The Daily Mail guide to the Z-list celebrity scum suing us

SO, a gaggle of micro-celebs like Prince Harry and Elton John have got the f**king nerve to sue us, the Daily Mail, have they? Let’s find out who these bitter nonentities are.

Elizabeth Hurley 

Liz had her 15 minutes of fame in 1994 for wearing ‘that dress’, and she wasn’t even that popular then. As if Britain’s men would be the slightest bit interested in a gorgeous posh bird with big tits. The very thought is ludicrous.

Since then she’s plummeted into total obscurity, scrabbling around for work as the face of Estee Lauder and only appearing in two Austin Powers films. The public doesn’t care about her, and we at the Mail certainly don’t, apart from eagerly printing every single bikini shot her publicist sends us.

Also she’s 57, way past the official Daily Mail age for women being attractive, and as such should be put down like an old dog.

Sir Elton John 

Had a few hits back in the 70s, but is completely unknown in 2023 and these days just tunelessly bashes out ‘Crocodile Rock’ in dingy local pubs before sliding into alcoholic oblivion. Allegedly.

Sir Elton claims someone tapped the landline belonging to himself and his ‘husband’ David Furnish, although everyone’s ramming their homosexuality down your throat these days, so we’d hardly want more of it. We still haven’t got over Channel 4 showing My Beautiful Laundrette

Baroness Doreen Lawrence

Er, we’re going to skip over her as we’ve just got an email from our lawyer saying we’re deep enough in the shit already.

Sadie Frost 

She claims to be an actress, but all she’s been in is 1994’s Shopping. That’s it. Apart from various other things and an obscure vampire B-movie by Francis Ford Someone. 

Sadie’s main claim to fame was being married to Jude Law, another washed-up thespian who is now bald as an egg. What a dreadful couple, and it would have served them right if someone had hired a private investigator and taken an unhinged, stalkerish interest in their divorce. That wasn’t us, by the way. Definitely not us.

Prince Harry 

We have literally no idea who this minor royal is, so why would we tap his phone? He says he was worried that ex-girlfriend Chelsy Davy would be ‘harassed to death’, but the suggestion that we’d use our army of journalists, freelancers, columnists and lawyers to run a deranged hate campaign against a young woman who’s done nothing wrong is totally implausible.

As far as we can tell, Harry has done nothing with his life. He claims to have been in Afghanistan, but he’s clearly a fantasist with too many Andy McNab books. Disabled due to his hideous ginger hair, Harry clearly craves attention after years of living in the shadow of his more successful, better-looking brother whose wife Kate is perfect in every way.

While we pity him, he cannot blame the Mail for his woes. We are simply pointing out the truth when we explain that Meghan is pure, demonic evil in human form and undoubtedly the spawn of The Horned One, Lucifer, and a cursed talking goat.

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How to convince people you live in the nice bit of a well-known shithole

IF you live in Southend, Sunderland or another of the UK’s vibrant, bustling hellholes, it’s vital everyone thinks you live in ‘the good bit’. Whether it actually exists or not. Here’s how to convince them.

Be vague on the postcode

When residing in a dive like Slough, never mention the postcode so no one will know where you live. If you ever need a lift, always get dropped off at an address in an affluent area miles from your home. Don’t get carried away with your newfound status though, and get takeaways delivered there to impress the guy from Golden City Chinese.

Use the term ‘a village near’

You don’t live in Hull. You live in a mysterious village near it no one can quite place, like Brigadoon. Still, it conjures visions of country pubs and weekend rambles, and if pushed on the details go on about how the local primary school got rated ‘good’. Don’t mention that you’ve installed CCTV because people keep setting fire to your wheelie bin, focus on ‘the new Costa’, ie. the coffee machine in your grotty local corner shop.

Accentuate the positive

If you live in a total hole go hard on its plus points. It’s got ‘amazing sea views’ (Plymouth), it’s ‘a stone’s throw from the West End’ (Croydon), or it’s ‘the gateway to The Cotswolds’ (Swindon). All of those stretch the truth beyond breaking point, but geography at school these days never includes a basic knowledge of where places are in Britain, so people will probably believe Bradford is ‘deep in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales’.

Tell everyone it’s got a Waitrose

Your trump card. You might live in the faded seaside shit-tip that is Blackpool, a relic resort shrouded in the scent of chip fat, candy floss and desperation, but the fact that it has a Waitrose makes everything nice and middle-class again. No one needs to know that Waitrose is actually 25 miles away in Preston. 

Go on about how it’s ‘on the up’

When you tell your friends you’ve moved to Stoke quickly neutralise looks of pity and horror by telling them the area is ‘on the up’. Luckily the concept is highly subjective. A new cheapo off-licence and a tattooist in your street are worthwhile urban regeneration projects if you love the taste of Spesh and looking like someone’s doodled on you with a black biro.