Pant Friction

News just in.

Apparently Quentin Tarantino is desperate to sign up Leo Sayer for his new movie: Pant Friction.

Early reports suggest that Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta have already agreed to play Leo’s turds...

Pants

Can’t deny it. I feel absolutely pants today. I’m suffering from a raging head cold and all its many accoutrements. All of which seem to be disgustingly snot based.

However, I bet I’m feeling a lot better than dopey dwarf, Leo Sayer, who comically slit the throat of his own already poorly career yesterday (surely a case of euthanasia?) by evacuating himself, little poo stylee, from the Big Brother house in high dudgeon all because BB refused to supply him with a clean pair of underpants.

Leo it seems refused to wash his own underpants on camera because it was “degrading”.

Hmm. It’s only degrading, Leo, if your grundies are horrifically spattered with turd-stains, haemorrhoid cream or spunk.

Or all three, of course.

Hmm. Is there anything you wish to come clean about, Mr Sayer?

Apparently not.

Not on camera anyway…

Beeb And Boobs

Beeb because I’m off to the BBC HQ in Coventry tonight, there to undergo my induction into the BBC’s highly vaunted Citizen Journalist programme. Yes, yours truly has been selected to be one of the BBC’s on-the-street unpaid reporters... me and 5000 others no doubt. But hey it’s a toe in the door and who knows where such an opportunity might lead?

My own radio show – Blake On The Beeb?
My own TV show – Blake On The Box?

Who knows!

And Boobs just because I’m completely mesmerized by the lovely Cleo Rocos on Big Brother. She’s worn very well, bless her, and still has the va-va-voom that filled my burgeoning pubescent thoughts with bouncy naughtiness. To top it all she’s genuinely a very lovely person too. Definitely still my favourite to win. Bookie’s favourite, Leo Sayer, on the other hand has fast turned into the most grumpy gnome in the garden centre and won’t last the distance in my humble opinion.

Hey maybe I could have my own radio show with the lovely Cleo? – Blake On The Boob?

The TV show title could stay as it is, I guess.

(All meant in the best possible taste...)

Big Brother? Who’s Bothered?

Very unwisely I tuned in to the launch of the new Celebrity Big Brother last night. Within minutes I wished that I hadn’t... and yet continued watching.

Just what IS the pull of this damned show? It’s like it exudes some form of electronic monosodium glutamate that keeps everyone going back for more no matter how sick of it we all are. That and the fact you can’t join in work conversations the next day unless you have the complete breakdown of the ridiculous BB events that occurred the night before.

Christ but they're a rum bunch of has-beens this year. Ken Russell looks like he’s suffering from dementia. Jermaine Jackson looked bewildered and totally freaked out by his housemates (you’d think he’d feel right at home really). And Danielle Lloyd thought that Winston Churchill was America’s first president. Geez-us!

The only housemate who gets my vote is Cleo Rocos. Mainly because I used to love the Kenny Everett Show as a kid and during its hey-day I developed a huge soft spot for Cleo. Well a huge hard spot actually. There is something about Cleo Rocos that is just made for skimpy French maid outfits. Well, there are two things about her really. Oh! Enough of this prurient banter!

Anyway the thing that has appalled me most is that Leo Sayer has been tipped as the bookies favourite. Leo frigging Sayer?!? Come on! He is the most annoying man on the planet. He has the most annoying hairstyle on the planet. He’s modelled himself on a 1970’s variety show microphone. He’s about as cool as ordering Saddam Hussein eyeball soup at a Sunni Muslim convention. Just check out the cover to one of his God-awful albums above. I mean pleeeeease. The only thing that pleases me about this picture is that I can easily imagine a shotgun wielding maniac off-camera at the bottom of the picture emptying both barrels into Leo’s midgety little guts and blasting him bodily up against the ceiling.

Yeah. Now I feel like dancin’...