Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously rifling through Robert Pattinson’s wheelie bin, so you don’t have to. We all enjoy a bit of peace and quiet from time to time, don’t we? Nodding off in the armchair in front of Jonathan Woss, having a relaxing cuppa with half a Twix you found in the glove compartment, a gentle stroll along the seaside with a gambolling labrador by your side and Enya playing on your iPod. Or whale song. I can’t tell the difference. All of these are appropriate ways to indulge your inner hermit. But did you know that whenever you enjoy those stolen, golden moments, you’re honouring that unfortunate distance between your reality, and that of the rich and famous? This may not worry you; you may never want to be … er … smeared by the paps, or impregnated by Jude Law, or parodied by Katy Brand. But if you’re the kind of … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously judging Colleen and Wayne’s baby-naming skills, so you don’t have to. Whenever my taste in movies is judged snobby or snippy, I pull out my populist failsafe, Clueless, and wave it about like Jodie Marsh’s petticoats during a military parade. I do so love Clueless, as is right and proper when you consider that I was fourteen when it came out – to this day, I’ll forgive Paul Rudd anything. How could anyone stand by their calling me Count Snobula after I profess a love of Clueless? Clueless has gotten me out of quite a few witch-burnings, let me tell you. But as much as I love Clueless, I’d never quite stoop to living by the Way of Cher; after all, Clueless was but a frothy comedy, Paul Rudd the most non-threatening dish outside of a bowl of mash. Neither movie nor heartthrob was ever supposed to be taken … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously voting for John and Edward, so you don’t have to. There. With the X-Factor reference out of the way, we can get down to the high-and-mighties. Oh yes. I’ve been feeling a little inconsequential this week, a little frothy, like the Matey residue in the empty bath of life. Yes, that bad. So this week you lot are getting Highbrow Jaw. I am aware that Jaw naturally belongs on the southern end of the face, but sometimes you’ve got to do a little reconstruction for the good of your career. Isn’t that right, Ashlee Simpson? Not that I know who Ashlee Simpson is, being highbrow and all. Moving on. “To where?” you might scoff. “To where could you possibly move us, if not to the most-certainly-not-highbrow world of celebrities making absolute doughnuts of themselves? That is your brief, is it not?” And yes, it is. But if you think … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously orchestrating mischievous anti-Moir campaigns, so you don’t have to. I suppose there’s nothing for it but to accept that it’s just that time of the year again. With the X-Factor live shows dominating weekend television like dreams of Daniel O’Donnell dominate your granny’s knicker-buying decisions, it would be rather churlish of me not to concede the odd reluctant nod. I suppose I won’t lose too many cool points for admitting that Simon Cowell’s extravaganza is rather exciting this time round. After all, it features two very special “stars” this year. They’re rhinoceros-skinned, ultra-annoying, can’t sing a note and are so far off their rockers they’ll never be reconciled with the real world, but by God, they’ve given us here at culch.ie plenty to snigger at … Whassat? Hmm? Who the Jaysus are John and Edward? I’m talking about Whitney Houston and Robbie Williams! Yes, Whitters and … er … … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously fretting over Zach Braff death rumours, so you don’t have to. Y’know, it’s rare you’ll have a slow news day in the sphere of celebrity silliness. There are so many stars out there, and with the paparazzi/their PR people on their backs twentyfourseven, you’re bound to get an instant update whenever an A-lister falls over, or says something daft in an interview, or buys crack in a schoolyard, or whatever. Then you’ve got the B and C list celebrities getting snubbed by guestlist Nazis, the mid-alphabet types falling out with one another on Dancing With The Stars … all the way down to some tragic Z-lister losing her implants on a drunken night in. It’s a full and cutthroat world out there – if you want to be in the news, you’ve got to do something newsworthy. Maybe embarrassingly so, maybe something so seedy it trades your whole life … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously wearing Lindsay Lohan’s new fashion line, so you don’t have to. You would imagine that any gossip column worth the paper t’was spat on would be focusing on The X-Factor this week, what with Simon, Dannii, Louis and Cheryl having finally chosen the twelve horsemen for the apocalypse of Saturday night television. Not the case here, I’m pleased to admit! There’s plenty about this year’s contestants one could focus on and pick at – that one of the male finalists looks like the money shot from a 1970s porno, that another has teeth you could sail to Easter Island on … that there’s a band of lapdancers, for Jaysus’ sake! – but I prefer to focus more on people who are already celebrities. People whose dedication to the arts, whose poise and grace in a world of creative flux are an inspiration to us all, and … What? Really?! … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously reading Roman Polanski’s court transcripts, so you don’t have to. We’ve got quite a female-centic ragbag of raging oestrogen this week, fellow gossip hounds. Must have been a drought in the cocoa beanfields, or something – as a gurl, I’m no agricultural expert – but for whatever reason, female celebs have been over-shaking the Crazy onto their chips lately. Who exactly would dare disturb me so, you might ask;  Lady Gaga? Peaches Geldof? Mary Hanafin? No, kids. In a much more sinister turn, usually-bland bunnies like Beyonce have just been spotted Dancing On The Broken Mirror – shall we investigate? Let’s! Ms. Knowles is under fire for nearly setting everyone backstage at Singapore’s F1 Rocks concert … well, on fire. The Pear-Shaped One reportedly hogged all of the air conditioning, causing nearby inconsequential mortals to pass out. Supa’sta’ DJ Seb Fontaine suffered heatstroke, and all! I know it wouldn’t … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously going through Eminem’s summonses, so you don’t have to. I have learned that there’s no point in being high-minded about a gossip column. Originally, I had planned to focus on the goings-on of our more worthy high-profile heroes, rather than on preposterous knobs like Jordan or Kerry Katona. But the problem with such a well-meaning mission statement is that …  well, worthy stars don’t make absolute prats of themselves, do they? They don’t court Controversy, or indeed try to talk Scandal in for “a coffee” on the way home from the local disco. You won’t catch George Clooney dogging in the Tesco car park, or all four members of Interpol coked out of their oaks on the set of America’s Next Top Model. Basically, I’m warning you that while I shall endeavour to provide an environment free from Jordan and her ilk, I cannot always be sure that the … There’s more

Apprentice S05E05 Review & Gossip

Our “rough tough creme puff” from NY, who was going to give us “balls right now” is gone! Even she had to admit that her teams product was Pants! Yes last week the teams had the branding and marketing challenge, oh and there were hot branding irons in the fire by the time the final three were in the boardroom. Kim sensing her time was up and Lorraine was after sticking the knife in, turned to her Brutus with a venomous look claiming “I have always championed you”, and while Philip drawled “That’s so romantic” Sir Allen gave her a one way ticket back to the big apple. She did as many a losing apprentice and hoist her self by her own petard, claiming that this was the challenge she was here for, she took leadership of team Ignite. However, that was about as far as she took it as … There’s more

Celeb News 19/03/09

Holy Schmoly Gossip Girls. Gossip Girl co-stars Blake Lively and Leighton Meester cover a new issue of Rolling Stone magazine while seductively sharing an ice cream cone together. Justin Timberlake really is a man for all seasons. Sigh! He successfully transitioned from a questionably styled boy bander to a musically respected pop star. He has opened up two restaurants in Manhattan, Southern Hospitality and Destino, that have both managed to do well. Ha has a  hugely successful clothing line, William Rast. So what next I hear you ask? Tequila of course.  Yip, the man who brought sexy back has come up with his own brand named 901. The reason behind the numeric name? “901 is that time of night when your evening is ending, but your night is just beginning. It is also a subtle nod to his hometown,” says the singer’s spokesperson, referring to the area code for Memphis, … There’s more