Whacko Jacko Whacked by Grim Reaper

With the 'King of Pop' barely cold on his mortuary slab, speculation as to the manner of his demise is already rife. "I heard he was whacking off over a stack of child pornography and the excitement was just too much for his heart," claims internet muckraker Hernandez Savoy, who claims to have impeccable sources. "Apparently he suddenly leapt up, one arm thrown upwards, the other hand clutching his groin, shouting 'Owww', before collapsing. At least that's what the sister of his maid's best friend's cousin told me - and she's as good as an eyewitness!" There have also been a plethora of bizarre stories concerning the fate of Jacko's body. "Repo men have already gone in to to seize all those prosthetic bits which were stopping his face from collapsing," confides Savoy. "For the past five years, all his cosmetic surgery has been done on credit, and he was way behind in the payments." According to Savoy the star's collection of child pornography has also been seized in lieu of debts.

Despite a post mortem finding that Michael Jackson died of natural causes, some members of his family have declared that they suspect foul play and believe a cover-up is in progress, and the LAPD still wants to interview Jacko's doctor. However, some sources are claiming the star might not be dead - that the whole furore is a result of mistaken identity. "When they carried out the autopsy the pathologists were amazed to find that the body wasn't even human - it was a chimp," says an excited Savoy. "It's all true - some guy who cleans the pool of one of the lab techs at the morgue has even got some photoshopped pictures of what it might have looked like!" Savoy's 'reliable sources' believe that Jackson may have switched places with the chimp as long ago as 2004, in an attempt to escape the bad publicity surrounding the court case in which he was acquitted of child molestation. "It would explain a lot of his weird behaviour in recent years - picking his ass in public, crapping all over the furniture and stuff," muses Savoy. "It would also explain why his doctor's only medical qualifications are in veterinary science!" He claims that, even now, the police are searching zoos and homes for retired chimps all over California, in the hope of finding Jackson. Despite their obvious credibility, Savoy's exclusives - aired on his eponymous blog - have been dismissed by fellow bottom-feeders. "It's all nonsense, this crap about apes and fatal ODs on kiddie porn," declares rival celebrity blogger Ronnie Quim. "Isn't it obvious what's happened? Jacko spent years establishing an alternative identity - his 'sister' LaToya. The 'LaToya' persona has now become the dominant personality! Nobody died - except that down and out he murdered to provide a fake corpse."

Father, Son and Holy Car Dealer

Church leaders disatisfied with Pope Benedict XVI's highly conservative papacy are reportedly already lining up potential successors. "He's no spring chicken," observes Bishop Jim Bazonga, a prominent member of the Roman Catholic Church's liberal wing. "He could pop his clogs at any time - we need to be prepared!" Perhaps most surprisingly, Bazonga and his colleagues are currently favouring an outside candidate from a breakaway Catholic sect - the West Midlands Catholic Church. “Their thinking is that this sect’s leader will be untainted by the Benedict regime,” explains top theologian Billy Wotters. “He would represent a clean slate and an unprecedented opportunity to modernise the Church with fresh ideas.”

The West Midlands Catholic Church leader, Adrian Clapster, a second hand car dealer and self-styled Pope of Birmingham, would represent a radical change of direction for the Vatican if he were to become its leader. He has already courted controversy with his beatification programme, which included making the late Princess Diana the patron saint of adulterers and Gary Glitter patron saint of child pornographers. However, he has built his reputation upon the miracles he has regularly performed on his Stourbridge car lot. Mrs Sarah Hindside, a parishioner, recalls: “I once took back a Vauxhall Astra I’d bought from him, it was clearly on its last legs and I was preparing to complain to Trading Standards. But Pope Adrian opened the bonnet and laid his hands on the engine and cried out to the heavens ‘Lord, I implore you to restore this good woman’s vehicle to life - heal its worn pistons and frayed hoses and make it whole again!’ Incredibly, it then started first time and ran perfectly for another six days!” His Holiness has apparently been happy to keep Mrs Hindside’s vehicle going through regular ‘services’ at his ‘auto-temple’, for a modest contribution of £20 an hour to church funds. Many of his congregation have similar stories to tell.

