God I love this job, sifting through pictures of Kylie's arse, Britney's tits and ......Duran Duran? Well, okay, so life isn't a bed of roses, but hey, it beats working for a living!

Next week , we'll bring you a 'Glastonbury Special' ( I bet you can't wait ! )

L O V E L Y A R S E . . .
From what I’ve seen this week, it looks as if Kylie ‘where have my knickers gone? ‘ Minogue is finally back on track. I witnessed her ‘come back’ show at the G.A.Y night at London’s Astoria on Friday, and me and my two 'chums’ Julian and Jason, think she looked fantastic. It was just a shame the music got in the way of it all.

However, not only is she doing a very good impression of a ‘greased up sex rat’ she’s also giving highly sexed interviews to every pervert in Fleet Street. This week she went on and on about how old ‘dead Donkey’ Michael Hutchence opened her eyes to 'kinky sex' But would she be up for it again? Apparently not. She told me "I’ve had my arse burnt too many times" (which means she must be into dirty sex involving candles. What a kinky bitch!)

Old Kylie even gave a run down of who she’s had ‘monkey sex’ with and who she's kept her knickers on for. Once again, I am only too happy to translate for you......

Julian Lennon : " No, he’s a nice guy......but no "
Translation. : He’s an ugly fuckwit, with a big nose.

Lenny Kravitz : "There’s a bit of truth to that, but we weren’t going out together.’
Translation : He humped my arse off, and then never phoned me again. He had a tiny cock.

Prince : " I didn’t have a romance with him, we just hung out. I did go to Paisley park "
Translation : He was so tiny, his head came up to my muff ! He humped my arse off, but never phoned me again "

Chris Evans : " Not a f….ng chance "
Translation : ‘He drugged me and I woke up staring at two tangerines and a tiny carrot’

W I N S T O N ? . . .
Can’t wait for the ‘explosive’ new Posh Spice book, It’s been written by her former body guard (though lets be honest, there ain’t much ‘body’ to guard these days!) It has sent the ‘singing Pepperami ' running to the hills, as it contains highly detailed accounts of her day to day life and what really goes on backstage at Spice Girl gigs..."I just hit the ‘play’ button, as soon as the girls walk on stage"...

Well, I have a treat for you dear readers. You’ve stuck with me through ‘thick and thin’ (Becks and Posh) and the two of you need a mouth watering exclusive from the book, so that's exactly what I'm going to give you.

Yep, last night I met a man in Portsmouth Harbor. He slipped something into my hand, and I went home with a huge bulge in my pocket.

That has nothing to do with this extract from the book ‘At their Beck and Call ’ which was posted to me this morning, (but I thought I’d turn you on, as you’re probably as sad and lonely as I am ) So, are you ready for some ‘Posh Spice Dynamite’? Well, here it is, taken from the chapter ‘Posh has Dwight Yorke’s Love Child’ and it’s a very moving piece, as I’m sure you’ll both agree…….

Let me set the scene....Posh is about to give birth to Dwight’s baby, she went into labour late last night, and Beckham has been with her throughout. He doesn’t suspect a thing, and still thinks it’s his!

Dwight is in the car park, I can’t believe she’s going to go through with it ! surely Beckham will twig it ain’t his, as soon as Posh gives birth to a young healthy black baby with a 9 inch mambo cock! Christ, she’s giving birth even as I write.....Oh my lord, it’s got an afro!

I will leave it there dear readers, and find out if the shit really does hit the fan, or will Posh get away with it ?.......To be continued.


P E A C E & L O V E . . .
It’s that time of year again when every ‘odd ball ’ in town goes wild and enjoys a weekend of ‘Love, Peace and Understanding’ Yep, it’s GLASTONBURY.

Well, I hope it pisses with rain!

Why this ‘peasants on drugs’ festival is still so popular, I’ll never know. The whole place stinks of shit, due to every hippie emptying their ‘organic’ bottoms every 10 minutes. And of course they don’t believe in deodorant, because it makes 'dolphins blind’ (especially if you spray ‘Lynx’ in their eyes) "But hey man, what about the music ? " I hear you hippies say,

Yes, what about the music? dear oh dear…….. Embrace, The Pet Shop Boys, Travis ? I’d rather hear my own Grandparents choking to death on a large helping of apple pie. The only good thing about this ‘Musical carnival’ is the ‘Green Field’. Here, you can relax, find your ‘inner self’ and meditate until the sun goes down.

It was here four years ago, I met my future wife and ‘spiritual healer’ Yougi . When I first looked into her eyes, I saw the ‘mountains of peace’ and the ‘waterfalls of hope’. I also saw her naked body, dancing to the sounds of dolphins. We sat and talked about ‘finding the path’ and later that night I did find the ‘path’...the ‘furry path’ as I banged her arse off to the sweet sounds of White Snake.

