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

Friday, April 27, 2007

Split Ends

Now, it's fair to say I've been blessed with a fair share of body hair.

Oh yes, I was pondering on this while I was doing my pelvic floor exercises this morning, wondering whether it was a blessing or a curse. On one hand I know an awful lot of men who find it very attractive (always a boon) and on the other, you're the one who always ends up looking like a pedestal mat in Kate Moss's toilet after the act of sex. I myself am thankful that Boy barely has a hair on him below the beard line else, my goodness, it'd be like velcro.

I was pondering this further this morning when the sudden 'revelation' came in that Mel B likes to drink from the furry cup. Oh it's not a surprise at all, but can you imagine?! That lapping down at your lady-garden like a dog at broth? All I shall say is that you've seen the hair on her head - imagine what the downstairs hair would be like. You'd need a Black and Decker Strimmer just to make headway.

Clearly men are more genetically set for hair; I recall one gentleman caller I ordered in and was surprised to find that the pictures he's supplied initially showed him after the Immac. He arrived and took off his top, and as far as I could see, the only bit without any follicles was the underside of his forearms. And I feared that was because he was a lorry driver by trade and just scraped them off through that manual work stuff they do. Although he looked like had been built by the Glasgow Ship Yard, so I thought 'In for a penny...' and got down to business.

I won't go into details (much) but if you don't know what rimming is, go and look it up before we carry on. Alternatively, if you are eating, do stop. Particularly if your after luncheon treat is a chocolate ring donut. But certain gentlemen find this utterly delectable, and you can normally tell them by their willingness to present themselves, legs splayed, during that initial tongue probing that occurs once you get down to business. And sure enough, while I was in the area, he rolled over onto his front and raised his eyes expectantly. Candidly, I was far too busy trying to work the stray hairs loose from between my teeth, and wondering idly whether the spare thatch I had on the bedsheets would be enough to stuff a pillow or two. Then I noticed what he was doing and stopped. I stared down into the generous amount of black pelt before me and just thought 'No'. He left soon after; I can't say I was sorry.

Well. Could you imagine going down on that? It'd be like trying to find a hoop earring in a deep shag pile.

Friday, April 20, 2007

See The Day

It's been leaked that apparently Girls Aloud, our band of choice, are to split. Again.

If we did the whole Gay Penance thing every time it was announced - 10 Hail Marys, 15 Hello Duckys and 6 Sarah Lee gateaux - we'd be the size of a house come Michaelmas. But all of a sudden the rumour's got a bit more credence. A couple of the sites I read are going with 'Girls Aloud To Split' headlines. Yes, even the 'Hot Frot Jock' sites - which I read entirely for the cookery tips.

Well, how very dare they. They can't split up. If you cut us, do we not bleed? Well, yes. Chambourd in a few cases, but the colour's the same.

This site goes a little further and states that the glory days of girlie pop are coming to an end in September and they're all going to pursue other careers.

They may survive because they never reached the giddy heights of the Spice Girls (no Mel C, we're not going to buy your single. No matter how often you mug to camera and wave that offensive fringe at us). Apparently, come the autumn they're all going to 'take a break' - a music euphemism that's been going for years; aren't Boyzone on a 'break'? We thank heaven for small mercies as, frankly, they sounded like a thousand crows in a furnace.

Sarah and Nadine are going to try acting while the others are going to try going into business. Yes, including the ginger one - oh we can't wait to see what dead-eyed Nicola does next! But you can be assured that she's probably quite good at business matters - I've seen Forbidden Planet. Robots can do addings really quickly.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007


I bet, like me, you've always wanted a fairytale wedding.

You know, to walk up the isle to your very own Prince Charming, sniggering when they say 'Do you take this man' and wondering who's got the bigger hat: me or my mother. (I'm aiming for something so large planes could make emergency landings on it.) Well now you can, completely sanctioned by that frozen head, Mr Disney!

Now, this isn't the first time ol' Walt has dabbled in the idealistic '2.4 children' nuclear family: did you know just outside his Magic Kingdom was a little village created for families? Not just any families; no, the beautiful, blond-haired... shall we say 'Aryan' people. Probably with 'certain beliefs'.

