Things I hate #24

Renaissance celebrities. By this I mean so-called celebrities, celebrated mostly for their ability at self-promotion, who come to public attention via manufactured over-exposure and then suddenly realize that they have the capacity to do absolutely fucking anything and everything and attempt to broaden their fame and ring every last penny out of the suckers who liked them in Crossroads. These are people whose talent looked thin enough to start with, but who have managed to spread their lack of ability in the same way as a lad I used to spread dog shit all over my Mum’s best carpet, up the stairs and into my bedroom.


Kylie Minogue. Or as I always call her, Kylie Fucking Minogue. Kylie started off life in the public eye as Charlene in second-rate Australian soap opera Neighbours. We should never ever let polished branding, clever product placement and the sight of her arse in some hot pants let us forget that. The second fact that we should never ever forget is that she was then taken up by Stock, Aitken and Waterman. AKA the fucking Hit Factory. My arse. AKA a load of bollocks. AKA Shithouse, Arsehole and Wanker. Neither of these two beginnings have the pedigree for anything more than mediocre mass entertainment for halfwits without any sense of cultural history or depth. Now, don’t get me wrong, Kylie’s an attractive lass and I’d have an hour myself, spinning her ‘round my cock like a wing nut, but she has an appalling singing voice which squeaks out of her and she couldn’t act her way out of a sex pest’s cellar if her fanny depended on it. Which it probably would. Believe me. At the very least. But she’s packaged. She’s heavily produced. And the finish product drips with gloss. And the newspapers and magazines are happy to talk about her, especially since she made cancer fashionable. So what you get is all the girls want to look like her and all the gay lads want to go shopping with her. It’s like printing money. But what does she know about perfume? Seeing as she has her own perfume range. Did she do a degree in chemistry? Has she tested the various prototype compounds on twenty thousand lab mice and dripped pipettes of it into a few Beagles’ eyes? If some bird sprays it on is it going to strip the top layer of epidermis off or cling to the insides of her lungs like mustard gas? Look at it rationally, how the fuck can I trust someone who was in Neighbours to mix up some perfume? You’d have to be out of your fucking mind to spray that shit. Seriously???!!!!! So why can I trust it???!!!!! BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T FUCKING COME UP WITH IT, THAT’S FUCKING WHY!!!!!!! Some slaphead Tefal experts in white coats brought a selection for her to sniff and she said, ‘Yeah, that one’s nice, cobbers!’ and voila she has her own perfume range. And what about knickers? What does Kylie know about knickers? You pull them up, you pull them down, and you stick them in the washer when they start to smell too fishy/shitty/piss sodden. Has she done a course in textiles and fashion? Has she spent years designing and re-designing, struggling to get her creations noticed? No. I suggest she knows fuck all about knickers. I suggest she knows no more about knickers than I know about boxer shorts, other than the fact that we both wear them. But sew a few Kylie branded labels on some pants and there’s bound to be some fuckers out there who’ll be inspired to buy them. Generally with a 25% mark up added; because all two million pairs are from the exclusive range. And so we get fifteen stone Janice who thinks if she drags on a pair of Kylie’s French knickers – ooh la la! – then suddenly she’ll be spinning around like a fucking nympho. What a load of cynical, grasping shite.


And then there’s Kylie’s sister (which she’s always billed as, bless her) Dannii. Fuck my spats. You can almost see the spite dripping from Kylie’s sister Dannii. Why isn’t she Kylie? that’s what her every struggling facial expression says. Why isn’t she as big a gay icon as her sister? Why didn’t she come out of the womb first? But regardless of these set backs she’s slipstreamed her way to fame and a few bob and now acts as a judge of other people’s talents on The X Factor. Thanks for that, love. We really need the expert input of someone who failed to chart with ‘Boogie woogie’ in 1995 as to what’s happening and what’s not. Your efforts are appreciated. Like a dose of clap at a gang bang. Dannii – Kylie’s sister – Minogue now has her own fashion range. Degree? Fashion? Textiles? Has she buggery. What she has is a reality TV show and someone with money saying we could sell some shit of the back of Kylie’s sister Dannii. Kerching!


But Kylie and her sister Dannii are not alone. Katie Price. AKA Jordan. AKA her with the monster tits. She writes books (apparently), she has her own clothing range, she has her own signature perfume. Is there no end to her talents? Well, yeah. Getting her tits out was pretty much the top and bottom. But there’s nothing so thick as people with money to spend and a lack of imagination. Victoria Beckham. AKA Posh Spice. Couldn’t sing, couldn’t write music. She has her own perfume, clothing range, and has glamorized eating disorders. Geri Halliwell, AKA Ginger Spice, couldn’t sing, couldn’t write music, she probably has her own fragrance range (I dread to think – I’m imagining Grimsby Fish Market on a hot July afternoon. With the doors shut) and writes children’s books. She’s a UN ambassador for something or other. Peter Andre works a few shifts at NATO and writes Spenserian verse. He has his own fragrance range (don’t they fucking all? What is this obsession with personal aroma ranges?!). The list goes on and fucking on…


I’ve always fancied my hand at a spot of brain surgery. Perhaps if I get myself on Coronation Street somebody’ll give me a crack at it. Film me wrist deep in some poor sod’s cerebral cortex, cracking a funny and singing my latest single. And now, before we suture him up, how about a squirt of my brand new au de cologne… For fuck’s sake. What has gone wrong with the world? The second-raters have taken over. And their own involvement in their brand is like a CEO putting a signature on other people’s work and ideas. They actually do very little; they are there just to help flog it to gullible mugs who thought they were fucking great in that thing on the telly. But at some point one of these celebrities is going to believe their own hype and marketing and convince themselves that they really can mix up their own fragrance range. Let loose in a lab they’ll fuck it up and come up with a mix of cyanide and Strontium-90. And then we’ll all know about it. The air will be poisoned, the water table ruined. Crops will fail and the sun will be blackened out from the sky. Joe Pasquale’s Squeaky for men could mean the end of the world as we know it. Be warned. A celebrity signature fragrance will kill us all. Geri Halliwell’s Kipper™ will bring down humanity.



  1. Bootneck · August 28, 2010

    Leave kylie alone. The gays love her, so she can’t be that bad. I’m amazed at how string you feel about kylie mate. If the above opinions demonstrate how much Julie winds you up, then please tell me about what you think of Katie price? Peter Andre? Bianca gascoigne? Tara para Tomkinson? The lust is endless in this current climate of vacuous reality celebrity tv. Celebrity come dancing, master chef etc. I’m a celebrity get me some fucking work please, I’ll do anything, I’ll eat anything, I’ll bath in dog shit, just get my profile up into c list.
    I can feel a post coming on


    • Bootneck · August 29, 2010

      You’ll note some spelling errors in the above comment, due to my iPhone second guessing the words I wish to use. Lust = list Julie = kylie string = strong



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