Celebrity Spots

Being a minor Internet celebrity has it's perks. Once you've had a Blog running for two years and an eBook that has sold literally tens of copies, all sorts of doors begin to open up for you. Admittedly, those doors are usually automatic ones, but you can't help but feel that there's some sort of divine intervention behind curtain.

Just recently I've found myself rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi of the entertainment industry. Whether this is down to my growing star power, or that I've gotten better at scaling the walls of celebrity mansions, I'm not sure. Either way, I thought I'd regale you with some of the moments that I met famous people out there in the wild.

For starters, last week I saw none other than the Canadian Batman himself, Hugh Jackman. He was fresh from the set of Batman vs Predator 2, and was wanting a drink in my local to cool down after a hard day shooting sex scenes. The barman refused to serve him because he was wearing a particularly sweaty vest and was singing loudly about French revolutions. Mr Jackman took a swipe at the landlord with his adamantium claws, only to realise that he doesn't actually have any, making him look like his punches were falling short by a couple of feet. I offered to buy him a pint of Fosters if he calmed down, to which he got angry as people in his homeland prefer starwberry daiquiris, then left in a huff.

Hugh in his award-winning role as Spiderman.

Moving on, I once shared a photobooth with the guy who plays the android in Futurama, Michael Fassbender. I wanted a passport photo, and he wanted some headshots for a website in which people post pictures of voles that resemble him. We shared the £4.00 cost and had a variety of different poses taken, including a couple of tasteful nudes that I keep in a private stash and only occasionally send to gossip mags for vast, three-figure sums.

Whilst hiking across the Yorkshire moors last Monday, I happened to stumble across Snoop Lion and Katy Perry trying to recreate their hit single, California Girls on the sodden, fog-infested hills of Yorkshire in the middle of Winter. Katy wore a bikini made of fruit pastilles, while Snoop appeared to have the crown jewels on, which were loaned to him for being the "doggiest dogg to ever bow wow" (which I understood upset him as his real fursona is that of a lion nowadays). There didn't seem to be any cameras or music and they rapped and gyrated around for the entertainment of myself and a couple of bemused field mice.  I stook around and politely listened to the first verse, before I wandered off and left them in the distance.

If that wasn't enough for you, I also clocked Keith Chegwin doing a driveby on a playa hater. Oh wait, I wasn't supposed to mention that. If the judge catches wind of that, my family could be in danger. Just forget I said anything, okay?

So, have you ever spotted some celebrities in real life?  Please share your stories here so that we can all live vicariously through the lives of famous people and somehow feel closer to them as a result.

The New Harry Styles News Wire

Thank you for subscribing to the Harry Styles News Wire, your one-stop shop to all things Harry. Here is your bi-daily news roundup of Harry happenings:

Why Was Harry Late To The Stage At The BRITs?

What a guy...

When One Direction came to stage to collect an award for selling the most music, there was a very important person missing from the band. Harry was nowhere to be seen as the other four tried to claim the award without him! "Where's Harry?" enquired host James Corden, before melting into a puddle of his own smug-gittishness. Harry came running to the stage a few minutes later, to everyone's relief, but what was Harry doing backstage? He gave the excuse that he got lost in the toilets, but our sources have wildly speculated that he was busy tending to a poorly kitty cat, whilst creating a scrap book of his favourite fans.  His devotion to his loyal fans is second to none, and it's nice to know that he keeps the locks of hair we send to him.

Harry Was Almost Named "Carl" By Neglectful Mother

Harry Styles as the demi-God we all know and worship today, almost wasn't called Harry Styles at all, according to his mum.  She considered the name "Carl" for him, which would have changed everything we know about 1D.  By even suggesting this, Mrs Styles has created a divergent timeline in which there exists a parallel version called Carl Styles.  An inferior, bizarro version who cannot hope to fulfill the perfect example carved out across the multiverse by the definitive version that is Harry.  Harry's existence is sullied by his mum's mere suggestion, making her number 1 on our list of enemies this week.  All One Direction fans are hereby summoned en masse to lay seige to her bungalow until she repents for her heinous crimes.  Ask not what your boyband can do for you; ask you can do for your boyband!