Wotters recently caught up with Pope Adrian at the Birmingham Vatican - a modest semi-detached house in Sutton Coldfield - where he told the theologian that he was looking forward to the challenge of modernising the Roman Catholic Church. In particular, Pope Adrian believes that the church should become more involved in the media. “The Pope should have a regular TV show on which he performs minor miracles and ordinary worshippers come on to show their stigmata- it’d be an incredible ratings winner”. He also believes that the church could generate more funds by endorsing suitable products and selling some of its services. “Its a great brand image”, he enthused. “Instantly recognised throughout the world and inextricably linked with Ultimate Good!” Whilst many Catholics might baulk at the idea of a used car salesman becoming their spiritual leader, Wotters believes that stranger things have already happened at the Vatican. “Let’s not forget the case of Pope Simon XXIV - when he died in 1532 it was discovered that he was a horse,” he muses. “At least Pope Adrian would bring some solid spiritual values back to the Church, not to mention a fantastic vehicle breakdown and recovery service for Catholic motorists.”

Death to Celebrities!

Competition time again! Interest in serial killers has never been greater with books, newspaper articles, films and all manner of memorabilia appearing - one manufacturer is even planning to bring out a series of ‘Great Mass Murderers’ lunchboxes, flasks and backpacks for kiddies, featuring the likes of Fred West, Jeffrey Dahmer and Dennis Neilsen. Today we’re giving you the chance to become the envy of your friends by winning a genuine body part taken from the notorious Moors Murderess Myra Hindley. By special arrangement with a team of crack grave-robbers, we have obtained her skull, brain, heart, right hand and left foot, and are offering them as prizes in this issue’s fantastic competition!

Imagine, you could be using the brain-pan of one of Britain’s most reviled killers as an ashtray! Or you could have the chance to examine the warped brain that masterminded some of this country’s most sickening child murders! Or perhaps it is her heart which is the true source of Hindley’s evil. Is it truly black, (actually it is, and shrivelled and decomposed, but you know what we mean)? You can judge by seeing it yourself! Feel the thrill of caressing yourself with one of the hands that committed brutal child killings! Wonder at the foot that undoubtedly stamped down the earth over her victims’ graves!

All you have to do to win one of these fabulous artefacts is tell us which minor celebrity from the list below most deserves to be murdered by a serial killer, and then arrange the rest of the names into the correct order in which they should subsequently be horribly killed! The first five answers matching that of our expert, (condemned US killer Dick Lance, the ‘Meat Cleaver Maniac’ of Old Baltimore, responsible for at least seven dismemberments), will each receive one of Myra Hindley’s body parts! All will be delivered with a complementary jar of formaldehyde.

The list of potential victims (in random order) is as follows:

a) Paris Hilton

b) Danny Baker

c) David Hasslehoff

d) Jeremy Kyle

e) Perez Hilton

f) Anthea Turner

g) Pamela Anderson

Celebrities or Cretins?

Continuing my anti-celebrity theme, I’ll briefly tell you another thing about the bastards that really gets my goat. Remember when you were a child, and there was always that other kid in your class who get away with blue murder? Or that sibling who could apparently do no wrong? You know what I’m talking about – if you played some sort of harmless prank, like setting fire to the school bike sheds, it was treated as a crime, if they did it, then it was praised to the skies as some masterpiece of installation art. It would be just the same if you finally achieved some goal. They’d always trump it somehow with some act of exhibitionism and steal the limelight. Well, that’s the way I feel about celebrities – I just hate the way large sections of the media and public are always rushing to proclaim them as some kind of genius whenever they do something that is actually stupid. Just about any kind of moronic behaviour on their part is forgiven on the basis that they’re somehow ‘special’.

You know the sort of thing – if you or I wrecked an hotel suite, blowing up the toilets and marching through reception dressed in Nazi uniform, we’d be charged with criminal damage and denounced as fascist thugs. However, when Keith Moon did that sort of thing it was hailed as the work of an eccentric comic genius. Only today, alleged musician and self-styled rapper Mike ‘The Streets’ Skinner was showing off the crop circle he’d created in a field in Glastonbury. If a non-celebrity had done that they’d be dismissed as some kind of crank, not to mention a vandal. But, of course, Skinner is feted as a ‘cheeky celebrity’ having a ‘bit of fun’. The vainglorious bastard has even made the crop circle in the image of his own face. Jesus, what an ego! But, hey, that level of what would be called arrogance in anyone else is OK – he’s a celebrity!

