Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Friday, January 28, 2005

The Week Cher Came To Stay Pt 5


JAY: Shhhh!

LEE: I can't help it. You put me in a room with a wax effigy of George Clooney, of course I'm going to squeal like a girl!

JAY: Well try and keep it down when you see Brad Pitt.

LEE: Keep what down?

JAY: Your voice.

LEE: Oh! Right. Carry on.

JAY: Do be quieter! The guards will hear us!

LEE: ok.

JAY: That's better. Now according to the guide map, the Vestibule of the Fabulous is up here. Is that where Cher is?

LEE: Tsk. Where else would she be.

JAY: I dunno. Canteen? Melted down into some improbably sexy candles?

LEE: Gasp! You know when all this is over, you and I are going to have a long chat. Mostly about worshipping Gay Idols. But also a useful sideline about knocking the heads off of house guests!

JAY: Quieten down! Do you want to be grabbed by the coppers?

LEE: It's a constant threat every time I go through a low door in this dress. It doesn't leave a lot to the imagination, does it?

JAY: Unfortunately, no.

LEE: I'd class it as 'radioactive'. If you touch me, I'll fall-out.

JAY: Shhh! Someone's coming!

LEE: Quick! Freeze!

JAY: Give us a glance at that picture of the naked Jackie Stallone - that's enough to scare anyone rigid!

LEE: Here you go-Arg!

JAY: Eww!

(pause)

LEE: He's gone. That was close.

JAY: That was disgusting. Although I do feel the sudden urge to buy a leather sofa from DFS...

LEE: But when all's said and done, you have to admit that breaking into Madame Tussaud's as a waxwork was a brilliant idea.

JAY: It's a ridiculous idea. It just happened to be the best one we had.

LEE: And brilliance comes no better than these cheap Boots facepacks give our skin a shiny, yet realistic complexion. Our skin looks as fake as Joan Rivers!

JAY: We can commit crimes and cleanse our pores at the same time! What a boon.

LEE: Like the jacket, too. Who's is it?

JAY: Konstantin von Neurath - Head of the Nazi Secret Cabinet.

LEE: What did you do with the waxwork?

JAY: I stuffed him in with Moira Stewart and the BBC News team.

LEE: Naked?

JAY: Yes.

LEE: That'll surprise and delight future visitors.

JAY: I know. Who's costume did you steal?

LEE: Carmen Miranda, forties fruity chanteuse.

JAY: Works really well with your hairy chest. Did she look as pale as you do?

LEE: Well. Now. There's a story. In order to dispose of all the evidence of our diabolical plan, I had to eat the other Carmen's hat.

JAY: Oooh. Nasty. There were a lot of bananas.

LEE: You don't know the half of it - it was wax fruit.

JAY: Oh.

LEE: I know. Our toilet is in for a-

JAY: Stop right there. I do not wish to know.

LEE: But! We coul-

JAY: Shush.

LEE: All I'm saying is I now eat a length of string, we could be making fiver a pop at Camden Market.

JAY: You're sick.

LEE: I will be if we don't stop jogging.

JAY: Look, it's only over there! And there's the Cher waxwork!

LEE: Oh, thank the lord - these heels are killing me. And soon we can put an end to these daft Cher-nanigans.

JAY: Do that again and I shall hurt you. Now, all we have to do is - erk! - get over the rope and - ah! - grab the-

LEE: WAIT!

JAY: Shush!

LEE: wait!

JAY: What?

LEE: I think it's alarmed!

JAY: So am I after that surprise!

LEE: No, look! There's a wire - I think Cher is booby trapped!

JAY: What? Oh no...

LEE: Oh yes.

JAY: What do we do? Cut the wire? Chance it?

LEE: No... no... It looks like a pressure pad. You take her off, and those doors are going to slam shut. We'll be trapped!

JAY: All night in a room with Susan Dando's waxwork? I don't think so.

LEE: Let me think... Have you seen 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'? That bit at the beginning where Indiana steals the statue? I think we have to replace Cher... with someone exactly as fabulous as her!

JAY: What? Impossible!

LEE: I know - for one, Kylie Minogue is four halls that way! What about Betty Boothroyd, former Speaker in the House of Lords?

JAY: Too... um, cumbersome. Besides, before we met up, I'd placed it rather... intimately with the Patricia Routledge waxwork.

LEE: Ew.

JAY: It's all right. I put a doily down first.

LEE: Good boy. Now, what about Dolly Parton over there?

JAY: Yes! That will be perfect! On three - you heave her in, I'll get her off. As it where. Ready? One... Two...

LEE: THREE! Oof! We did it!

JAY: Indeed! We have the Cher!

LEE: Hurrah!

JAY: Now all we have to do is get it back home and re-attach this head to that body. So how are we going to sneak out?

LEE: Ah. I hadn't thought that far ahead.

JAY: Excuse me?

LEE: Well. I was convinced we'd be captured long before this. Tossed cruelly in a cell with a huge man who likes to call you 'Brenda', eating foul prison gruel with nothing but the tunes of the well-known hit musical 'Annie' to hum to yourself. 'It's A Hard-Knock Life' indeed...

JAY: What is it with you and prisons?

LEE: I think in a former life I was Diana Ross.

JAY: I'm not even going to go into what's wrong with that. Or you.

LEE: I've got it! We can reanimate Cher here! And then we can just walk out past the guards, who will hopefully do a comedic double-take and then faint!

JAY: Brilliant. Now how?

LEE: Right. We, er... We need a huge electrical charge! Yes. And the shattered bits of head... I'll just put them under this one's wig. Here - put these on.

JAY: Now, why do I have to wear the tights?

LEE: Your legs are longer. Now rub up and down the carpet until you feel static-y!

JAY: I'm... not... happy... about... this...

LEE: OW! Don?t touch me when you're charged! Touch her! Oh, wait until I've attached her to the mains. Right... NOW!

JAY: ARG! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRG!

LEE: Jay! Jay! Are you OK?

JAY: Yes. I think I'm blind.

LEE: No, the lights have gone out. I think we fused them...

