AND so I am to appear on I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. As an aesthete I am naturally repelled by the unstoppable march of reality television programmes and the oxygen they lend to the dismal, slack-jawed 'personalities' who scramble to appear on them.
Being the cleverest person in the room is an incredible feeling. You probably worry that the hours you spend on Facebook looking at photo albums of people you don't know or reading celebrity gossip magazines is making you stupid. It is not...
THIS dude comes into ma office the other day and I ask him his name and he comes back with 'Vic'. I says to him: "Tell me Vic, in the last three years have you been involved in a muthafuckin' accident that wasn't your fault?"
GREETINGS, fellow scumbags. I speak to you from deepest, darkest Soho in London Town. I'm up early on this fine, crisp English morning - the birds are singing and I've just completed my first rebellious act of the day by not saying 'hello' to the special constable who walked past my house...
Like you, I was utterly addicted to the Chilean miners and couldnâ€™t tear myself away when it came to eviction night.
NOW pay attention men. Last night at around 17.00 hours, I took delivery
of the latest batch of DVD videograms I've been asked to review,
courtesy of Mr Jones, who also included a lamb chop and two pork
My hotel is right on the Strip so I wasn't surprised when I found traces of GSR in my toilet. I was able to guesstimate the TOD to be 4am. There was no use looking for the VIC - he'd be six metres under the Nevada desert by now, his dental records vanished without a trace. Further investigations under the bed revealed a Riverdance DVD and a Scholl Party Foot...
"Something tells me the only type of music Simon Cowell can hear these days is the kind that's piping wistfully from his skin flute."