Published on November 17th, 2009 | by Lisa McInerney6
Surreptitiously establishing who in Jaysus’s name Carrie Prejean is, so you don’t have to.
There’s no particular theme to this week’s Jaw, so fans of order and propriety, log off now. Celebrities are creatures of chaos; they inhabit a world where law and order is but a TV show to be peppered with clumsy cameos. They’re hardly going to co-ordinate their stupidity for the likes of me. Besides, most of them have been horrifically boring this week, or horrific non-entities, making them boring by default (I can’t imagine anyone cares whether or not Jordan’s boobs contract malaria).
Now that we’ve all gagged on that mental image, we can press on.
The latest name in esteemed idiocy is, of course, Calvin Harris. Calvin, head embellished with a pineapple, stormed the stage during John and Edward’s performance on last week’s X Factor with such panache, such focus, that I didn’t even notice he’d done so until I saw the headlines the next day. Here he is, up to his neck in balls.
Calvin, who had been invited along as a guest on Xtra Factor, was immediately ejected from the studios, pineapple in tow, leading to a sheepish tweet (Shweet? Tweepish?) apologising for any embarrassment caused and proclaiming his love for our very own Jed-tastic pair. He’s since had a think about it, however, and has said his stunt was born of philanthropic intention to raise awareness of the Dire State Of Music These Days. Well, where would we be without the philosophies of electronica-diddling hit machines like Calvin? I so enjoy a good think off the back of an overgrown grasshopper impersonating Carmen Miranda, me. The whole thing seems to me to have been a moment of self-indulgent twatastrophe with a pious afterthought holding it all together. So not a Jarvis moment, Calvin; there’s a difference between upstaging Michael Jackson, and being escorted away from a Jedward gig. You plike.
Calvin’s tweet of Jed-lovin’ apology has since been deleted, as far as I can see. Hmm.
Also inspiring me to Hmm is young Daniel Radcliffe, whose people are angrily denying that he smokes cannabis after has was pictured with a homemade cigarette at a house party. After photos of a laughing Radcliffe (complete with dastardly moustache drawn in black marker on his face) appeared on the front page of The Mirror, Harry Pothead jokes sprung up faster than Rupert Grint in a nunnery. The Potter machine was not amused. “Daniel does smoke the occasional roll-up cigarette, but he was not doing anything more than this. We are considering our position and will be taking all necessary action in relation to such allegations,” was their scary scold, but the damage is done. Roll-up ciggie or Camberwell Carrot – either way we’re asked to believe that Daniel Radcliffe is some sort of hippie. Rolling his own? With his fortune? Unless it’s revealed that his monkey butler did it for him, I’m going to remain dubious.
As I am regarding the common presumption that P. Diddy is not a virgin. In a recent interview with RadarOnline, the Diddler (is that the second time in this post I’ve used diddle as a verb? Holy heifer, I think it is!) tells the story of how he once sent an assistant out to get some porn, as he was entertaining a lady friend and wanted to create a mood.
“I had left my porn collection in New York,” Diddy explained. “It was a Friday night, I had to send him out.” Are women generally more receptive towards 70s soundtracks, distracted TV repairmen, and rubbery chest sheens on Friday nights? I clearly don’t eat enough oysters. Also, am I to deduce that Puffy D. Puffington usually carts his “collection” around the place with him? Is it housed in its own suitcase? Does it have its own fluffer? Meh, I’m getting too old for this.
A thought, I’d imagine, which has occurred more than once to 23-year-old Robert Pattinson and 19 -year-old Kristen Stewart. The Twilight co-stars have long suffered the world’s unhealthy obsession with whether or not they’ve chanced to dance in each other’s pants, which may go some way towards explaining why these gorgeous, loaded stars spend most of their time scowling thusly …
Well, they can scowl those chins right into their sternums now, as Twilight director Catherine Hardwicke has only gone and confirmed that the pair have been nibbling on each other’s necks, just not during filming of the first film, because Kristen was underage.
“I told Rob, Don’t even think about having a romance with her,” said Hardwicke. “She’s under 18. You will be arrested.” Because if there’s anything worse for a tweenie Twihard than knowing her future husband was carrying on with that wagon of a co-star, it’s having him painted as a cradle snatching creep as well. Ewwww. Nice one, Ms. Hardwicke. I think we preferred ignorance.
Lastly, because I’m playing with word association at the moment and just noticed I’ve scribbled ignorance, wagon and ewwww in quick succession, I’m obliged to update you on … *drumroll* Megan Fox!
The ridiculously pretty and pretty ridiculous star (er, ignore the picture on the left for evidence of the former) hasn’t disappointed with her recent interview with The New York Times. Along with proclaiming that girls are “a nightmare” and that Jennifer’s Body bombed because it alienated middle America (the only movie EVER TO HAVE DONE SO LOL!!1!), Megan stated that she doesn’t mind being slated, criticised, or called a slut by teh mad jealous hos, because her private persona is different to her public persona. Makes sense, yes? Well, that’s because I translated it from Meganese. Her own statement went something like …
“I’ve learned that being a celebrity is like being a sacrificial lamb … I created a character as an offering for the sacrifice. I’m not willing to give my true self up. It’s a testament to my real personality that I would go so far as to make up another personality to give to the world. The reality is, I’m hidden amongst all the insanity. Nobody can find me.”
That’s for sure. I commend you, Megan. You’re like that riddle that says, “Everything I said is a lie, so am I telling the truth or not?”. Only with a less prestigious reputation. See, dear reader? Chaos. Pointless, glorious chaos.