- RT @TheTopoftheD: As the Women’s World Cup starts this week, I’ve written this for @TheHockeyPaper. I suspect it might not be as popular… 1 day ago
Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Tag Archives: celebrity
09/17/2012Posted by on
Welcome, oglers! Unless you’ve been living in a country with tightly-controlled state media restricting your exposure to celebrity nipple-slips, you’ll have heard all about the Kate Middleton holiday snaps that have been making the rounds. Surprise, surprise, everyone is blaming the photographers again. Let me ask you this: if Miss Middleton didn’t want some overweight, grubby, sex starved, thrice-divorced, middle-aged bloke in khaki shorts taking photos of her tits from half a mile away, why did she grow them in the first place? If there’s one thing that I can’t stand, it’s hypocrisy, and women with breasts are amongst the worst offenders.
Dear Paparazzi John
I was putting the rubbish out the other week, when I thought I saw a leaf blow across my neighbour’s garden. Is this a tell-tale sign of paparazzi activity, or was it just the wind?
Good question! Distraction is a key weapon in the paparazzi armoury, and I’m something of an expert in it. I once hid at the back of my neighbour’s wardrobe, just waiting to get a quick peek of her in that lace nightgown she bought the week before. She somehow heard me, and I had to think quickly. Cats are famous for faffing about in wardrobes, trying on other people’s clothes, so I made a purring noise. Unfortunately, she didn’t actually have a cat, so the ruse didn’t work. I then did an impression of a cow, hoping she would think it was her mobile ring tone, but she still wasn’t fooled. In a last ditch effort, I rolled a marble across the floor to trick her into thinking she had a poltergeist.
Stupid bitch called the police on me. I tell you, if she didn’t want to be seen in her undergarments, why did she buy them from a high street shop? If she wanted to keep it a secret, she should have bought it online and had it delivered when everyone was asleep. In fact, she should forgo the use of clothes entirely if she’s going to be such a prude about being seen wearing them.
Dear Paparazzi John
I’m trying to get into photography, and have some very tasteful photos of my wife, reading in the garden. Would you mind taking a look, and let me know you think?
Woah! Easy, tiger! Artful pictures of a fully-clothed woman? That she consented to? Are you some kind of pervert?
Hmmm, mind you… are her nipples visible through the blouse?
03/29/2012Posted by on
Cowabunga dudes! It’s Piersy Morgers here and I’ve decided to tell you all about moi. I’m a big fan of cats and have an entire shed dedicated to them and their mysterious ways, one that I built myself using a combination of blood, tears, and self-satisfied smuggery. I decided to name the shed Sheba and appoint myself as its queen, which of course makes me The Queen of Sheba. I like to wear a robe and fill the pockets with kittens so I can listen to them mewling in honour of their gracious kingy-queen and I even have authentic photographs to show as proof if you don’t believe me.
I also like holidays and my favouritest holiday was when I popped over to Iraq back in 2004. I got kidnapped by a gang of Iraqi criminals who threatened to kill me unless I gave them lots of money. When I told them I was a celebrity they soon changed their tune and it wasn’t long before they were begging me all day and night for my autograph. When I was rescued by some British soldiers their translator informed me that my captors thought that I was the gay wimpy one from Four Weddings and a Funeral, but it still counts, right? Celebrity by proxy is still celebritiness and yes, I have 100% authentic photographs that I can show you as proof.
Some time last year I bought myself an owl and named it Twitter. I could tell right away that I was doing well with Twitter as it kept responding to every ‘twit’ I made. “Twit-twit-to-WOO!” I would say and it would do a twitty right back at me. If I leave Twitter alone for too long I get worried that it has forgotten about me, so I make sure that I unleash a mighty T-bomb at him every now and then. Occasionally he flies around and does lots of little Twit-shits on me, but, well, I kind of like the attention and it gives me a real feeling of legitimacy among all the other Twitter owners out there. But make no mistake, I’m the master of Twitter.
I have authentic photos of all this you know, especially the Iraq stuff. They definitely aren’t fake as I can tell by looking at the pixels and from seeing quite a few Photoshops in my time.