She now works in Debenhams, and I work at MacDonalds, but what a festival, what a night. May you sad little pygmy's get lost whilst trying to ‘find yourselves’ in a shit filled porta loo.



P U L L T H E O T H E R 1 . . .
Well, well, well, just when the summer was hotting up! along come Radiohead, like a ‘cruel winter of discontent.’ Yep, this week, those moaning ‘ugly weasels’ made their first live appearance in almost eighteen months in some poncey theatre in Barcelona. (Obviously, the ‘Horse n Hound’ in Balham was fully booked).

I was there, don’t worry lads. And I can now give you an exclusive report from behind the scenes. Firstly, the new songs sound just like the old ones. Still as dark as Wookey Hole Caves in a power cut.
"This is called 'Knives Out'..it’s about Cannibalism"

They trugged through their set as freely as a fat woman stuck in some quick sand. To be honest,
I watched the first four songs, and thought ‘fuck this’ and went off to the Lav for a wank. ( Well, it was all ‘moan, moan, moan’ ) It wasn’t till later, backstage, that the real fireworks kicked off.

On stage, they’re fucking miserable bastards. Backstage they’re beer swigging sex donkeys. Honestly, I saw that miserable bastard Thom Yorke laughing and joking as he whipped a young Philipino girl into submission. "Come on, ride me, I’m your master " was his shocking ‘battle cry’. A million miles away from ‘Aliens’ and ‘Androids’. ( When they were not ‘ fucking’ they were all swigging on cans of ‘Mega White’and playing darts).

Even troubled guitarist, Johnny Greenwood was no better, as he announced "I’m off to get a fucking kebab, keep the slut’s ‘love tunnel’ warm. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in time for the rugby".

This band are clever fuckwits. They've made millions out of hoodwinking a bunch of suicidal teenagers into their dreary bottomless pit of despair, when really they’re as dark and depressed as a bunch of pissed up lottery winners in a Dutch whore house.


F O A M I N G . . .
Honestly, I hide myself away in a Romanian Orphanage for a weekend with nothing more than a hose pipe, some cod liver oil, and a pink leather leotard, and as soon as my back is turned, the world of pop goes ‘stone cold crazy’.

As I slid back into town on Monday morning, the heart breaking news reached me that old ‘singing race horse’ Billie Piper had gone berserk and collapsed in a night club. Apparently, the official reason for Miss Piper’s collapse, was due to a kidney infection.

However, eyewitnesses at the ‘Fluffy Beaver’ tell me that Billie was ‘foaming at the mouth’ and didn’t know where she was. (This has happened to me before, after my uncle Reggie made me take some tablets whilst on a camping holiday).

Now I’m not ‘Doctor Doolittle’ I can’t talk to the animals, even though I’ve given many old dogs one last ‘chew on the bone of love’ but a kidney infection does not make you collapse in a night club and roll around like a maniac. However, a heroin over dose, does! Now once again, I’m not in this job to make stories up, but I am worried about little Billie, I’ve made her ‘foam at the mouth’ many times before, and I just hope she can get better and have her tits out again for the lads as soon as possible.

I hope for your sake that you get off the ‘crack’ and show us your ‘crack’ very soon. All the best from the lads in the office. We’ve already lost Red Rum, and we’d hate to see another bog-eyed race horse turned into ‘pop glue’.



G I N G E R N U T S. . .
Can I just say a big thank you to Mick Hucknel for inviting me to his 40th Birthday party at the groovy 'Man Ray' night club in Paris. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make it, as I was too busy changing the inner tube on my mountain bike, but judging by the photographs, every dealer in Mosside had a great night out.

His new bird looked ‘hot to trot’. Her name is Lea Kristensen who hosts ‘The Price Is Right ’ don’t she? And judging by how much money you were slipping into her knickers Mick, (just so she’d agree to sleep with you, you ugly pig’s arse) I think she’d definitely agree the ‘Price was Right’... £400,000. to be precise!

God, is there any justice in this world? This ‘ginger baboon’ has fucked the arse off every super model in town, here I am, a young blond version of Mohammad Ali (before he turned into a dribbling vegetable) and I can’t get laid for love nor money ( And I’ve offered both!)

Later on, I heard that every Ginger arse-licker played ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ but it had to be abandoned due to Mick’s arse being riddled with pin pricks. Fortunately, the party ended rather abruptly, when during ‘musical chairs’ some deaf dick put Mick’s last album ‘Love and the Russian Winter’ on and cleared the club in 10 seconds flat.