Scientists Prove That Harry Sometimes Has A Poo

Sources who followed Harry into an adjacent stall in a Nando's bathroom have confirmed that Harry Styles occasionally expels bodily waste through his anus. This process, known as "digestion", is understood to occur once Harry's body has extracted the available nutrients from his food. That waste then travels through a system known as the "rectum", eventually leaving behind a brown, moist piece of official One Direction merchandise.

Harry Confirms Inspiration Behind " Best Song Ever"

In a recent interview, Harry confirmed that their smash hit "Best Song Ever" (which coincidentally is the best song ever) is essentially an unironic remake of Tenacious D's Tribute. The boys said that the original song included a shiny demon who told them to dance to the best song ever with an adoring teenage fan, or he'd eat their souls. Dave Grohl (an old man from some band called the Food Fighters) declined to play drums for the song.

Harry Politely Asks The Press To Leave Him Alone

In a moment of maturity, Harry politely asked the papparazi to stop hounding him while he was trying to buy shoes on Tottenham Court high street. Harry's politeness went down well with the paps, who reduced their shutter speed in order to comply with Harry's reasonable request. At least he didn't throw someone's iPhone through a solicitor's window, like what happened to our friends over at the Russell Brand News Wire. We will continue to monitor the situation closely and bring you more news as it happens.

Nick Grimshaw Can Fuck Off

We thought we could trust you

Former Directioner and Radio 1 DJ Nick Grimshaw is trying to seduce Harry and make him gay, according to our sources. Now, we have nothing against gay people, some of our favourite celebs are gay, like Brian Dowling, but trying to convert Harry is a despicable act. He is trying to deny all underage girls the chance to marry Harry, and that cannot be allowed to happen. Please sign our petition to get Grimmy's vile homosexual propaganda off of our airwaves, and to throw him on a pyre.

That's all for now. Join us this afternoon where you'll learn how to send spit through the post to Taylor Swift, and what type of Haribo tastes most like Harry (it's Tangfastics). See ya!

Flappy Swine - Latest Update

Since Flappy Bird was unceremoniously dumped from all online stores, the market has been clamouring for the next big thing. We've had Swimmy Fish, Hoppy Frog, and Shavey Badger, which have all enjoyed a modicum of success on the marketplace, but it seems that the one game that has really captured the hearts and minds of the public is Flappy Swine.

Created by Me2 Games, Flappy Swine is a free to play game in which you have to guide a flying pig through a series of heavenly golden gates. The principle of Flappy Bird is thoroughly intact, but the game uses advanced monetisation techniques to encourage players to purchase upgrades and add ons. The game was also recently updated, so let's see what has changed in the latest patch:

Reality catches up with satire yet again

• Flappy Swine now actually looks like a pig, and the placeholder image has been changed accordingly, instead of looking like Flappy Bird.

• All placeholder pipe images in the game have been removed and replaced with gates.

• The title screen now says Flappy Swine instead of Flappy Bird.

• When you die, a screen pops up asking you to purchase an extra life for 7 Swill Points ($5.63). If a swill point is not purchased, a cool-down peroid comes into effect and the game is not playable for 24 hours.  The game will make fart noises if you try to launch it during this period.

• Posting your score to the leaderboard costs 3 Swill Points.

• Each flap on Flappy Swine costs 1 Swill Point. When all Swill Points have been exhausted, the player has a five second window to purchase more points, or else Flappy Swine will commit seppuku with a barbeque skewer.

• Flappy Swine is now only playable on devices with a fingerprint reader, to stop people selling their device for thousands on eBay when the game is inevitably removed from online stores.

• Flappy Swine now makes oinking noises on each flap, rather than playing an audio clip of one of the developers screaming as his soul is sucked clean from his mortal body.

• A hidden credits sequence can be accessed by crashing Flappy Swine into the base of the 3rd gate.  The credits include the text "I can't believe people pay for this kind of wank".

