TABLOID HELL – JULY 16 2001

Plus - Atomic Kitten brain shock, Jay Kay goes sex mad and Noel Gallagher is available for weddings...

Thighs. We all have them. Indeed, we all need them to keep safe distance between our knees and our bum. Without thighs there would be no squatting, and if you can’t squat what joy is there in being human? How would the French defecate?

Tabloid Hell mentions this simply because, like practically all the tabloids this morning, the Daily Star has fixated on the fact that Britney! Has! Thighs!

Emerging at a “TV bash” rocking a look normally associated with that ‘walking to your boyfriend’s fridge in need of refreshment after thumping sex’ vibe (i.e. a purple jumper that reaches the brim of her no-doubt non-existent cellulite and QUITE POSSIBLY NOTHING ELSE!), the pneumatic minxstrel ’caused a stir’ with her unadorned top leg action. The Star was keen to point out that the thighs she was flaunting are “thunder”-like. The thunder to which Britney‘s thighs are comparable, it must be said, is the kind of thunder that wouldn’t even send a six-year-old bedwetter with an overactive imagination running fearful to his parents’ bedroom.

Meanwhile, Atomic Kitten Liz McClarnon has had a brain scan. None of the paper’s report whether one was found.

There was a Grand Prix yesterday. It was, like most motor races, buttock-clenchingly tedious. And, despite The Mirror’s Ever-Vigilant 3 am Girls’ claims, the action in the VIP area was equally rubbish. They saw Fergie leaving in a helicopter (didn’t say whether it was much like Budgie or not). Then they were accosted by Jay Kay who proceeded, basically, to try and shag them. “Clearly Jay is over his split from Denise Van Outen,” they blather. Yeah, right. Because rather than move on sensibly, catch up with friends, throw nice dinner parties, or go to the cinema, when a man has come to terms emotionally with a split from an ex-girlfriend they were once engaged to, they run around manically trying to fuck any random big-breasted harpy they can get their hands on don’t they?

may now hire himself out to anyone who wants him to make an appearance at their happy day. “I’ll be guaranteed to enliven the event with Crazy Mad Uncle dancing, impromptu renditions of Toploader hits, a quick tussle with a bridesmaid in the cloakroom, and endless drunken, tear-drenched rants about how much my ex-wife fucked up my life,” it was reported nowhere that he said.

Finally, our country’s security will soon be safeguarded by an army division made up of “black generals, lesbian admirals and cockney-speaking officers of the same rank” the Mirror claims. This Tokenistic Minority Corp, as it may possibly be known, will be a G-Force-style gang who’ll protect Britain from alien invasions. On hearing this, one army general scoffed, saying, “That’s preposterous. We all know lesbians don’t exist.”

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