Morons.

Useless Westlife spare part Kian Egan and his equally talentless slag Jodi Whateverherlastnameis have inflicted another bizarre, attention-grabbing baby name on the world by calling their new son Koa. The child was set free from the innards of his empty-headed mother at 6:10 yesterday evening with the vacuous father tweeting shortly thereafter: “Our little baby boy 'Koa' was born today at 6.10pm. Jodi Albert is an amazing woman. Love them both so much. Both doing amazing, so proud. X” (What the fuck is the ‘X’ for anyway? Wait…maybe that’s just how Kian signs his name. Never mind. Also, notice how the idiot put Koa in quotes, as if to emphasise its special, celebrity-type exclusivity and uniqueness. Give me a fucking bucket).

Koa? KOA???? Are these twats not lauded and validated enough in their own lives without saddling their unfortunate offspring with a fucking ridiculous, made-up baby name in the hope of some free publicity? Why? What’s the point?

I hope when little Koa grows up he sticks this pair of cunts in a corrupt nursing home and then fucks off with all their money.

Hell Just Got A Lot More Slanty-Eyed.

Noted humanitarian and Hennessy Cognac aficionado Kim Jong-il has finally caved to international pressure by agreeing to do the decent thing and just fucking die already. The demise of the world’s second most infamous person named Kim (the Kardashian slut kind of rained on his parade in that department) was announced today on North Korean television by one of that benighted country’s state-controlled mouth-pieces, replete with dramatic wailing and gnashing of teeth. The latest propaganda spewing from Pyongyang asserts that the Dear Leader drew his last Earthly breath on Saturday, following a heart attack brought on by "fatigue and hard work." Stuffing your fat face with a metric fuck-ton of sushi whilst fingering dozens of scandanavian whores is apparently classed as hard work in North Korea. Who knew? Kim is set to be replaced by his equally repulsive son Kim Jong Un. This can only end well...

Nobody Thinks She’s Somebody.

British ‘X Factor’ judge and air-rage aficionado Tulisa Contostavlos has denied acting like a rampant diva bitch on board a recent British Airways flight from London to the Balearic Islands. The N-Dubz singer was reported to have sworn at an air steward who had the temerity to ask that she not use her phone onboard the aircraft since it posed a risk to passenger safety. Tulisa denies this ever happened and has taken to her Twitter account to defend her reputation and insist that she “categorically did not swear” at any of the cabin crew, even going as far as to pin the blame for the ruckus on a member of her own entourage: 

My PA (personal assistant) had a disagreement with staff over his mobile phone but I categorically did not swear at the steward. I'm disgusted that some one would make this up about me!

Aww. The poor misunderstood little lamb. Stories like this don’t just fall out of the sky and this Tulisa person is nowhere near a big enough deal for anyone to be bothered making up something this headline-grabbing, so I completely believe the reports about her disgraceful behaviour and disgusting attitude. As such, I have composed the following piece of advice for Tulisa should she remain in any doubt as to the true nature of her new found notoriety:

Dear Tulisa, 

The right to behave like a spoiled, entitled little twerp on public transport is reserved solely for those who have made an actual, long-standing contribution to the cultural zeitgeist. Uppity little skanks who fake rap their way to the ass-end of the charts and wind up as some no-name judge on a fading TV talent show simply don’t fit the above criterion for permissible asshattery, so don’t even bother with the I'm so important because I'm on TV act, okay? Your fifteen minutes will be mercifully fleeting; don't cheat yourself out of the remaining ten by cunting-it-up in public and showcasing your real, assholish self for all the world to see.  

Regards, 

The Gossip Slut.

Oh, and P.S. The whole blaming your assistant thing? Priceless! That’ll come in very handy when he dumps your talentless ass and there’s nobody around to help you pick up the pieces when the inevitable booze and cocaine scandals begin oozing from the tabloids. 

Wanky little twat.

Kim Kardashian’s Sex-Tape Set To Remain A Thing.

