Yes, you lucky dogs, tonight’s the night:
THE FIRST CELEBRITY BIG BROTHER 2006 EVICTION
WHO GOES? WHO STAYS? YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU DECIDE!!!!
So, seems as good a time as any to look at the housemates, doncha think?
Endemol have scoured the Fame Bins for every scrag-end, off-cut and pigs-knuckle they can wallop in to the camera-laden Celebrity Big Brother offal-bucket…
…All of whom turned it down, hence this fly-strewn smorgasbord of rank mediocrity presented for your delectation…
Well, he either did bugger someone to death with a chair-leg in a drug-addled frenzy then drowned them, or he didn’t. He says he didn’t, the courts say he didn’t, most annoyingly of all, the evidence says he didn’t - and who are we to argue? Damn – an opportunity to vilify an innocent-if-misguided man denied to us… Still, at least he’s doing the public the courtesy of displaying a grip on sanity that’s shakier than a shitting dog.
Had sex with Sven-Goran Eriksson. And… erm… that’s it. From her decidedly average looks, apparent lack of charisma, and all-round milky-tea blandness, we can only assume either:
(a) Sven is pretty indiscriminate with his seed dispersal
(b) Faria has a capacity for filth, (bumtricks, watersports, Angry Dragon, Cleveland Steamer, blumpkin, etc), not belied by her tepid demeanour
(c) He just fancied shagging somebody who didn’t look like a Puerto Rican pre-operative transsexual hooker for once
I must confess utter ignorance of the man and his work prior to CBB, (but can name every member of the X Men, which gives you a terrifying insight into my priorities vis-a-vis world news and popular culture, dunnit). He appears to be an intelligent, logical, eminently charismatic individual. That said, he has shifty eyes and the swaggering manner of a used car dealer let loose in a hotel bar, so I imagine the public will boot his ass out at the first available opportunity.
Last seen on TV circa 1974. Looks alarmingly like Ronald McDonald as played by Sir Ian McKellen.
Don’t get me wrong – I LIKE Goldie Lookin’ Chain. But the collective murmur of ‘who the hell is that?’ to be heard sweeping across the nation like a tsunami of non-comprehension was wholly justified. They might as well have sent in the drum technician from the Utah Saints, or the bloke on the left out of Orbital.
Yep, Maggot’s triumphant entrance pretty much indicated a seventh barrel having had the bottom gouged out of it that week, in order to make up the numbers cheaply post-Barrymore’s-pay-cheque. But Maggot was George Clooney fame-wise compared to…
PRESTON (OUT OF THE ORDINARY BOYS)
The missing link between Madness and Sid Owen. Who, pray bleedin’ tell, is Preston Out Of The Ordinary Boys? No, I know they’re a band, and I know he’s the singer, but this is like asking the drum tech from Utah Saints if he’s got a mate he could bring with him! I appreciate he’s there as, (ahem), ‘totty’, but Jesus H. Christ – I’ve taken dumps that have achieved greater levels of fame than Preston Out Of The Ordinary Boys.
Jodie Marsh wants sex with him. This is by no means an indicator of worthiness; from her general behaviour and demeanour so far, I think it’s just a matter of time before she gets round to screwing all of us. She’s like a sexual delicatessen - just take a ticket and wait ‘til your number comes up. But I think the salami’s gone off…
I have seen her described as 'sexually expressive', which is all well and good, but she went in there to counter the press's image of her as a pissed-up scrubber by... erm... acting like a pissed-up scrubber; you really do have to fundamentally question the woman's judgment. It’s like Barrymore going in there bemoaning his tabloid hounding, then anally assaulting George Galloway with a kitchen stool and throttling him in the jacuzzi.
Out of ‘Baywatch’, apparently. Really? Okey doke. Let’s be honest, unless it’s Pamela Anderson or David Hasslehoff, they could have wheeled a 90-year-old limbless ex-serviceman in there and we’d have been none the wiser. Upbeat, friendly, a little vacuous perhaps, but seems like a basically pleasant human being. Not that any of that matters – she’s clearly there for her implants. They’re good. Really good. Really, really good.
Part of the new post-modern CBB schtick of mixing a no-mark with ‘stars’ – which was cool in theory, but kind of moot when you’ve got Preston, Maggot, Faria and Traci in there. Seems nice enough; though this may be because she’s virtually incapable of malice, on the grounds she’s as thick as horseshit.
A gigantic impenetrable mass of seething misogyny - like the monolith from ‘2001’, but made from rapists. Evidently, when you’re a multi-millionaire sports star, simply telling a woman she WILL have sex with you, whether she likes it or not, is an ample means of seduction. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that his ‘luxury item’ is the razor-headed dildo from ‘Seven’.
Yes it does, rather successfully, hence its use as a fuel during the middle ages. Oh, PETE Burns. Right. Bloke with freaky woman’s face, pus-filled lips, dresses, blah blah blah. The most shocking aspect of Pete’s tenure so far is that he’s come across as a very clever, witty, likeable individual who, despite the bizarre appearance, speaks a hell of a lot of sense and is steeped in wisdom borne of a life lived to the full, even if not always for the better. I fully expected him to be an utter utter utter utter prick. But no – roaringly good value for money.
When Pete Burns is the most level-headed individual in the house – you got troubles.
It's the half-way point. There's light at the end of the tunnel.
RUN!! RUN AWAY!!
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