JAY: Goodness.

CHER: DUU-YUUU-BELEEEEEEVE...

LEE: Jay! She's alive! SHE'S ALIVE!

JAY: Oh dear. Look outside. I think we blacked out most of London.

LEE: That's alright, your hair's still glowing.

JAY: Pardon?

LEE: Nothing! Just lead on!

JAY: Why are my ears warm?

LEE: No reason. Oh, arsebiscuits. The guards... they've spotted us!

JAY: Just act casual. Remember, we are three reanimated waxworks, just out for a night in London's whizzy West End...

LEE: What if they don't buy it?

JAY: 'It's A Hard Knock Life', remember?

LEE: Right. Gulp. Ready? Here we go...


THE END.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

The Week Cher Came To Stay Pt 4

LEE: Here's your tea. Do you know how difficult it is to buy fifty-denier tights in rush hour?

JAY: Thankfully, no.

LEE: Well, I've just had to find out, and it was hell! And I'll never- GASP!

JAY: Well. She was cluttering up the place.

LEE: You can't do that!

JAY: Well, you'll see that I already have.

LEE: You can't use Cher's beheaded body as a hat-stand!

JAY: Well. Obviously you can.

LEE: And where's that music coming from?

JAY: It turns out our imitation icon not only has 'Made In Taiwan' stamped somewhere slightly intimate, but she's also got a built-in MP3 player.

LEE: Jay! You haven't been rifling though our diva's drawers, have you?

JAY: No, hilariously, while you were out, I got her design schematics sent over from the lab. And you'll never guess where the volume knob is...

LEE: Give me those!

JAY: It really is impressive work.

LEE: Wow. Well, will you look at that. It says her hair is made from Block Transfer Computations!

JAY: What's that?

LEE: Oh, a joke for three people.

JAY: Right. Geek.

LEE: Proton accelerator... Flux Capacitor...

JAY: What, as in..?

LEE: Looks like it.

JAY: Cher can travel through time?

LEE: I suppose it would explain why her tour bus never goes over 88 miles per hour... My god! Do you realise what this means?

JAY: That Cher could be responsible for guiding humanity throughout the ages!

LEE: No - she was lying when she sung 'If I Could Turn Back Time' because she could ALL ALONG!

JAY: So she could have taken back all those words that would have hurt us, and we'd have stayed!

LEE: Yes!

JAY: Well I never.

LEE: I know. Although, do you realise... she can travel through time... and she's staying in our house... so that makes this -

JAY: Don't say it.

LEE: A Time Cher Apartment!

JAY: You said it.

LEE: I said it.

JAY: Am I going to have to hurt you again?

LEE: No - ow! - stop that!

JAY: So, are we all prepared for tonight?

LEE: I think so. You've got the map, I've got the Body Shop facepacks, the naked picture of Jackie Stallone in a sturdy envelope, some fifty-denier tights, and all the usual gumph for breaking-and-entering.

JAY: For the record, I think this is a stupid idea.

LEE: For the record, you couldn't think of anything better. After half an hour, you even decided that moving to Scotland in wigs and being called Monica was viable.

JAY: Well it's better than this!

LEE: It would never have worked. We can't BOTH be called Monica.

JAY: Good point. Right, you got everything?

LEE: Yup.

JAY: Including your bus fare?

LEE: Yup.

JAY: Table's all set up, generator's cranked for when we get back with... the item?

LEE: Yup.

JAY: Right then. Let's go and sort out this mess!

LEE: Or die trying!

JAY: Don't say that.

LEE: Right.

(pause)

LEE: You going to leave Cher on?

JAY: Yes. Burglars will think there's someone in.

LEE: Good idea.


To Be Continued.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

The Week Cher Came To Stay Pt 3

LEE: He-lloooo! I'm back! Traffic was murd-OH MY GOD! What did you do?!

JAY: Nothing, nothing!

LEE: Jay!

JAY: I tell you. Nothing has occurred. Just go through to your room and play Girls Aloud like you normally do. I'll just... get a blanket...

LEE: Oh my! What happened to Cher?!

JAY: Just look away. Nothing ensued.

LEE: JAY! Tell me!

JAY: Sigh. Well, er. We were playing Trivial Pursuits, and I won, and I did my little 'I Am The Master Of All You Minions' dance and got a bit... carried away.

LEE: You can say that again! You've knocked her head off!

JAY: I got a little excited. And it was only Trivial Pursuits.

LEE: Well that was silly!

JAY: I know. I killed a showbiz icon with my victory dance.

LEE: Oh, not just that, she's got a built-in search engine. She knows all the answers.

JAY: I knew she was cheating! Nobody knows that much about 'Z-Cars'...

LEE: This is bad.

JAY: I don't think so - I find it's a rather over-rated show from the Sixties.

LEE: No! Look! Cher!

JAY: Well, maybe if we, er... get this bucket and paint a smile on it. No-one would clock a damn thing!

LEE: Perhaps if we were trying for Sophie Ellis-Bextor, then... No! No! It's a ridiculous idea! She's got a public appearance in a couple of days!

JAY: She can't go along with a bucket on her head...

LEE: Goodness knows I tried to persuade pop-porker Daniel Bedingfield to do the same in my time.

JAY: Shush. Where did her head go?

LEE: Over the back of the sofa. Should I look?

JAY: I'll get it.

LEE: No! Fingerprints! Blood! I've seen CSI - save yourself! I'll take the rap! Though I am too pretty for the wiles of the common criminal, I shall go to prison and become top dog, rather like Noel Coward in The Italian Job. Oh yes, chocolate digestives shall flow from my cell every-

JAY: Here it is.

LEE: Yes! Chocolate biscuits- good lord.

JAY: But... it appears to be... in pieces! This isn't right...

LEE: Didn't you know? Cher's a robot.

JAY: Excuse me?

LEE: Cher. She's a robot. Has been since 1978. Her voice on her number one-charting hit, that electronic 'Duu-yuuu-beleeeEEEve' - it's her real voice.

JAY: You're pulling my leg.