Reality TV maven Kim Kardashian – a shy, retiring creature; you may not have heard of her – is about to make the wet dreams of pubescent boys (also fat ginger teenage girls who have no friends because they live in the Bible Belt and are secretly lesbian, and morbidly obese middle-aged men with psoriasis and access to a cable modem) the world over come true. How? Well, it seems the lucky few who haven’t yet laid eyes on the porno event of the millennium are about to get the opportunity to do just that. TMZ has it that a certain high-profile porn website is sniffing around Kardashian’s infamous 2007 amateur skin flick with a view to purchasing it for a mere $5 million. The recording would then be uploaded to the site as free-to-air wank fodder for the sex-starved masses.

There is one slight hitch: the tape’s current custodian, Vivid Entertainment’s pervert-in-chief Steven Hirsch, is demanding $30 million for the movie or the deal’s off. $30 million? Really?? For grainy, poorly lit footage of some doughy Armenian slag getting poled in the ass by a sleazebag rapper? Has this porno site owner never heard of ‘2 girls 1 cup’? I’m pretty sure that stuff won’t cost him a dime to acquire and it’s easilly a million times more appealing than witnessing Kim Kardashian getting her cavernous orifices stuffed to capacity by Ray J and his assortment of sex toys.

I know which one I’d rather sit through.

Ancient, Stretched-Faced Bitch Tells Of Useless Daughter’s Grief Over Dead Junkie.

 

Kelly Osbourne is taking time out of her life of doing absolutely nothing to be all sad and stuff about the untimely death of her alleged friend Amy Winehouse. Such is the level of Kelly’s grief, her miserable harridan of a mother Sharon has been at pains to let the world know of her sorrow. “This was the first person she's loved who she's lost” said Sharon, whose forehead is regularly employed as a landing strip for Harrier Jump Jets. “That in itself made her frightened and shocked. She's gone through all these different emotions.” 


Poor little lamb. The only two emotions that Kelly knows are ‘mouthy drunk’ and ‘the munchies,’ so this must indeed be a confusing time for the worthless little twat.

Continued Sharon, whose chin is routinely deployed in the Antarctic as an icebreaker for the Russian Navy: “The only thing that will help her is time.” Yes Sharon, time. And a fucking shit-load of drugs. Oh wait, Kelly’s off drugs now, right? Sure. And Amy Winehouse is living on an island somewhere with Elvis and that guy from The Manic Street Preachers. Stupid old cow.

Not Gay.

Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner are not gay. They do not each think about the other whilst masturbating in the shower and they certainly don't arrange clandestine cow-herding trips to the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming where they share a small tent and engage in a night of loud rutting sex before stumbling out the following morning to shuffle around awkwardly and mumble something about not being able to quit each other. I am as sure of this as I am that Lindsay Lohan will one day win an Academy Award for playing J. Edgar Hoover. 

As proof of Pattinson and Lautner's unquestionable heterosexuality, we have the above photograph taken at this year's MTV Awards which, I'm sure you'll agree, oozes manliness like Paris Hilton's snatch oozes lumpy white pus. 

Admittedly, I find Taylor Lautner about as sexy as Rush Limbaugh's liver-spotted scrotum. Having said that, I would happily have sold several members of my family into slavery for the opportunity of being Taylor's lips as he was publicly mouth-raped by Pattinson's frenzied tongue. 

So once again, Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner are not gay. 

Lesbian perhaps, but definitely NOT GAY!

There used to be a post here...

...but now there's not.

Somebody Actually Employed Her. No, Really.

Things are looking up for Audrina Patridge and for once it’s not just her eyes. The brainless skank, who spent four seasons appearing as a speaking extra on MTV’s reality nightmare The Hills, has somehow found gainful employment in the fashion industry. Well, sort of. The talent-impaired bimbo has gone and scored herself another gig (there was one before this??) modelling swimwear for a company called Bongo. (No, me neither).

Anyway, according to sources over at Celebrity-Gossip, the ceiling-eyed one has already shot a set of scantily clad photos for the company in an attempt to drum up some business. Conveniently, it was also an opportunity for Audrina to showcase her talents for standing around half-naked and staring blankly at something off in the middle distance. Which was obviously a stretch for her, as I’m sure you can imagine.  

