Impossible to look away....

It's all my own fault. I like to hoik my heaving bulk up onto my hobby High Horse and pontificate to Love Chunks about the crass and clueless celebrities of today.

He always manages to prick my pomposity to a whirring, rapidly deflating balloon when he counters with, "Well you READ the stuff, so they're making money because of you."
"Oh no they're not - I read it online, I don't buy those ~ pause to add a snobby-but-dramatic shudder ~ magazines."

His look of contempt was withering enough to singe my eyebrows. "Haven't you noticed the advertising and pop-ups on every page? They love faux intellectuals like you!"

Humph. Yeah, well.... Take yesterday for example. Richard - I still wear those stupid chunky jumpers from airport souvenir shops - Branson has obviously felt the need to show off more than he usually does. His normal modus operandi is throw around millions of dollars that would be better spent providing malaria tablets and AIDS education to needy communities, to instead ponce about in hot air balloons trying to break records that generate about as much excitement as scum build-up on bathroom tiles.

So very clearly a bloke trapped in a mid-life crisis, he revealed yesterday that he was definitely NOT a Mile High Club virgin and had left his finger prints on a toilet mirror or two. He then 'treated' us to an anecdote about his first experience with Viagra, concluding that "I had to tie something around my trousers the next day to make sure nothing showed." Rest assured, Dicky dear, no-one was looking.

And why oh why did I happen to come across an old Oprah repeat where the clearly deranged Janet Jackson (in a thin phase, so it must have been Michael was still white) tell Oprah that her numerous below the neck piercings left her feeling aroused. All the time. If I'm not mistaken, her current Rump-pumpy partner is a dead ringer for a fresh stack of camel crap, so maybe she needs all the metallic help she can get.

Despite my horror, I remain fascinated. And ashamed of my fascination. I have a book to write, a family to care for, a child to inspire, washing to fold! ...........To read recently that Geri Slapper Spice Halliwell had dated Little Britain's David Walliams....! She had confided to one of those slippery little close insiders that it was the ~*cough*~ size of his wand as well as the magic he could wring from it that made him the Geri-jammin' stud muffin of her dreams. I'm still struggling to work out what is more repulsive: he being attracted to Geri or she deciding that his love muscle was the best thing about him. Pity her daugher, poor little BlueBell Clueless Prancy Unicorny kiddie whatshername thingy.

There are some good sides to being a secret celebrity vomit voyeur however - their pathetic escapades, Brazilian-exposes and faulty fashion choices make me - slightly less sylph-like and moneyed - feel rather good about myself. As such, it's time for some more Self Esteem Boosters!

Kirsten Dunst. She may be only 25, earn millions for her 'acting skills' in Spiderman but even a size zero needs a bra to re-lift and rectify the 'ol rack droop. What's her shirt made out of - my grandma's bathroom curtain?


Steve Martin, 61, married Anne Whatsit, 35 on the weekend. I'm not sure which one to pity the most. (They make *me* look addicted to permatan and people don't call me Fluoro Legs without good reason.)

Poor old boofhead Britney is really just saving reality TV companies a fortune by living out her own trash tube show, isn't she? Not a day goes past that she's not wearing a G-string to the kindergym or driving back from a nightclub with a newly-bought baby harp seal shoved in her naval ring and her two sons occy-strapped to the SUV's bullbar...

This shot is apparently from her latest single and reveals her continued determination to remain a powerful role model to the tweens and has-beens. It's such a comfort to know she was awarded dual custody when her divorce to Devon Spermline was finalised yesterday.

Could this be the face and fate of our dear, sweet, sensitive Britney in 20 years' time? Thanks to drugs, surgery and botox, Courtney now has a mummified mouth that could suck the seeds of a lemon a mile away and has to pluck her bikini line which has moved up under her chin.

When the research laboratory runs out of beagles for experiments, they call on Clinically-Dead Courtney instead. She doesn't feel a thing: she thinks it's Frances looking for the keys to the liquor cabinet.

I'll conclude this post with a picture of horror that is still allowed to roam freely and relatively undisturbed. That's right, Madonna's arms. Do they even have skin covering them any more or does she directly spray paint the sinews and muscles white before she goes out? And is it just me, but is she getting face lifts downwards instead of sideways like Courtney? Is a horse the look she's going for?

* thanks to the Superficial, eonline and go fug yourself for the photos