LEE: No, I'm not. It's the final stage in her Master Plan to remain young forever!

JAY: Well it's hit a pretty big bump, what with her being a foot shorter now. And not being able to sing. Although...

LEE: Don't you dare make that joke! You're already in enough trouble as it with the Gay Council!

JAY: Really?

LEE: Yes! You've just killed their leader!

JAY: They don't scare me.

LEE: They Have Powers.

JAY: Like what?

LEE: No more 'Desperate Housewives'..?

JAY: Noooo!

LEE: Get up off your knees! It's unseemly!

JAY: But (sniff) no more of Teri Hatcher's oddly lined face...

LEE: I know. So think on. We need to put this right.

JAY: Any suggestions?

LEE: Well, I have no ideas. Bar running to Scotland and opening a charming bed and breakfast under the pseudonym 'Monica'.

JAY: But that's your answer to everything! Honestly, as soon as you saw the TV Detector van in the street last week, you were reaching for the wig and calling for the rail tickets!

LEE: I like my plan.

JAY: Well, we need a different one.

LEE: One that may or may not include wigs?

JAY: Maybe. Now, think.

LEE: That's a pretty tall order at the best of times. And now we have a headless, malfunctioning diva on our sofa!

JAY: Think, goddamn it!

LEE: OK! Right. I'm thinking... I'm thinking... Scotland. Yes! And the name 'Monica'...

JAY: I'm going to have to hurt you, aren't I?

LEE: Ow! Ah! Now! I have the very plan - something that will exonerate us completely!

JAY: What is it?

LEE: I'll tell you after we've had a cup of tea...


To Be Continued

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

The Week Cher Came To Stay Pt 2

It is odd having an a-list celeb make your dinner. Although Cher admitted she only did it because she got on so well with the microwave.

Sleeping arrangements aren't as bad as we feared either. While our fabulous, wood-floored house is indeed gorgeously spacious, there are only two bedrooms. Cher said that she'd brought her own camp bed (ha! You want camp bed? You should see Jay's! It looks like Jackie Collins decided to buy a circus big top!) and she'd be fine to put it up in the lounge.

We didn't expect it to clash with the décor so.



To Be Continued

Monday, January 24, 2005

The Week... Pt 1


JAY: Who's in our bathroom? I'm dying for a wee.

LEE: Cher.

JAY: Who?

LEE: Gasp. Give me your Gay Card.

JAY: No. I need it to jimmy the lock on Johnny Wilkinson's dressing room.

LEE: Sigh...

JAY: Sigh indeed. Although sudden expiration of air does not help with my toilet situations.

LEE: I can imagine.

JAY: I'd rather you didn't.

LEE: That's a good point. Cup of tea? Go on, I'll just run the kettle. Perhaps a nice, large mug of lovely warm fluid will take your mind off it.

JAY: You're a cruel man, Binding.

LEE: It's the beard, I find.

JAY: Ye-es. Anyway. You still haven't answered why there's someone else in our fabulously well-appointed bathroom.

LEE: It's Cher!

JAY: Yes! But why is she in our bathroom?!

LEE: I dunno. Perhaps she needed the toilet.

(pause)

JAY: I'm afraid you're missing the point.

LEE: I'm afraid she may have missed the bowl. Can you hear that?

JAY: I chose not to. I still need a wee.

LEE: Right. Right. Anyway, she's just stopping for a couple of days. I hope that's all right.

JAY: She's what?

LEE: Stopping over for a couple of days. That is OK, isn't it?

JAY: You mean we're going to have an a-list celeb, the great-grandmother of reinvention, staying with us?

LEE: I don't think it's not fair to call her a 'great-grandmother'... Well, not to her face at least.

JAY: Hmph. And which face is she using today?

LEE: Shh! She's got bionic hearing!

JAY: Don't be silly. And I'm aggrieved about this. Tell me again what the House Rules are.

LEE: 'Always Hang Your Umbrella On The Hat-Stand If You Have A Gentleman Caller Visiting'?

JAY: Not that one.

LEE: 'No Leg Warmers'?

JAY: No. But that's a motto for life, not just a house rule.

LEE: Good point. Er. 'No A-List Celebs Without A Week's Notice'?

JAY: That's the one. What if I'd booked in someone who couldn't stand Cher, thus leading to an awkward moment over the froi gras.

LEE: Ha! See the flaw in your logic! No-one dislikes Cher!

JAY: Ha! See the flaw in yours - what if I'd got Sonny Bono over for dinner.

LEE: Your powers of necromancy would indeed be powerful - he's been dead years.

JAY: He has?

LEE: Yes. Killed on a skiing holiday in 1998. Smacked right into a tree at speed. You could say-

JAY: Don't say it.

LEE: You could say it was his Last Big Hit!

JAY: You said it.

LEE: I said it.

JAY: Tsk. Well, how long's she going to be?

LEE: Oh, just a couple of days...

JAY: What, in the toilet? I'll bust by then!

LEE: No! Staying with us.

JAY: Oh.

LEE: So it's all right then?

JAY: I suppose so. But if she even goes near my Tanqueray Ten gin, there'll be hell to pay.

LEE: Oh she won't go near that. But I have a horrible feeling our electricity bill's going to be a bit higher this month... Where are you going?

JAY: To have a wee in the garden.

(pause)

LEE: Hang on - we haven't got a garden. Hey! Get out of my Busy Lizzy!


To Be Continued.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

And Now, The News

I have to say that our news coverage over in this country is sublime. We have the austere BBC, with their serious nice-trouser-suit-and-a-subtle-bangle presenters, ready to tell you the world is ending in a quiet yet authoritarian way that makes you nod along with a 'Ye-es... that's nice'. Very safe and very even-handed. And they're always ready with an almost robotic wry smile for the hilarious 'And finally...' feature.

This is, of course, except this man. His name is Darren Jordon, and he seems to prefer to try and hypnotise you the news. One may assume that he's just reading the auto-cue intently, refusing to blink until he gets to the end. Or he's trying to swell the masses of his zombie army to cause an uprising he can then exclusively report about. You can decide, but I for one spend most of his broadcasts yelling 'Blink, goddamn you! BLINK!'