• The feature in which Flappy Swine turned to camera when the game is paused to make wise cracks about your fat momma, has sadly been removed.

• A new feature called Oink Bucks can be purchased for $10.99 each, but which currently serve no tangible benefit to the game.

• If you try and rate the game less than four stars on the online store, you are redirected to a press release on the developer's website which explains how they are "delivering the core experience to gamers".

And there you have it. Flappy Swine is available on all good smart devices and tablets, for the next few days at least. Get your copy today!

First Contact

I was there on the day they landed. I was at ground zero. I was the DJ for the event, in charge of whole mixing deck and an array of five whole, shiny buttons.

I already knew of their impending arrival. For the last few weeks I'd been experiencing lucid hallucinations while in bed.  Some experts call these kind of experience "dreams", and they're probably correct about that. Within these dreams I had seen multicoloured lights streaking across the sky, heard garbled communications, and seen shadows all around the neighbourhood. Most of all, an image of a distinctive location had been branded onto my mind.

I couldn't shake this place from my conciousness. It popped into my thoughts constantly, and I bore witness to it so vividly it was as if seeing it with the naked eye. I felt compelled to build a monument to it out of mashed potato, but the car park beind Kwik Fit is a difficult situation to render using nothing but pliant mash. It seemed that the aliens had planted this in my brain as some sort of invitation, but little did they know that I had already been hired to attend the event as the sound engineer anyway.  They tampered with my mind for no reason at all.

Why couldn;t they pick a more out of the way location?

Back to the event itself, and the government had sealed the area for several blocks around to prevent the general public from witnessing first contact with an alien race. There I was dropping some phat bass on the hundreds of scientists that had piled into the car park, watching them wave their glowsticks in time to the music. Several of them were off their tits on poppers and getting off with each other behind the bins, as is ordinary behaviour at festivals. Just as I was getting the crowd whipped into a frenzy with some sweet acid drops, I was rudely interrupted by a low-flying craft that appeared overhead.

I cut the music as we all stared up at the object. It was a pulsating vessel of somesort, glowing a multitude of colours that had never before been seen by human eyes. I couldn't describe those colours to you as you have no adequate frame of reference (you had to be there). As we gawped in awe, a military commander jabbed me in the ribs, snapping me back to reality and reminding me of my job. To try and make first contact that little easier, since it was unlikely that they would speak fluent English, the scientists had concluded that tonal sounds might stimulate conversation and show our desire to communicate. I pressed a few buttons, releasing tones across the car park like some creepy numbers station that only broadcasts to hobos. There was a short pause while we waited for a reply.

That reply came in the form of Cars by Gary Numan. As the aliens blasted an 80's classic at us and caused spontaneous dancing to occur once more amongst the scientists, I realised that I had a bit of The Human League that they might enjoy. I popped on the vinyl and let them have it.

We barely got as far as working as a waitress in a cocktail bar before the craft started to descend. The landing gear extended (covered in Blondie stickers) and touched down gently, right on top of my car.

"Shit!" I screamed as I leaped out of the booth and ran towards the alien ship. As I approached, a metallic ramp protruded from the object, and a clear doorway slid open, releasing clouds of dense smoke to add to the tension.

"I hope you've got insurance!" I shouted, pointing at my flattened Ford Ka. But the aliens didn't respond. They simply stood in the doorway looking mysterious, staying hidden amongst the fog so that we could only see their slender silhouettes.

These guys seem legit

At that point, other, more human shadows began to emerge from the craft. They walked down the ramp towards us, and it soon became clear that these were people who had been taken, some of them had been missing and presumes dead for decades. There was Bruce Lee, Elvis Presley, and Mr Gregory my old chemistry teacher.

"Stop!" I shouted, waving my arms at the descending group. "We don't want these people, go away! Finders keepers."

There wasn't a chance that I'd allow Mr Gregory back onto Earth's good green soil, not after he gave me extra homework.  It was probably him who has been teaching the aliens about all this 80's music.