Walking Pile Of Human Garbage Named Father Of The Year.

Noted criminal scumbag and persistent media-whore Michael Lohan can add another title to his letterheads today - Father of the Year. Think I’m joking? According to RadarOnline, the Bible-bashing creep has been awarded the afore-mentioned honor by Pennsylvania-based magazine The Weekender. A mouthpiece for the publication has defended their decision to give Lohan the award by citing the controversial celebrity dad's  apparent efforts to defend his troubled daughter during her public struggle with drug and alcohol abuse. Quoth the imbecile: “[Lohan] has been wrongly persecuted by the media after he spoke-out about the need for his daughter to go to rehab.”

But Who'll Get The Implants?

Fake-titted slag Kate Price has chosen to file for divorce on what would have been the first anniversary of her sham wedding to intellectually challenged muscle-freak Alex Reid. According to reports, the dead-eyed tart is apparently keen to rekindle her relationship with ex-husband number one Peter Andre, with whom she has two children.

Andre might be a gurning Aussie simpleton, but I sincerely doubt he's stupid enough to go anywhere near this revolting slattern and her omnipotent pap-swarm ever again, at least not if he values his dignity. Mind you, he has vaginally penetrated the toxic bitch at least twice in his life, so perhaps dignity isn't a trait with which he is overly endowed.

On the other hand, it was brave of him to have consented to sexual relations with Katie Price in the first place, so I guess he deserves some kudos for having more courage than can be measured by mere mortals. He also deserves kudos for having an ostensibly lead-lined dick, so congratulations on that too, Pete.

Jedward Releases Own Currency, Forces Of Darkness Upon The Earth

Former X-Factor participants and current omens of the Apocalypse John and Edward Grimes have announced plans to launch their own currency. The twin antitheses of all things holy unleashed the coinage onto an unsuspecting world via their twitter page earlier today, immediately sending seismic fluctuations through international monetary markets and breaking open the final seal on the seventh layer of Hell.

He's Not Exactly A Handful Though, Is He?

Maroon V (or 5 of Five or however the hell they spell it) front man Adam Levine decided to strip-off in February's  edition of Cosmo magazine in aid of testicular cancer research. Which is nice of him I suppose. And if off-putting tats are your thing, then it's nice for you too. I, however, remain unimpressed. Not with Adam's noble sacrifice, you understand - after all it takes a certain amount of guts to reveal to the world that you have no discernible genitals. No, my objection lies not with the cause, but with the choice of advocate. I mean Adam's nice and all, but I'd much prefer to have seen this:

Coveted, Misshapen Glass Dildos Awarded To Glamorous, Much-Loved Celebrities and Demi Lovato.

The great and the drunk of LA-LA Land descended on the Nokia Theatre in Los Angeles last night to pretend to be happy for being nominated for and/or receiving a cheap piece of perspex depicting a severed pair of human hands. The event, which has been given the moniker The 37th People's Choice Awards, honoured those very few amongst us who are beautiful, famous, have millions of dollars and own several luxurious properties dotted across the globe. Curiously, these people feel their lives would not be entirely complete without the acquisition of meaningless imitation-glass trophies, which in turn gives rise to tedious awards shows like the one mentioned above.

A full list of winners after the jump, plus a few I just made up out of sheer spite.

Jordan And Alex In Crisis - World Braces Self For Inevitable Reality Spin-Off Show

Noted talent-vacuum and silicone implant enthusiast Jordan Real Name Katie Price 32 (that's her actual full name if every tabloid in the land is to be believed) has stunned literally nobody by announcing that her sham totally legitimate marriage to goon-faced cage-fighter Alex Reid is on the rocks. The ridiculous bint purportedly told pals that she and Alex were embarking on a two week trial separation to "take stock" of their relationship and determine exactly "where their lives are going." I could save Jordan and Alex some valuable tan and pap time right here and now by telling them exactly where their lives are going - to the nearest satellite television channel desperate enough to give them another reality show so they can bore us all to death with every sordid detail of their split.