Anyway, I digress. By far the best news is via the wonderful Channel 4, hosted by frosty-haired rottweiler John Snow. He's grand for many reasons, one being that he often obviously takes 'long lunches' before the show, seemingly turning up a couple of bottles worse for wear yet still can tear strips out of American politicians who pop on thinking it's going to be an easy gig.

He's also the only man I know who can pronounce the 't' in 'tsunami' without it sounding like a separate syllable.

Go on, try it. It's impossible. Tsunami.

Tsunami.

Ha! 'Sue Narmi'. That can be my new drag name.

And, yes. I'm just off to donate another tenner to the relief fund for my use of that joke.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

And While We're At It...

...I've learned that being a blogger is very much like being a rent-boy.

For you're really only as good as your last entry.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Ten Things I've Learned From Watching Alias

While we're waiting for WigWatch to recommence over here in the UK, its time to look back at what our favourite TV show has shown us!

10. All top secret organizations will conveniently have a fabulous party just as their greatest invention is completed.

9. Once you notice Jack Bristow's left ear, you will never look at anything else while he's in a scene.

8. Oxford University now has lithe, gun-toting, kung fu fighting guards, rather than the fat, disinterested ones that have previously manned the gates.

7. Agent Vaughn is there to look tortured. This is unless he is actually being tortured, where he then looks apologetic.

6. You're more likely to get promotions if your boss thinks he's your father.

5. Just when Sydney has reached a logical brick wall, chances are Rambaldi has invented something improbable to help.

4. When you can't afford Lena Olin, Isabella Rosellini can be hired for the price of a Muller yoghurt and all the Ribena she can drink.

3. Anyone under surveillance will helpfully sit right in the brightly lit window of a café in order to be secretly photographed.

2. Every single woman you know will, eventually, turn out to be evil.

1. There is no wig too garish or large for any top secret mission.

Monday, January 17, 2005

My Weekend

"To us!" he said, raising the glass skyward in salute.
I returned the gesture, raising my glass to my Evil Best Friend Declan. "To us."
Ten years. Ten years of knowing each other.
A whole decade of being aware of exactly what each other was capable.
He drank champagne like shots, and for once I followed suit, draining mine for dutch courage. It tasted oddly bitter. He smacked his lips and noticed my empty glass, moving in to fill it, keeping his eyes on me.
"I don't want to drink too much, if that's OK." I said, putting my hand over the glass.
"Yes, yes," he said. "It does seem the time for abstinence, doesn't it?"
He seemed oblivious to my hand, and carried on pouring and talking, leaving me covered and making me move my hand in surprise. I noted the glass was subsequently filled while I wiped my palm down my coat. I wondered whether it was on purpose.
"Well, I'm going to be taking it easy in the New Year too," he said.
This was new. I'd long held the belief that 'Dec' was short for 'Decadence'.
He airily punctuated the air with his cigarette as he carried on. "Oh yes. It's this marvellous new thing. Apparently you only have one drink per hour - really cut down. Gives the old liver a chance to recover."
"How's that going?"
He flicked at the ash, causing it to land In the hair of the lesbian on the next table. "Marvellously. For the first hour, I drink vodka. The second, whiskey.. the third, well. I forget, but there is a third. A wholly remarkable third."
I nodded, slowly. All movements are best done slowly in Declan's presence, I found.
We sat in what felt like amiable silence for a while, before I whistled through my teeth and muttered "So, ten years, eh..?"
He concurred affably, puckering his lips in thought as he pondered over the last decade's adventures. "So many memories. So many. Oh, and I read your blog-thing on Friday. Very good. Though you forgot to mention my favourite chat up line."
"Which is..?"
"'It puts the lotion in the basket, or else it gets the hose again'."
I laughed, nervously. High pitched. I tried to cover by pouring some more champagne, but my shaking hands caused the rim of the bottle to tap against the glass like I was to make a toast. People in the bar looked around, but quickly averted their eyes.
We sat some more, listening to the jukebox which was playing some really remarkable tat. I asked whether it was a nice gesture of my host that he'd managed to collate the past decade's songs by way of a celebration. He shrugged. "Like the elephant's graveyard, Leicester is the place where all music comes to die," he said.
"What do you mean?" I enquired.
He swept his hand expansively out to the dance floor opposite. "Look out there. They're dancing to the Macarena. In a moment, Las Ketchup will come on, and they will all know the moves. Then we'll get Whigfield's 'Saturday Night', and there will be more dancing in time."
I gasped, looking out at the bobbing crowd. It was true - they moved as one.
"But that's monstrous! Terrible!"
"I know. Marvellous, isn't it?" He cracked a smile that, for some reason, reminded me of Highgate Cemetery. "We're even getting former stars popping in to do PA's, now. We've had them all. Elkie. Lisa Scott-Lee. Michelle McManus..."
The overweight chanteuse? I'd last heard of Michelle McManus after she'd won the UK version of Pop Idol and had one hit. She, frankly, seemed an embarrassment to the record label who had to employ her, who then had to market an hefty lass with bingo-wings in a marketplace designed for stick-thin talent vacuums. And then she became an embarrassment to the UK public who'd only voted for her thanks to some vestige of Blitz spirit and the misguided belief that whoever comes last should be revered.
"I thought she'd disappeared?" I said.
"We last saw McManus going on her holiday just before Christmas. You know, she was going to go diving just off Sri Lanka, in the Asian ocean..."
It took a while to work through my head.
"You're going to hell, you know," I said in a rare moment of candour. "Right down to the River Styx."
"I am aware. But I bet you I'm going to get a riverside apartment."

Friday, January 14, 2005

My Glittering Column

We at Glitter for Brains simply love getting mail - however it's spelt! - and I'm sure you're all aware that I personally just love offering my hand to strangers! Oh yes, I do like to help out the odd friend (heavens - I've never turned out anyone, for that matter!) and I've been sitting on my bulging sack for the past week thinking that I must take you all in and deal with you. So, who's got a load on their chest they want me to help get off?