And so the boarding party turned around and headed back where they came. The aliens closed their door and promptly left on an impossibly vertical trajectory. That's the story of how I saved Earth from the tyranny of a chemistry teacher, and how I managed to successfully fit The Human League into one of my DJ sets. It was a good day all round.

Greetings From Sochi

Greetings comrades.  I'm Vladimir Stereotypiski, and I'm one of the chief engineers responsible for designing the Olympic village at Sochi.

Now, I've been asked to speak to you Western devils about the state of our Olympic lodgings.  Despite rolling out the red carpet and succumbing to your decadent ways, you have begun mocking our hospitality on your social media Tweeter applications.  We have given you the very best that we can muster, and yet you make jokes about our efforts and our appalling human rights breaches as to regards homosexuals.

I am here to dispell some of these notions that the athlete's accommodation isn't up to scratch.  For example, take this picture:

Some individuals have suggested that slanted curtains are unacceptable.  However, we simply want to give our guests the best of both worlds, light and dark, yin and yang, Ant and Dec.  Where else in the world can you experience both day and night at the same time?  Norway doesn't count.  No one likes Norway.

On another issue, I would like to know why some dissidents insist on mocking our communal toilets.  We were communists for decades, we're used to communal living.  It's you capitalist scumbags who can't get over the idea sharing.  The experience of sharing your bowel movements with another likeminded individual is envigorating, and the mutual struggle shall bring you closer together with your bowl-mate.  Plus, for the larger gentleman, a wingman in the bathroom can be a valuable tool if you are struggling to wipe yourself.  Everybody wins, which is kind of the point of communism.

We take offence with those people who claim that the Olympic village was not even finished.  Some people don't seem to believe that normal pavements are full of holes.  These are for drainage.  They stop the surface being flooded with water.  The athletes wouldn't be pleased if they had to wade through three feet of water to attend their events.

Safety was of utmost concern when we built the village.  We created electric showers to make sure that there was plenty of light in the bathroom.  We don't want any athletes to slip in the shower and break their necks.

We don't understand why people are upset that athletes have to literally smash their doors to escape.  Not only does this prove that our facilities safe from burglars, but they also give the athletes an extra workout as they hack their way out of the rooms before an event.  This extra exercise could mean the difference silver and gold, pushing the athletes to strive for physical perfection.  I'm sure our Olympians will be very pleased with these doors.  Doors that work as designed and are not getting stuck shut.

Overall, we resent these allegations that our facilities are sub-par.  All we are trying to do is put on a decent show for everyone and-

-fuck you all.

Reviews From My Ex Girlfriends

Hello ladies,

My name is Addman, and thank you for looking at my dating profile. I have many qualities that elevate me above lesser men, and a vast array of special abilities that will tantalise and excite you. For example, my multitasking skills are second to none, meaning that I can breathe and keep my heart functioning at a very healthy 180 beats per minute. That rhythmic beat pattern has lead to interest from Skrillex, who intends to compose one of his Dubbed Step ditties using my palpatations as a template.

While that is just one of a smorgasbord of delights that awaits the lucky female who dares to court me, of course, you may doubt my authenticity. I could sit here and spout my most endearing qualities, or regale you with my winning Risk campaign strategies, but you would have to take my word on it. That's why I have compiled a genuine list of past girlfriends and asked them to provide a comprehensive review. It's a little like Yelp where all the reviewers have all yelped with passion at some point:

Louise 26, Bristol

 

 

First of all, let me just start off by saying that Addman is a demon between the sheets. I mean that literally. He gets off on being called Mundas Eater Of Worlds, and boy will he devour your world. While we dated we didn't leave the bedroom for three weeks straight, which meant that when we emerged we had both lost our jobs and had forgotten how to function in the real world. I forgot how to sit down, and couldn't comprehend objects on a vertical plane anymore. Addman is truly a must buy, would recommend.

