Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously checking awfulplasticsurgery.com, so you don’t have to.

Well, it’s time once again for that crass, cringeworthy, and most unfortunate facet of pop culture … the McDonalds of the Arts, the Muses’ deformed cousin that they keep in the basement … yup, it’s your weekly gossip binge! Which, let’s admit, you’ll stuff your face with and then feel right dirty afterwards. Yeah. I’m onto you. You can’t judge me.

The question on everyone’s lips this week was, Is Megan Fox bonkable, or just bloody bonkers? The chattering Transformers star had been confusing the masses which such gems as, “I’m a transvestite. I’m a man” (perhaps a disciple of the Lady Gaga method - Staying In The Tabloids, One Suspect Bulge At A Time?) Well, wonder about her noggin no longer! Megan’s helpfully diagnosed herself as suffering from “bouts of mild schizophrenia”. Yes, that’s right; schizophrenia can now be treated with bed rest and a course of antibiotics. Celebrities, eh? Where would you be without ‘em? We could all learn a thing or two from Megan’s matter-of-fact attitude towards a mental illness that lesser mortals find crippling. Kerry Katona could certainly pick up a few pointers.

I suppose I’d better mention the latest (and hopefully lastest) from the Katona saga, especially as it involves Dublin’s very own Brian McFadden (I’m from Galway; he has nothing to do with me). His calling a spade a spade on last week’s Late Late Show did not go down too well with LaKatona, who’s reportedly determined to prevent him creating tear-jerking photo-ops around collecting his daughters from her home, and has arranged for the girls to meet him in Ireland instead. Jaysus, as the man himself might say. But sure, the men in Kerry’s life are as suspect as a scientist at Knock Shrine; recent reports suggest she believes husband Mark Croft was the dastardly fiend who “tricked” her into snorting the GDP of Columbia on camera. He definitely looks the sort who’d ram a fifty up your snout when you least expect it. At the risk of sounding like Homer Simpson here … Mmm, unexpected fifties.

As a blogger, there’s something I find even more exciting than an expected fifty - the possibility that bloggers might one day be thought of as celebrities themselves. So how effervescent was I when I saw headlined on showbiz.ie “Una Rocks Red Tresses“. Finally, I thought, we internet revolutionaries are getting the recognition we deserve! Sadly, it turned out that showbiz.ie was not documenting the glossy adventures of the Blog O’Sphere’s own Una Mullally, but rather those of a chiselled young wan from some pop band or another. Let’s pretend that I don’t know who The Saturdays are, and I don’t want to know either. Not while I’m sulking, thank you very much.

And to end this column on a high note, the penultimate series of Big Brother has spluttered to its end! Er, rather leaving us at the mercy of the winner, glamour model Sophie Reade. I admit that the urge to pshaw! is a strong one, but when i checked out the buzz on Sophie, it turns out that she’s not just got 30GG boobs. She’s also got a 30GG bra and a 30GG bikini top. Another interesting thing about Sophie is her 30GG boo… Oh. Right. Mentioned that one, did I?