Dear Glitter for Brains,
I really have difficulty talking to men. I mean, I'm not bad looking, but I just can't pluck up the courage to talk to them! Help me out before my teeth start floating - I haven't been despunked in a year!
Yours, Rupert, Dewey

Well, with a mouth like that, we're not surprised! Wash it out at once! Anyway, I always find that you can never go wrong with a top-class chat-up line! Oh, they may be corny, but by gods they do work, and you'll soon find yourself sleeping your way to the bottom in no time at all! So without further ado, we proudly present The Patent-Pending Glitter for Brains Top Three Cop-Off Lines!

1. Hello, I'm an amnesiac. Do I come here often?
2. Fuck me if I'm wrong, but is your name Gretchen?
3. So. Do you fancy some toast and a fuck? (And then, after the slap you're going to get, reply with 'What? You don't like toast?')

Hurrah! Now for some nigh-on illegible scrawlings, riddled with spelling mistakes.

Dear Gliter for Brains,
I'm reelly, really in love with the TV show Charmed starring Shannon Dockery as Piper or Prue. It is my favrite! I am wanting to be an actor so I can be in the TV show Charmed. As you are in the medea, can you tell me who I can write to in order to be in the TV show Charmed? It would be a dreem come true! PS I love your site - it is very pink.
Yours, Sharon, Croydon.

Dear Sharon,
Sigh.
These are your dreams.
This is a pin.
That was a bang.
Now, this is real life. Get on with it.


Dear Glitter for Brains,
My boyfriend is always on his mobile phone - I can't get him off it! Now his company is paying for the phone bills, it seems it is forever strapped to his ear. He was even texting during our anniversary dinner! Tell me, how can I get him to stop?
Yours, Rung Out of Clapham.

Dear Rung,
Ah, the mobile cell phone - the scourge of the modern world. You know, you can't go on public transport these days (and heaven forefend that I would!) without it sounding like an edition of CD:UK thanks to the bleepy versions of the chart hits blaring around the bus. Well, it's all good news for you, dear Rung, as it's a well known fact that these little devices are microwave transmitters, so every time you use one, more and more brain cells die. So your boyfriend will soon stop thanks to him shortly being turned into a dribbling vegetable! Be safe. Only use your mobile phone for texting 'Desperate Housewives is on!', and 'Doesn't Teri Hatcher look rough these days?' and 'Get me a vodka and orange now you're up'.


Dear Glitter for Brains,
My name is Ewan, but people have said that I have more than a passing resemblance to rising film star Ryan Reynolds. I'm a nice Scottish boy with what I think is a great personality and sparkling green eyes. My problem is that women are put off by my height - I'm over six-foot-four - and if we ever get past that, they are utterly horrified by the size of my manhood. It's over a foot long. What can I do? I'm still a virgin thanks to my current girl being put off whenever I drop my trousers. Will I ever find someone who will love me?
Yours, Ewan, Edinburgh

Dear Ewan,
Firstly, ditch the bitch and make the switch. Second, my taxi's just arrived, so smooth down the sheets and wash the end of that monster under the tap - daddy's coming!


Dear Glitter for Brains,
You seem so wise and well-traveled. Is there any words of advice you can give us mere mortals on how to be as fabulous as yourself?
Yours, P. Frankham, Bristol.

Dear P,
Why yes! Yes there is. My mother gave me a mantra that has proven quite effective over the last twenty years of my fabulous life. She said, 'Never do yellow, heights, or all you can eat buffets. Oh, and if a man tries to take you up the "dirt road", make sure you do it to him first!' She'd have a twinkle in her eye by then; 'That's the only way he'll know it's a 30 mile per hour zone!' she'd cry, banging her hook on the table with mirth. Oh yes, I owe a lot to my mother - not most the fact that I can still walk after having more pricks than a second-hand dartboard. So I hope that answers your question, P!


Dear Glitter for Brains,
Baccara or Girls Aloud?
Yours, D. Bailey, Catford

Dear D,
Ooh, you minx! My immediate answer is Girls Aloud, but only as the tickets to to their stadium tour has arrived as I write this, probably to he sound of the Hallelujah Chorus. Can you believe that they're going on tour? All five of them trolling around the country in a white limo, going "Pwooor!" out the window to passing boys, gesturing rudely with a half-empty bottle of cava. They're not classy. They're probably stopping in a Travel Inn, too. Can you imagine them slumping down to the resturant first thing, yesterday's make-up sliding down their face? And I bet Nicola nicks the salt and pepper set to send home to her ma.

But! Baccara still have a special place in my heart. Who else but those wacky foreigners could rhyme 'dynamite' with 'have you got a light?'.


Well. I'm spent! Have a great weekend, everyone!

Thursday, January 13, 2005

A Quickie From Me

Hello, hello. Don't worry, I haven't forgot about you, my specials. I've just been busy. I know! Shocking, isn't it? But here's what's been going on:

Tired
I've been working all hours that Cher sends trying to get some DVD covers for a well-known TV show ready for approval, which is a lark. Unfortunately one of the stars of this show is cocaine's bitch, and rarely approves photos that they're in because they look to 'ill' (read 'as skinny as all hell, and twice as pasty'). So there are no approved pictures of them, although they have to contractually appear on every cover.

To which end, I have mostly been sobbing into my keyboard for the last couple of days.

Wired
For those of you who care, you may be seeing the Doctor Who control room plastered all over the web in a couple of days. What? Of course I've seen it! Tsk. What kind of a fan would I be if I hadn't?!

Heiled
Hilarious news from the UK, where our very own 'Prince' Harry went to a fancy dress party dressed in a Nazi uniform. One that he'd presumably nicked off his granddad, for that matter. Well, typical sabre-rattling from the tabloids ensued, though oddly most of it came from the right-wing papers. But we do ask you this - could he even get near the Aryan Party with that ginger mop on his head?

Mired
Isn't Desperate Housewives fab? And still managing to captivate the notoriously attention-deficient Gays. Big mysteries from Episode Two are, how long til Mike gets his kit off, and what is in that box?

