Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptituously calling Leona Lewis … well, kinda crap … so you don’t have to.

Dark days are upon us. Now, I know I started last week’s Jaw with a very similar statement, but dark days do tend to drag on, so the sentiment remains. I am also of the very obvious opinion that silly celebrity news – pointless crap for the sake of it – can be a lifesaver when all around you is doom, gloom and bellyaches. But the emphasis must be on silly, which is why we are more likely to cheer on the consciously awful shenanigans of X Factor’s John and Edward, than the unconsciously awful uber-sincerity of its rising star Danyl Johnson, for example. This focus on the daft antics of esteemed celebrities may consequently come across a bit mean-spirited; why focus on lapses in a celebrity’s judgement, when we could focus on achievements, awards, great works? Because we don’t need to be reminded of what useless plebs we are by comparison when we’re already in the doldrums – that’s why. It’s not so much kicking a celeb when they’re down – although falling on a cushion of cash is bound to soften the blow – it’s giggling at them sliding on the banana skin.

Still, this week I’ll lead you slowly to the feast with a first story that celebrates the stupidity of ordinary decent criminals, if that’ll make you feel any better. Onwards!

Ricky Gervais has recently revealed that he was once a victim of identity theft, and very nearly €200,000 poorer, when fraudsters managed to access his bank account … with the help of a fake ID and a photo of David Brent.

 Naturally enough, this raised suspicions; it’s not every day you get a customer famous enough to snip his passport photo directly from the back of a DVD case. Ricky has said that he now sees the funny side. Unfortunately, like with everything else Gervais has sprung on me since David Brent, I’m yet to catch that funny side. Perhaps if I watch Stardust a few more times I’ll get it.

Someone else with stars in his eyes this week is young hopeful Eminem, who has pleaded for a job on the judging panel of X Factor. Our Marshall reckons that the current panel haven’t been successful enough to offer advice to up-and-coming megalebrities, and to be fair, he has got a point. He is a multi-platinum selling artist, whereas Dannii and Cheryl have … er … nice teeth. Anyway, Simon Cowell has bounced right back with a hearty “the job is yours”, but also with a stipulation that Eminem’s possible appearance would be on a guest basis only; no one is being shifted off the panel to make room. May I be the first to say, “Yer fucking mad, Simon!”. Who wouldn’t rather see hip-hop megastar Eminem bitching at deluded loons than dry old hunkajunk Dannii Minogue? Cheryl can stay because she doesn’t take up any room and because her criminal record is nearly as long as Marshall’s, so I’m sure they’d strike up a lovely (if dangerous) rapport. Ah, the fantasy.

Ah! But I’m not alone in Fantasyland, it seems. Joining me is tennis star Andy Murray, who’s been dumped by his long-suffering girlfriend Kim Sears for allegedly playing his PS3, wait for it … a bladder-busting seven hours a day. Reps for Andy, who’s joked that he’s won Wimbledon numerous times already on his PS3, have issued a vague statement claiming that he plays video games no more than the next twenty-two year old, which skirts around the issue like a bull skirts around a china shop. Andy is reportedly most enamoured of Modern Warfare 2, as is right and proper for most gamers, so I really have to say I don’t know what that wagon’s problem is. Sure right now I’m typing with one hand and farting at strangers in Fable II with the other. We’re on your side, Andy. LIVE THE DREAM!

Ah! But me n’ Andy aren’t alone in Fantasyland, it seems! Joining us are Keith and Mary, professional Jesus cheerleaders, and parents to acid-trip-in-a-boob-tube Katy Perry. Keith and Mary have accepted Katy’s new boyfriend Russell Brand as they can sense in him “a spiritual hunger” which they want to help him quench by finding God. I’m wary of this one. Anyone who asks you to find God in return for dating their daughter is always going to be one step ahead. Sure God is very difficult to track down for someone so omnipresent. On top of that, Russell doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to sensitively dealing with the families of his conquests. In a related note, he’s recently stated that the Andrew Sachs debacle worked out alright for him in the end, so maybe he’ll be channelling the Lawd on request before we know it. Keep the faith, I guess is the message.

Another message, but one I’m actively ignoring, comes from Rihanna, usually so wise and graceful in everything but wardrobe decisions. Fresh from a failed attempt at making fifteen-inch shoulder pads fashionable, Rihanna has expressed her mortification at the leak of naked photos she’d sent to an ex-boyfriend. However, she’s also stated that the photos were “hot” and that “… if you don’t send your boyfriend naked pictures, then I feel bad for him.” Now. I know Rihanna is young, but surely she doesn’t think that the likes of me would make very “hot” nekkid pictures? My sympathies lie with her sympathies; all the offered sorrow she can muster won’t change the fact that if I sent my fella naked pictures, he’d claw his eyes out and feed them to the crows. But bless her and her trailblazing feminism, all the same.

On the subject of feminism, ex-glamour model Sam Fox has something to say on current glamour model Jordan. Apparently current glamour model Jordan is crude, which is something ex-glamour model Sam Fox doesn’t hold with, despite being an ex-glamour model. She then adds weight to her Jordan-is-crude stance by stating “I was the most photographed woman in Britain along with Margaret Thatcher and Princess Diana.” Neither of whom were very crude either, I suppose, as they tended not to make money from waving their bongos about. Y’know what? This doesn’t need any more commentry; Sam Fox is comedy all by herself.

And lastly, Blackadder star Tony Robinson, who played permanently scuzzy Baldrick, has revealed that he found his younger, posher co-stars Rowan Atkinson, Stephen Fry, and Hugh Laurie arrogant and over-confident when he first started working with them. “The impression you got was that they slid off the silver spoon straight into the rehearsal room at BBC TV Centre,” sighed Robinson, to which we can only express the following sentiment…

… which I’m sure, sure you all share.