Which is all rather silly when you consider anyone who willingly works in a place where the centre is a giant pink castle is certainly going to be a little fruity, much to the chagrin of Walt's views, I'm sure. Oh yes, across the world, in Disney Stores from coast to coast, he probably little realised that any 'cast member' who wished to work in his shops who is male and above a certain age, the chances are whatever is encased in that turquoise cardigan is a fully-paid-up, card-carrying cock jockey. Surely as unfortunate as any of Naomi Campbell assistants coming into work with a target logo on their t-shirt, yes?

They're a funny breed too. I don't trust anyone who knows all of Princess Jasmine's lines. Costumes, yes. Lines, no. in fact, out evil best friend Declan - I'm sure he won't mind us telling you this - he had a few dalliances with a 'cast member' from Leicester's store many years back. Despite our long-standing opinion that you 'Shouldn't Do Staff', a young Declan was swept off his feet with a chorus of 'A Whole New World' and that was that for a week. Didn't see him out at all. Just had an Ariel 'Do Not Disturb' sign on his bedroom door. He said that he took off his Tinkerbell socks while he was ploughing him a new one, but his eyes said otherwise.

I'm going to pass at Mr Disney's generous offer of dressing me in more taffeta than a Bette Midler TV Special. I'm going to go with the other offer the boy made. So Vegas it is. The boy says he's going to dress up like a lady stripper.

So I'm going as the pole. Woof!

Monday, April 16, 2007


Ah, Abercrombie and Fitch.

We Gentlemen Who Record The Oscars have a bit of a soft spot for this glorious American store. If only for the catalogues - glory be! Do they not knock the underwear section of the Grattan catalogue into a cocked hat when it comes to Emergency Fwapping Needs? Amen, brother. And lets not forget the staff of the store itself; while here at Glitter For Brains we do have a policy of not dating staff, but we're more than willing to bend this rule for any male employee who's ever stacked shelves in that place. Hell, we'll bend over most things for any toned-up A&F functionary - as my mother used to say, "just grab your heels and think Staff Discount'".

Although when it was announced that there would be an A&F store opening in London, we all had a few mixed feelings. Maybe the cream of London will be working in the place and we can simply get a large van and do a drive-by collection at the staff entrance. Although all our favourite t-shirts we got while in New York will no longer be special as soon as the 'New Money' from Essex discover the store, and well... there's no going back, is there?

And lets face it, as a country, we don't allow ourselves to enjoy shopping. We don't see it as the pleasure other nations do. We'll duck into a store, as guilt-ridden as a Catholic priest hanging around a playground, grab a Marks and Sparks blouse and scuttle to the changing room before anyone sees us. Usually because any assistant wandering the floor is normally so damned unhelpful. This is why we're so startled when we cross the Atlantic and go into stores and get asked if we need anything - we only get talked to over here if you're being accused of shoplifting. The rest of the time Janice and her assistant friends are too busy leaning up the stockroom door and bitching about the girl from 'Creations' who moved in on her man while she was having a fight in the toilet with the toilet attendant over whether she's spritzed her Charlie or not.

So the Boy and I wandered in on Saturday afternoon, just to see. And wandered out pretty sharpish. It was somewhat confusing as a shopping experience, there were no lights on and I couldn't hear a thing; clearly the store designer went "The gays, eh? They like clubbing. Lets throw up some spotlights and make the music too loud. They will feel at home." Indeed. Please - why not have the gentleman with the rather fragrant dreadlocks hanging around one of the doors offering all sorts of exotic narcotics for a reasonable price or a chew on his cheese-capped member?

Naturally, the place was resplendent with unhelpful, sneering staff, and there were far too many items stacked up high. Now, due to the 'rouched' nature of the fabrics on offer, it all looked like a rather enthusiastic jumble sale. It no longer can sell its dream.

Unfortunately buying in A&F in the UK will not make you look like a ingenue farm-hand, cavorting around with other muscular, button-nosed elfin innocents. It will not make you looks like you should be in a glorious black-and-white homoerotic Bruce Webber spread. It will simply make you look like your iron has broken.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Hollywood Wives

Scarlet Johannson.

Not only does she reminds me of those fish that stick themselves to the side of tanks, but she's been linked to yet another man this week. Yes, yes - another one. Clearly the woman's got a 'You Must Be THIS High To Go On The Rollercoaster' sign outside her bedroom door and a mimsy like a bulldog eating porridge.