Declan reckons it's Teri Hatcher's humanity.

Monday, January 10, 2005

Glitter for Brains At The Movies! National Treasure!

We go so you don't have to!

I bet there's a wisecracking sidekick, said the Wife.
I'm thinking there's going to be a female romantic interest. Oh! Who followed her father into his career, meaning she's spunky yet retaining her femininity! said I.

In any case, both of us appeared to be in a cinema, waiting for the latest Jerry Bruckheimer action flick with baited breath! What fun was there to be had? Will there be explosions? What about silly plot holes? Oh, the anticipation! Well, as we waited, we discovered that we also happened to have a bottle of gin with us. What a surprise. And so, we devised the following Jerry Bruckheimer Drinking Game!

Two fingers whenever...
The comedy sidekick says something 'funny',
Whenever the location of something is revealed by a sunbeam falling on it,
Gratuitous use of Hollywood Cobwebs,
Cut-away shots of creepy animals, eg snakes and rats,
Use of Flaming Torches,
Whenever something is brushed aside to reveal a clue.

Down the glass whenever...
Something blows up,
There is a logical leap that would even defy Dan Brown.

Meanwhile, the titles began. So Glitter for Brains proudly presents...

NATIONAL TREASURE: THE ABRIDGED SCRIPT
Warning! Contains deliberate spoilers!


THE TITLES RUN.
Caption 'Walt Disney Pictures presents...'

THE STRAIGHT AUDIENCE:
Disney? What the fuck?

JERRY BRUCKHEIMER:
Five minutes til there's a big fuck-off explosion, boys!

THE GAY AUDIENCE charge their glasses.

CUT TO: SNOWY LANDSCAPE.

Enter NICOLAS CAGE on a snow sledge. So far, we have had to extend our disbelief about there being some Magic Treasure, but our conviction is stretched to breaking point by having to accept a balding middle-aged man with a gut and orange hair-plugs as an action hero.

Still...

JUSTIN BARTHA:
I've managed to find a ship buried under the ice!

NICOLAS CAGE:
I bet it's the first clue to the national treasure! The one my family has been looking to find for all these centuries! Ahahaha!

SEAN BEAN laughs along but then stops, evilly. If he had a moustache, he would be TWIRLING IT.

NICOLAS CAGE rubs away some snow, and finds a clue - A SHIP'S BELL.

DRINK TWO FINGERS.

INT: FROZEN SHIP

They examine the vessel which, considering it's been under the ice for a couple of hundred years, is in a remarkable state. With working doors and everything. They find a smoking pipe.

NICOLAS CAGE:
Oh no! Another clue! Lets see - 'Our great nation... something something'. Well, nation rhymes with 'Declaration' and we have one of those, and this was pointing due west, which is in completely the opposite direction to Washington, so...

SEAN BEAN:
Yes?

NICOLAS CAGE:
The next clue is written on the back of the Declaration of Independence!

THE AUDIENCE blinks. Then has to DOWN THE GLASS.

SEAN BEAN (throwing gunpowder all over the floor):
Aha! I'm not American, and therefore am evil. Give me the national treasure!

NICOLAS CAGE:
No! For I am an American, and therefore right and noble! You shan't have the national treasure!

They all run in different directions. The ship, of course, EXPLODES.

DOWN THE GLASS.

NICOLAS CAGE:
Well, Justin Bartha. That settles it. We have to steal the Declaration of Independence before him.

JUSTIN BARTHA splutters and wisecracks. Drink FOUR FINGERS, just to make sure you covered them all.

NICOLAS CAGE explains how the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE is protected via a series of UNLIKELY ELEVATORS.

JERRY BRUCKHEIMER:
Hmm. As this part of the script involves a lot of words and no explosions, we'd better distract people with some whizzy CGI. Whee!

THE AUDIENCE gets dizzy. Anyway, SEAN BEAN is also after the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE - but is using bolt cutters and guns! How very unpatriotic of him! But that's OK, because via the back door, our podgy hero NICOLAS CAGE rolls in to execute his far more wholesome A-Team-style break-in. Yaaay!

Meanwhile, enter the glamorous DIANE KRUGER, protector of the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. Her job is to gasp 'What? THE Declaration of Independence?!' whenever it's mentioned.

DIANE KRUEGER:
Nicolas Cage! What have you got there, tucked under that roll of flab?

NICOLAS CAGE:
Er. Ah. Well, I'm going to trust you cause I like your hair, but it's the Declaration of Independence.

DIANE KRUGER:
What? THE Declaration of Independence?!

NICOLAS CAGE:
Yes! Now come and be a part of our Hollywood car chase!

They zoom around, chasing and being chased by SEAN BEAN. Larks!

Our heroes ESCAPE and end up in PENNSYLVANIA, thanks to the clue they found on the back of the DECLARATION. They get to do all the usual tourist things, plus break into oddly unguarded important parts of the building.

NICOLAS CAGE:
'Hell' rhymes with 'bell', 'bun' rhymes with 'sun'... Ah! The next clue is where the shadow of the Liberty Bell falls at exactly the time the clock is at on the one dollar bill!

THE AUDIENCE:
See. Now. Look. You're not even trying to make sense now, are you.

Still. They have to DOWN THEIR GLASS for the logical leap, then TWO FINGERS for the shadow falling on something to show the position. Oh, and another TWO FINGERS to catch up on all the wisecracking JUSTIN BARTHA has been making while they've been trying to refill their glass.

NICOLAS CAGE finds some GLASSES in the wall, which show a whole new map on the back of the DECLARATION - printed in such a way, it would have revolutionised colonial printing all those years back. He then takes a moment to talk through some more of the loose ends, practically jumping up and down on 'secret societies', 'ye olde American historie' and 'special technology' in order to make them fit into the PLOT HOLES.

JERRY BRUCKHEIMER:
See? I haven't just ripped out the middle pages of The Da Vinci Code!

THE AUDIENCE:
No, you nicked all the Masonic stuff from his first book, too.

JERRY BRUCKHEIMER:
Oh, look! An explosion!

