient of Cheryl Cole’s wry voiceover FINALLY sought at last. We’re sure it’ll be like the dimly lit viral chatshow about hashtagging and pictures of celebrities that Chris Morris never had.

Still it’s not going to be as bad as when Peaches Geldof did it, because humanity can only achieve so much, or wear so many brogues that we’re all going to stand around and take pictures of later in a satanic circle in Camden Market whilst saying things like, “Hey! Did you hear about that guy who married a pillow? Yeah, Shaznay reblogged it whilst I was touching her thigh last night listening to related artists of The Big Pink.’

Sorry, we were talking about something.  Oh, it was Cheryl Cole wasn’t it? Maybe we should just stop talking.

Someone needs to get Oh My God Trampoline Guy an agent before this all gets out of hand.

Olly ‘the luckiest boiled potato on Earth’ Murs is definitely some things: irritatingly catchy pop himbo, presenter of X Factor siamese show, The Xtra Factor and technically a man. These things are fact. They can’t be denied.

But what would you say if we told you that the flamboyant singer slash presenter slash runner up was in fact heterosexual, and not as you would think, a total Mo.

And for that matter, what would professional beard Caroline Flack say now we know about Olly and Harry Styles’ torrid, Brokeback Mountain-esque romance? She’d probably go back to being Bubbles The Monkey. Seriously. Google it.

Well Murs has managed to force his jaw through a regulation width door frame to perpetuate the myth that he loves to lick lily and other general vaginary things, and make sure that he still gets invited to Louis Walsh’s super secret naked Westlife tribute parties.

Speaking to Fabulous magazine, Murs said that he was kind of addicted to sex. And shopping. And cosmopolitans. And his Sex and The City boxset before going off onto a diatribe of how hard it is finding his Mr Big.

“Shopping is my only addiction – some people get addicted to drugs or drink or sex. Well, having said that, I’m kind of addicted to sex. I’m not going to lie – I’ve enjoyed being single. But I’ve been careful. I don’t hop it and out of beds, I’m not a male slag or anything. But I’m single, I’m a pop singer – if I said I hadn’t slept with any girls you’d be worried about me!”

Not us Olly. We don’t care if you don’t sleep with any girls. We’d also like the mental image of your chin grunting away out of our heads as well.

This isn’t the first time that Olly Murs has dispelled rumours that he likes it up the shoot. He even spoke to Entertainmentwise back in November to tell people that he isn’t gay at all. At all.

“…one paper said they thought I was gay. That was the most weird story I’ve ever seen because I am far from gay. Far from gay! So that was a very strange to see. Me? Gay? Really?!”

Gay, dear? Who, dear? Me, dear? No, dear.

How very dare us.

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.

If you know someone who’s doing well, you’d be there for them, right? Always showering them with praise or offering words of encouragement when stuff goes a little bit pear-shaped. Anyone with a heart would anyway.

But is everything we see even real? We’ll never know if the smiles and waves that were directed to Cheryl Cole from Girls Aloud were designed to be positive encouragement? Or pile loads of unneeded pressure upon her shoulders so she’d fail and spend a few months in rehab?

For this year’s X-Factor, Tulisa and Kelly Rowland stepped in for Cheryl and Dannii Minogue. We assume that Beyonce was too busy faking a child bump or something to care about her friend Kelly’s progress on the show. As for Tulisa, her fellow members of N-Dubz have been quiet on celebrating her success. Well we say that, Dappy has now decided to voice his opinion on more than just the show.

After Sunday’s results show, you’d have thought that Dappy would be furiously typing away into his phone and congratulating his band mate with a text that looked something like this:

“OMG! Dat iz liek wel gud 4 u an dat wining da xfakta. Giz 1 o dem birdz digitz cuz day r totez getin sum dappy aktion LOLMAO.”

It appears that he did nothing of the sort, as, on the same night that Tulisa and Little Mix were celebrating with a kebab, he was gigging in Manchester with his brand of gangsterless hip-hop. He told the crowd of teenagers and the venues bar staff:

“This is what fame is, not standing for hours outside to audition for X Factor. Fuck Simon Cowell.”

Looks like poor Dappy has a bee in his bonnet about the whole structure of reality TV and how it can instantly spark off a career for someone who’s only been in the public domain for three months.