This I barely have a problem with. This I would normally applaud. But now the bitch has her fake nails into Ryan Reynolds and so this is personal. Why not any other man? Well, clearly she's had the rest of them as barely a day's gone by where she hasn't been 'romantically linked' (or E! Television speak for 'stuffed another victim up her oily gash') with someone. She's even been 'dining a the Y', apparently going for some lady-on-lady action too. Which is just greedy, frankly. The woman must have been exposed to so many pubes that she must be hacking up pubic hair-balls every 30 minutes. Thus begging the question: is there anything she doesn't like up her flue? Or is it that even if someone so much as mentions "nipples" and she's writhing around with her snatch dripping like a fucked fridge.

Not that I'm bitter (Ryan, I've sent your agent my mobile number, my beeper and my office number - call me) for our love will without. So he'll have his bit of fun, almost touch the sides, then come home to me with his tail between his legs. Or mine, but only after he's given it a good scrub to get the tide-mark off.

And speaking of voluminous 'wizard's sleeves', the paternity suit of Anna Nicole's spawn has been settled. And rather disappointingly, it turns out that it's her ex-boyfriend's. Wouldn't it be somewhat more fitting, and somewhat more her if it had turned out to be Warren Beatty's. Or Buster Keaton's. Or Thor, God of Thunder, who had been passing her pink mansion late one night, smashed up on Bud and thinking "Man, I gotta get me some ass..! Hey, maybe Anna Nicole'd put out..." and the result would be this hybrid god-child that could shoot lightning out its fingers and spend it's time lying around at home whining "I don' wanna..! I wan' the one wit' all the butter on it... gimme the one wit' the butter!"

See, I like Anna Nicole. I think I'd even be fine with her having a bit of Ryan action. Mostly because while it was happening, she'd be doped out of her head with her eyes rolling backwards, so it could be anyone going at her and she'd just come 'round and think she'd spilt ice-cream soda in her lap or something. And he'd have to strap a plank to his back to avoid falling in anyway, and where's the romance in that, hmm?

Thursday, April 05, 2007


Oh, darling viewer, the sun is shining, moods are gay, and another one of the Spice Girls has spawned!

What? No, of course it wasn't the Sporty one. Don't be silly - it's been a while since she's been 'romantically linked' to anyone, isn't it? Even the gays won't touch her these days - have you seen that fringe she's sporting (ha!) now? I did the same with my Girls World when I was five years old with a pair of round-ended scissors and a fistful of bile after my mother refused to buy me the Wonder Woman outfit I'd seen. Poor love, she can currently be seen mugging to the camera on every morning television show; worth setting the video for as they crying look of desperation in her eyes. Buy this, she pleads. Buy this pedestrian version of 'I Want Candy'. I have nothing else in my life.

We really should call her Barren Spice.

Well, don't buy it, dear viewer. The only reason they're all still buzzing around the Porch of Fame like misguided moths is they keep holding out for a solo career. And when that fails, then comes the reunion tour. Which again will fail, and then we shall be free - FREE! - of their tyrannical reign! Oh no, we should not be grateful for their reunion. Where were they when we needed them? Where were they when serious electropop came along? WHERE WERE THEY WHEN COLDPLAY WERE A LUNG-DEFLATING LY BORING IDEA IN CHRIS MARTIN'S DEAD EYES?

Oh yes, we Gentlemen Who Moisturise have very long memories indeed. Except when it comes to the faces of the men we've had dalliances with, which is why I've never been to an orgy. Too many visages to recall.

Oh yes. It may indeed surprise you, dear viewer, that I've never been to one. Certainly not one of those tawdry suburban ones where they think they're making an effort by vacuuming the pelmet and changing the pot pourri to something '"a little more arousing" like 'Tropical Spice'. One always hopes they've tidied away their nick-nacks before some overly-eager participant decides to ram a Lilliput Lane where the sun don't shine.

I declined to go, dear viewer. To be honest I get the most horrid stage fright, and I do get confused what goes where with Twister - and some one's telling me what to do there.

Anyway. It's Mel B who's dropped another one out her bomb doors. And with the previous one called Phoenix Chi, we're hoping the new one will also be named like a lesbian tea beverage.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Office Full of Women

They're giddily talking about mamagrams behind me. And sticking cameras where most of their husband's have never been able to go without three bunches of flowers, a trip to the cinema and at least a half-hearted attempt at a backrub.

I'm learning more than I should. I always assumed a mamagram was when the housekeeper from Gone With The Wind turned up at your office and sang a song for you. Then stripped.