DRINK TWO FINGERS.

NICOLAS CAGE:
Hey. We're standing in the very place where the Declaration of Independence-

DIANE KRUGER:
What? THE Declaration of Independence?!

NICOLAS CAGE:
Yes. THE Declaration of Independence - was actually signed. It hasn't been here in around three centuries. This is a historic moment - isn't America just fucking great?

The MUSIC SWELLS. All in the square states of the US, people are heaving themselves out of their seats and clasping their HANDS TO THEIR HEARTS.

SEAN BEAN whistles from across the set. They all turn.

SEAN BEAN:
Well, we have your father, John Voight! Give me the national treasure!

NICOLAS CAGE:
Dad! No! Why?

SEAN BEAN:
We'd paid his appearance fee and thought we'd better get some use of him. So far, he's spent the entire movie stuffing his oddly immovable face at the catering truck.

NICOLAS CAGE (patting his own expansive gut):
That's my dad!

JOHN VOIGHT:
Son, what have you been doing?

NICOLAS CAGE:
Dad! Why, I've managed to get close to the national treasure! Further that you, or granddad! Look, I've even managed to pinch the Declaration of Independence!

JOHN VOIGHT:
What? THE Declaration of Independence?!

DIANE KRUGER:
Hey!

SEAN BEAN:
Right! Let's go to the location of the last clue. I'm tired of trying to carry this movie.

They drag out the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE, and check the new map. By this point, people have stopped handling the DECLARATION with any due care and attention. In fact, JUSTIN BARTHA can clearly be seen making a Paper Airplane of it at the back during the of this scene.

CUT TO: UNDERNEATH A CHURCH, WHERE THE NATIONAL TREASURE MAY LAY.

PLEASE NOTE: Over the finale, there is gratuitous use of both Hollywood Cobwebs and Flaming Torches. Just drink every TWO MINUTES. For one, it helps dull the pain.

They all DESCEND to the TREASURE ROOM. How completely unexpected! The ROOM is empty!

SEAN BEAN:
Where is the national treasure?!

NICOLAS CAGE:
Er. It's been taken away. Yeah, we can roll with that - it's been taken faaaar away.

SEAN BEAN:
Oh really? Right then. We'll just pop off to wherever you say. Where was it again?

NICOLAS CAGE:
Faaaar away. If you run, you can still catch it!

SEAN BEAN:
Right-o! Bye then. Oh, and no discovering any real treasure while we're gone!

They all laugh. Exeunt SEAN BEAN, muttering about his AGENT.

NICOLAS CAGE springs into action! And finds a secret passage to a secret room! The NATIONAL TREASURE may soon be theirs!

The ROOM is empty. JUSTIN BARTHA wisecracks.

NICOLAS CAGE:
Oh. So there wasn't any National Treasure after all.

JOHN VOIGHT:
Oh yes there was. The treasure was in all of us. If I hadn't have come along, I certainly wouldn't be as rich as I am in my heart at this moment. Thank you. Thank you, son, for giving me the real treasure.

THE STRAIGHT AUDIENCE:
I can't believe he delivered that with a straight face.

THE GAY AUDIENCE:
Well, look at him. He's got so much botox in him, he could say he deserves an Oscar for this role and still not be able to blink.

Of course, now it's established that they don't need the TREASURE, they find the TREASURE. In a new CAVERN that looks a heck of a lot older than the MAYFLOWER, we can tell you.

Everyone is HAPPY, so we...

CUT TO: THE HAPPY ENDING

And in the greatest acting challenge to her career, Diane Kruger makes out that she and Nicolas Cage are an item. As the credits roll, she giggles girlishly as he playfully lumbers after her. And dear Jerry Bruckheimer laughs all the way to the bank.

THE END.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

Desperate Housewives



Yes, yes, yes - so you dolly colonials over in the US were enjoying the Alias season premiere last night. But we finally got a chance to sit down before Desperate Housewives over here.

Oh, good lord.

What's not to love when the programme sidetracks to a woman in evening wear mowing the lawn at midnight, simply so she can hide her affair with the gardener? And it's a well-known Gay Fact that doing anything mundane in evening wear is hilarious - why, right now I'm in a roomy taffeta frock and a pearl necklace just to pop to the Spar for a pint of milk and a giggle.

But - oh - that gardener! Who wouldn't want him digging through your undergrowth? Then popping 'round the back for to widen your trench, before planting his seeds with a sigh? And lets not forget the plumber/secret agent, who does appear to have the Biggest Arms In The World - why, you wouldn't be able to get away from him without a struggle!

(blink)

Oh dear. I seem to have fallen down.

Anyway! he said, clutching his pearls to his throat, we're all on the edge of our seat to find out what is the Big Secret of Wisteria Drive. We're aware that they probably won't be able to spin it out for too long, and the show will probably jump the shark if a) one of the women is revealed to be the mother of another character's child, or b) two of them start having a lesbotic affair. So, basically, we give it ten weeks.

But, oh my lord, what a fabulous ten weeks it will be!

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Colours! And Possibly Shapes.

So, the big question is what do you actually get the Ruler Of The Known Universe for Christmas? Bubble bath it seems, trumpeting my fast-encroaching thirtieth birthday with a charming, soothing, lavender air. Now it has to be said that the dear Wife did exceptionally well in the gift stakes and, due to a series of bank hold-ups, bribes and the hilarious threatened sacrifice of a former Blue Peter presenter, managed to get tickets to the upcoming Acorn Antiques musical! And as we all know, such things are rarer than heterosexual Butlin's redcoats!

Lo! By far the gayest of the gay presents was from the Wife's housemate, a swarthy fellow of infinite charm, who is taking me for - get this - taking me to get my colours done! How utterly marvellous! No self respecting Gentleman With Too Many Show Tunes on His Walkman should be without it: a professional 'colour expert' will sit you in a room and take you through all the myriad of shades and hues you are allowed to wear to compliment your skin tone and hair, leaving you with a closet you'd be proud to get back into! And if that isn't a joy in itself, the process itself is so camp you're almost guaranteed to start sweating glitter. Basically, you're led into a sunlit room, dressed in a white smock, and then different coloured scarves are loving draped over you, while your colour expert just tells you how fabulous you look! Oh, hosanna!