Carly 22, Huddersfield

 

 

The day I met Addman was the day I began believing in parallel dimensions. When we first made love, we vibrated through the very fabric of reality, and reached a dimension where everything was exactly the same except that David Cameron had been replaced with a startled Caribou. The only reason we split up was because I felt guilty that I was denying other women the chance to date him. Unless you don't like interdimensional portals due to allergies or something, you'd be a fool to miss out!

Eileen 78, Goole

 

This boy is utter filth. During the two weeks I knew him we did every position you could name. The Knarled Tree Stump, The Beadle's Hand, and of course the feared yet highly respected Swizzle Stick. I had to give him up for lent, otherwise I'm sure we'd have attempted The Panicked Sprinkler with him.

Brook 32, Dagenham

 

 

 

Nobody does it better,

Makes me feel sad for the rest,

Nobody does it HALF as good as you,

Baby you're the best at Tekken.

 

Seriously, he is up to competition standard and favours Bryan Fury.  Beware of juggle combos.

Glenda 45, North Nibley

 

I had my reservations about dating a younger guy, but Addman allayed my fears by pointing rigorously to his crotch and shouting "come on" repeatedly. When I was aboard the goodship Addman, I was absorbed in a selfish mindset where only my own desires mattered, and of course, expected them to be satiated. By the way, his real name is actually Addman. He had it changed because the name Gerald didn't do his superhero persona any favours.

Gizelle 19, Mexico City

 

I thought I would be alone forever. My family were ready to kick me out of the homestead because I was a wicked spinster who bought shame upon our bloodline. That was when I consulted the local warlock, who suggested that I try the Ritual Of Summoning to conjure up a man. After sacrificing an entire breeding population of endangered mice, a dense mist enveloped the room. A tall, dark, handsome shadow stood amongst the swirling vapours and I was instantly transfixed. That figure, of course, was Addman. He met my family, told them that their attitudes towards women marrying in their teenage years was positively medieval, and convinced them of the folly of their superstitions. Now I'm an investment banker and a career woman, all thanks to Addman.

Freida 20, Geneva

 

Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the Gods? Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds? Addman killed them all for sport, merely because he could. Bit messy, but definitely sexy.

If, for some weird reason, that list of utterly genuine testimonials doesn't make you want to test my testicles, then I have a note from my mother that vouches for me. Otherwise, please find my contact details on my profile page, and I await your call. And trust me, you will call.

It’s Only A Gameshow

Hello, hola, and boy howdy to y’all!  I hope you found that opening to be charismatic, as I intend to use it as a catchphrase.  I’m practising my gameshow host manner, you see.  Ever since I was 26, I have dreamed of being a gameshow host.  The glitzy tuxedos, the fabulous prizes, the models draped lovingly over speedboats, I want it all!

Unfortunately, all the best gameshows have already got hosts, despite the many attempts I have made on the lives of Ant and Dec.  Who Wants To Be A Millionaire has Chris Tarrant.  The Price Is Right has Brucie.  Family Fortunes has some sort of horse in a man costume.  So, if I want my own gameshow, the only way I’m going to do it is to make up my own.  Here are a few ideas:

Name That Tuna

Similar to Name That Tune, only the contestants have to correctly identify tuna fish by their formal name.  Cue lots of random name shouting until, 6 hours later, someone happens to stumble upon the correct one.  For extra variety, sometimes the contestants will be shown pictures of other types of fish, such as cod or plaice.  If the contestants fail to spot these piscine pretenders, they will be sprinkled with tuna flakes and brine.

Bob!  No, Dave! No, Charles.....oh I give up!

Square Of Fortune

Identical to Wheel Of Fortune, only without those protracted wheel spins.

Polo Loco

Contestants team up with professional polo players to play a polo match on the lawn.  Contestants have to answer as many questions as possible in order to earn more polo players for their team.  A bonus round may also occur where the contestants have to suck as many polo mints as possible in order to earn an extra player.  At the end of the quiz, the acquired polo players play a match, with the winner receiving a lifetime’s supply of polos for their corresponding contestant.  The host gets to make poorly judged horse puns throughout the show, such as “He wouldn’t make a nice NEIGHbour” or “Why the long horse penis?”

