Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously willing those Glee girls to put their damn pants back on, so you don’t have to. So here’s the deal-ee-oh. I know I’ve been rather quiet recently re: the scandalous faffery of the more recognisable of our world citizens, but it’s only because I’ve really stopped giving a knob. I have other things to be doing, like tweeting about how shit everything is, or growing my fingernails. I’m only writing this because I worry that someone out there might actually care if I don’t. How could I tell if Lindsay Lohan wasn’t kept teetering on the brink instead of plummeting over it by googling Oirish websites for mentions of herself? HOW WOULD I KNOW? (Hello Lindsay, by the way! I’m sure that the nasty rumour about recently-single Christina Aguilera hooking up with Sam Ronson is complete hokey. In the words of the great Cher - from Clueless, that is, … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously petitioning for Lindsay Lohan’s release, so you don’t have to. There’s such a gender imbalance in celebrity gossip, don’t you think? Female celebrities are subject to much deeper scrutiny than their male counterparts - their weight, their hair, their clothes, their partying, all of which are much more readily criticised. The “standard” for female celebrities is a much narrower concept than that for men, with little room for quirks or nonconformity. So naturally, women are more likely to be featured in gossip columns and much more likely to be made the butt of the jokes of a sad skanger (that’d be me) … because there’s just that bit more interest, that bit more fodder, that bit more scope for natural deviance from the stiff, virtuous ideal they’re supposed to adhere to. Oh, hold on. The fellas are misbehaving this week! Caloo calay for equal rights! Caloo calay, too, for … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously hacking into Kelsey Grammer’s Facebook account, so you don’t have to. Y’know when a girl says something bitchy about another girl and all the boys go, “Ah, them girls, they’re all so mightily jealous of one another. It is hate upon hate upon lipstick”? Well, generally, the boys are wrong. It’s not that girls are especially bitchy about other girls. It’s that girls are especially bitchy about everyone, but boys tend to be less deserving of that dark attention, because they haven’t been bitchy enough themselves to attract it. So please note that it is through No Fault Of My Own that this Jaw installment is so female-centric; I did not set out to usher in the return of the Jaw on a wave of hormonal hatred and boob envy. It just so happens that female celebrities have been making disproportionate nunkies out of themselves this week. In short, … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously wringing hands for Lenny and Dawn, so you don’t have to. We’ve got a lot to get through this week, so I’m going to get you lot settled with something cunningly brainless, to set the tone, to lighten the mood. You know, give you lot the bloggy equivalent of a sensual neckrub. Yeah? Coz if this doesn’t get you going, I don’t know what will. Now, what’s all that unidentified white powder coming out of Lindsay Lohan’s shoes? Is it (a) Dhrugs, dhrugs, terrible dhrugs? (b) The residue of her SOUL? (c) Probably talcum powder, but really, how is that an advisable clog insert when you’ve got a reputation for being the most fragile party casualty in town? Honestly, Lindsay! Wardrobe! Yes, prepare to overdose on stupidity, because Sweary’s Jaw is chock-to-da-block with it this week, and not just in my clunky prose.

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously fretting over which rock this Justin Bieber kiddie crawled out from under, so you don’t have to. There’s a good reason for my sleb-related silence of late, and it has nothing to do with my growing up a tad. I haven’t been poisoning you with snippets on celebrity slip-ups because, Lord help us, celebrities have been so bloody boring lately. It’s Awards Season (we all lookin’ forward to this one, yo) so all the kookiness has been reined back and straightjacketed into gowns galore - oh, the gowns! Oh, the lipstick! Oh, the drudgery of the red carpet! I’m so, so disillusioned with my celebrities these days. They’re acting with the grace and cop on of … well, real people, just with more photoshoppy goodness. Of course, I could start banging on (forgive the pun) about celebrity infidelities, but there’s something very off about airing the dirty linen of … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously rifling through Robert Pattinson’s wheelie bin, so you don’t have to. We all enjoy a bit of peace and quiet from time to time, don’t we? Nodding off in the armchair in front of Jonathan Woss, having a relaxing cuppa with half a Twix you found in the glove compartment, a gentle stroll along the seaside with a gambolling labrador by your side and Enya playing on your iPod. Or whale song. I can’t tell the difference. All of these are appropriate ways to indulge your inner hermit. But did you know that whenever you enjoy those stolen, golden moments, you’re honouring that unfortunate distance between your reality, and that of the rich and famous? This may not worry you; you may never want to be … er … smeared by the paps, or impregnated by Jude Law, or parodied by Katy Brand. But if you’re the kind of … There’s more

Sweary’s Jaw

Surreptitiously reading Roman Polanski’s court transcripts, so you don’t have to. We’ve got quite a female-centic ragbag of raging oestrogen this week, fellow gossip hounds. Must have been a drought in the cocoa beanfields, or something - as a gurl, I’m no agricultural expert - but for whatever reason, female celebs have been over-shaking the Crazy onto their chips lately. Who exactly would dare disturb me so, you might ask; Lady Gaga? Peaches Geldof? Mary Hanafin? No, kids. In a much more sinister turn, usually-bland bunnies like Beyonce have just been spotted Dancing On The Broken Mirror - shall we investigate? Let’s! Ms. Knowles is under fire for nearly setting everyone backstage at Singapore’s F1 Rocks concert … well, on fire. The Pear-Shaped One reportedly hogged all of the air conditioning, causing nearby inconsequential mortals to pass out. Supa’sta’ DJ Seb Fontaine suffered heatstroke, and all! I know it wouldn’t … There’s more