I have a feeling that this meeting is going to be so camp, her office is going to look like ground zero after the Gay-Bomb has gone off...

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

The Glitter for Brains Review of the Year!

Hello! We?re back! And feeling reminisce-y!
Oh yes, like the Rent-boy of Time, 2004 came and went, leaving little more than a stain on the duvet of our lives and us with a vaguely cheapened feeling. But! It wasn't all Cheeky Girls singles and Emmerdale specials - there was some good in the world! Check out all that pleased us - and what really didn't - in our ever-expansive Review of the Year!


New Favourite Thing!
Last year, we were singing the praises of the Alias, not just loudly, but also slightly out of key. Well, lo and behold, we're once again praying at the altar of show creator JJ Abram because his new series 'Lost' is a simple joy! So we're only eight episodes in, but the fit lead guy has got his top of three times now which, we're sure you'll agree, is a more than pleasing average. Hurrah! Eh? What? Oh yes, and the story's good as well.


Man Alive!
As that aging Spanish psychic with the enormous breasts - the mad one that lives down the end of our road - all too often happens to say, "Boys, boys, boys - I'm looking for a good time!" Well, we too have been looking for our own summertime love, and he's the list of gentlemen who we'd love to pick up our carefully-dropped lace hankies. List!

Tyron Leitso! Wisecracking barman from Wonderfalls!
Justin Bartha! Wisecracking sidekick in National Treasure!
Bradley Cooper! Wisecracking sidekick in Alias! (If his turn as the pushy British rockstar didn't make you drop your chips, leave the room now.)

And who's the Chief Treasurer to our Wank-Bank this year? Why it's Ryan Reynolds! Wisecracking sidekick from Blade Trinity! In a performance that was mostly pectoral, Reynolds was the perfect distraction in that car-crash of a movie. "I date a lot of older men," says his character when asked how he could afford all his gang's equipment, leaving all the gays in the audience suddenly finding their aforementioned lace hankies mysteriously crispier than when they first sat down.

Falling out of the chart:

Joaquin Phoenix - whoever gave in to the rider in his contract that says he's allowed two pieces of cake for every one ManBalloon John Travolta has should be sacked. Have you seen the size of him in Ladder 49? The former leggy lovely has slipped out of the chart not through our own usual fickle means, but simply thanks to gravity.

And controversially, Michael Vartan. Well. It would be like a wrinkled toucan pummelling at you, wouldn't it?


Best Failure of the Year
Ah, bless 2004 - for this was the year when it finally started falling apart for our former Spice Girl favourite, Victoria Beckham! What with her debut album laughably being used as coasters all over the Virgin Headquarters, our Vic tried to claw a solo career together, hanging on to musical fame by the tips of her fake nails. But public say no, and her latest attempt 'This Groove' slipped away without any further incident. Well, this could have been the last we'd seen of her, if her romeo husband hadn't hit the headlines by diddling the PA. Now, while we shan't be the first to throw stones - lets face it, who of us hasn't had sex in the Loos? - it fell to Vic to play the martyr, all pouts, sunglasses and headscarves. But as the five of you who saw Spiceworld: The Movie know that acting isn't exactly Mz Beckham's strongpoint, leaving the whole world pointing and laughing at her complete collapse to curry compassion. Vic - we raise our glass to you - not in camaraderie, but to rejoice in your failure. Go it, girl!


Celebrity Murders
We're really sorry - pop porker Daniel Beddingfield appears to be more resilient than we first thought. We're going to try again this year. Oh, and it's no coincidence the insipid whinings of Dido have ceased. That's all we shall say.


Favourite New Catchphrase
...comes from one of our fabulous celeb friends, the editor of a well-known soap magazine. There he was, chopping up some lines of Showbiz Sherbert on the back of Emma Bunton's album during one of his glittering parties, and happily handing it around so people could snort off her heavily-photoshopped thighs. Now we're sure you're all aware that said Disco Dust is, well, so moorish that people were clamoring for more come midnight. Cue lovely editor poking his head around the living room door, brandishing the brimming CD with a fabulously sly "Oh, that naughty Emma Bunton?" Larks!


Worst Film of the Year
Phantom of the Opera - without a doubt. A movie so bad that we couldn't even be bothered to write an abridged script for it. If you do have the misfortune of having to watch it, we deeply advise walking out. Especially if you're on a plane.

But if you are trapped in your seat - maybe you're on one of those cheap flights that is a tad overbooked and requires everyone to remain perfectly still lest the plane smashes into the side of a mountain - take time to note the way the Phantom's infamous scarring changes. When Mia first rips off his mask, he's able to cover his blemish with a hand - nay, two fingers when he has to reach an overly-emotional crescendo. One wonders whether the dear Phantom is merely troubled by an unsightly patch of skin? Maybe he suffers from an oily T-Zone? Yet when his mask is finally removed, entire side of face looks like he decided the best way to exfoliate would be with a cheese grater. And his hairline is worse than balding adventurer Nicholas Cage. Hilarious!


Best Film of the Year
Though tempted to put the newly-discovered Australian classic 'Red Centre: Sheep Shearers in the City', we at Glitter for Brains have decided to review movies with a song in our heart and a pencil behind our ear, rather than with our trousers around our ankles. So it's 'I, Robot'.

Word of the Year
1st place: Hilarious!
2nd place: Tulip.


Album of the Year
We're going to vote that Girls Aloud's 'What Would The Neighbours Say?' is the album of the year, but only because we took some bad acid on the Queen's official birthday and so we can't remember anything before June.


And finally, Daftest Thing To Happen To Your Ruler This Year!
1st place: being completely surrounded by gorgeous women from Doctor Who!

2nd place: being completely surrounded by quokkas!

3rd place: getting more hits than Ulrika Jonssen! We love you all for visiting, you adorable, adorable things. Do come back, y'all!