Strictly Celebrity Fire Dancing

A celebrity and a member of the public are forced to dance amongst the fallout of a napalm strike.  This would be the show with the highest rate of scaldings on television, making it the hottest show ever!

You’ve Been Maimed

This is a show for accident victims that have had their mishaps caught on camera.  They are bought into a TV studio to narrate the footage of their tragic accident.  As they bleat on, teary eyed, reliving the trauma of the event in front of an intrusive and unfeeling camera lens, the braying audience are encouraged to laugh, point, and deride the victim.  The audience then get to vote on which accident they enjoyed the best.  The winner receives a coupon for reconstructive surgery.

Big Break

A gameshow in which a renowned racist teams up with a professional snooker player for quiz show-style questions and sweet trick shots.  Oh wait, that was actually a real thing.  I apologise to anyone under the age of 20 or not from Britain:

Those are the best ideas to date.  I’ve sent them to every broadcasting corporation on the planet, but I have yet to receive a response that isn’t covered in saliva.  If you have any better ideas that might get me on the telly, let me know in the comments below.

A Right Royal Wartime Cockney Knees Up

As we forge forever forward towards new and exciting musical frontiers, we are establishing new genres and forms of music constantly.  This rate of discovery is occurring faster than we're unearthing tropical skin diseases in the rainforest. But as we create Dubstep, Grime, Crunk, and other various forms of high art, we are in danger of forgetting older genres.

 

For example, when was the last time anyone wrote a really good Cockney music hall song?  You know, those jaunty jigs about your old man working as a dustman and losing a cabbage under the wheel of a moving train.  Well, no one seems to have created a new music hall song for many years, so I thought I'd give it a try.  Someone needs to try and revitalise this dying genre and make it relevant again.  Here are my attempts:

 

 

 

When I were but a growing lad,
I played with me threpenny bits,
Me father clipped me round me tabs,
And said that job was his,
One day I held me toilet,
From Kings Cross to Waterloo,
But when we got to Charring Cross,
I did a big fat poo,
I said uppers, downers, stick 'em down your trousers,
Royal Britannia,
Broiled sheep and figs,
The Bosch came over 'ere and bombed our pigs.

As you can see, not only is this song relevant, it also has a hint of racism in there.  This can be forgiven in music hall songs because we were getting pelted with explosives by those very same people, which tends to provoke a grudge.  On those lines, I wrote a couple more:

 

 

One day me ration book got wet,
It fell into a puddle,
Me father went to get some bread,
And got into a kerfuffle,
Corned beef hash on Tuesday,
And on a Wednesday too,
When Thursday and Friday come round,
I'll have a corned beef poo.

As you can see, dysentery is a recurring theme in music hall, and I tried my utmost to reflect that.  let's have another:

 

Me uncle liked to wear a dress,
And call himself Mable,
But when he heard propellors overhead,
He'd join us under the table,

 

Nothing is funnier than a man in a dress.  Nothing.

Slap your knees at Aintree,
But try not to look queer,
If your father's back from t'war,
He'll probably give you a fat ear,
Then he'll batter your brother in an alcoholic stupor while reliving the horrors of battle,
Domestic abuse is an absolute goldmine for cockney songs,
Der der der der der HEY!

 

Some cockneys, for your enjoyment

Someone nicked me bucket,
Now what am I to do?
I went off down the cop shop,
And reported it to Stu,
He said "Son, there ain't no hope
of capturing this rum 'un,
but you want some vigilante justice,
then borrow my truncheon"
So I went round all me mates,
While pulling up me britches,
And if I found they had a bucket,
I kneecapped those sons of bitches,
Have a banana!

Oooh, he lives in a house a very big house in the country,
I feed the pigeons, I sometimes feed the sparrows too, it gives me a sense of enormous well being,
WOO HOO, when I feel heavy metal,
There's no other way, there's no other way,
Always should be someone you really love,

 

As I'm sure you'll agree, I have made this genre of music relevant to kids today.  Move over Miley Cyrus, the cock-er-knees are coming through.  'Ave a banana!