“We wanted to go on The X Factor to be with Tulisa on judges’ houses but the people who own it thought we were too much of a gamble, that wasn’t right. I’m devastated they don’t think we’re capable of going on there and helping her.”

At least Dappy would have brought some comedy on to the X-Factor with is loveable antics. He’s just like Olly Murs, but more real, because he’s from the ghetto or something. Instead, we got Jessie J, a girl who doesn’t care about the price tag, but probably didn’t say no to her appearance fee for the show.

“Simon, I’m coming for you, bro. I don’t care, I don’t give two shits – you’ve made a big mistake, man. Watch your back, Simon! I’m gonna get hits and number one singles and show you!”

Phew, for a second, we thought that we’d have to dip in to our penny jar and finance security for Simon Cowell following that outburst. It looks like Dappy is threatening to rough us all up through lyrical bullets.

Makes sense really, he looks like he couldn’t operate a potato gun. Still, at least we’ve all seen his long, thin penis all over the internet, which is something. And whatever happened to that report which said Dappy battered a gal of his one night the X Factor was on?

Moral highgrounds ahoy!

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.

Death-threats have dogged Caroline Flack since everyone found out she’s allegedly been shagging Harry Styles from One Direction. Fans are furious and the rest of the world is doing small vomits in their mouths.

That’s because Harry Styles is a veritable child. He’s 17 and she’s 408 years old.

Of course, the Xtra Factor host isn’t phased by all the wrung hands, furrowed brows and deafening dry-heaves. That’s because she’s apparently already had sex with Olly Murs, which is worse than enjoying intercourse with Robert Mugabe and Genghis Khan’s corpse.

So, which perfectly sane and trustworthy person has spilled with beans about Flack’s dilated vagina?

IT’S LOUIS ‘NOT MENTAL AT ALL’ WALSH EVERYBODY!

Louis Walsh seemed to confirm that, during Saturday’s live Skype chat with Simon Cowell, Olly Murs threw his awful member up toward Flack’s mons pubis (to be said in a French accent like ‘Moh Poubee’).

After Simon asked what had gone on between the pair, Louis blurted out:

“It did, Simon”

Simon, half thinking about how much he enjoys his own moobs, raised an eyebrow and said:

“Olly, you look very guilty.”

If this is true, then Caroline Flack is clearly aroused by a sense of shame. Having sex with Olly Murs is surely like getting off with a jacket potato? Either way, this means, we can look forward to future stories about her sexual relations with James Blunt, Paul McMullan and Jim Davidson.

At the same time.

*vomits steadily*

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.

Xtra Factor host Caroline Flack has finally broken her silence over bouncy haired One Direction singer Harry Styles, in an attempt to end minutes of speculation over whether she was lustfully gnawing on his teenage bones like a dirty puma.

After receiving death threats from hormonally unbalanced One Direction fans on Twitter warning her to steer clear of Styles, Flack decided to come clean about the whole thing and make them even angrier.

Apparently people get angry about grown women dating teenagers or something.

She piped up:

“Some people tend to see the negative immediately and that’s what I find strange. If two people like each other and get on, why does anyone else find a negative in it?”

“I know it’s human nature for everyone to gossip. But why say it’s bad? No one’s being hurt.”

“What’s hard for me to get my head around is people saying it’s disgusting. I don’t think it is.’

We can guarantee that every 17 year old boy in the country would stand up and agree with you Flack; well they would if they weren’t trying to hide their semi caused by the mere thought of all of this.

THIS COULD HAPPEN TO YOU BOYS!!! THINK ABOUT IT!!

Still, it seems that Harry isn’t a typical 17 year old, you know… horny and dribbling;

“No he isn’t. All of the lads are wise beyond their years, especially him.”

It must be like dating an 18 year old then.

Regarding the Twitter death threats Caroline said:

“It went too far. It’s a form of bullying from people who are hiding behind a computer. I knew they were just a minority of One Direction fans and all very young – it’s kind of a fanatical obsession.”

“I can’t take it seriously or I’d never come out of my house.”

Don’t worry though, Harry was there to comfort her with wise words;

“Don’t listen to Twitter.”

Genius. Who said that dating someone with limited life experience wouldn’t prove to be challenging? We do feel that the only thing Harry may challenge her to is a game of Tennis on his Wii, but what the hell do we know?

So here’s wise Harry and his wise friends all giggling about the fact that Harry kissed someone that wasn’t his mum.