Just Say No to Newspaper Columnists

Having dealt with my hatred of the world of celebrity in my most recently published editorial over at The Sleaze, I thought I'd continue in the same vein and give an airing to another of my current pet hates - bloody journalists. To be precise, it is really columnists, the cream of the crap in the journalistic world, who have really been irritating of late. Don't misunderstand me - it isn't any specific columnists, or any particular subject any of them have pontificated about recently which have gotten my goat. No, it's just the whole concept of columnists which has annoyed me. It's this whole idea that they're actually experts on whatever they're writing about, that their opinion is any more valuable than that of any of their readers. It's the absolute certainty with which they write, putting forth their opinions as if they are facts, using the fact that they have a captive audience who can't answer back directly, to bulldoze their message across. Ultimately, it comes down to the fact that they seem so damn sure of themselves, when, in reality, they know no more than I do. Indeed, in many cases, they know even less than I do, ( a fact which is painfully obvious when they decide to write something on one my specialist subjects). Their TV equivalents are even worse - far more ignorant, interested only in catchy sound bites and unsubtly ramming home every point with meaningless graphics.

However, I have grown tired with being told what to think by pillocks on a daily basis. Consequently, I've decided to start saying 'No' to columnists. It's really easy and very liberating. When you next come upon one of those opinion pieces in your newspaper, just say out loud: "No, I don't agree with you. I'm sorry, but I think that my opinion on this matter is just as valid as yours, even though I don't have access to national newspaper in order to promulgate it." If you read a bit further and they're still irritating you, just declare: "No, I think you are completely wrong, and I don't have to listen to you." As I say, it is a very liberating experience. After a while, you realise that you can safely ignore the columnists in a national newspaper, that you just skip on past their columns and instead formulate your own opinions based on the actual news reported elsewhere in the paper. Trust me, it's great! Clearly I'm not the only person irritated by columnists - just look at the reader's comments to their columns on the average newspaper's website. Only today, someone wrote into The Guardian complaining about how rude and vitriolic posters on the paper's 'Comment is Free' section of their website when responding to columnists. Now, while I generally don't condone the kind of moronic swear-fests which usually pass for debate on message boards, in this case I do have some sympathy. Is it any wonder readers resort to abuse in the face of the pompous pillocks who are allowed to air their opinions in newspapers, completely unchallenged? Nevertheless, whilst sympathising with their feelings of impotence, I really do think they would be better advised to adopt my approach - just assert the validity of your own opinions and ignore the bastards. With any luck they'll get the message and piss off...

The Morning After the Weekend Before

I always thought that weekends were meant to be relaxing, leaving you refreshed and ready to face the new week with batteries fully recharged. I've started this week feeling completely exhausted, leaving me wondering if my mini French film festival had been such a good idea. Finding myself with an entire weekend to myself, rather than get outside and enjoy some Summer weather and some much needed exercise, I elected instead to spend from Friday evening to Sunday night watching subtitled films. Fuelled by a case of that cheap French supermarket beer and dry-roasted peanuts (not distinctively French, I know, but I like them, the alternative was buying a packet of Gauloises, except I don't smoke), I kicked off with Days of Glory, a terrific war movie about North African soldiers who fought for the Free French in World War Two, on Friday and concluded with In All Innocence, a contemporary tale of crime, lust and mid-life crises (which had fortuitously been showing on BBC2 in the early hours of Sunday morning and which I'd recorded), on Sunday.

In between these I managed to schedule Melville's masterful (and incredibly downbeat) Le Circle Rouge - another great crime drama - and the historical epic The Horseman on the Roof, (from which I learned that vigourous breast massage is apparently an effective treatment for cholera). I wasn't able to fit in another viewing of 36, a fairly recent policier with Gerard Diepardieu, or any of my Belmondo collection. Maybe next weekend. As you've probably gathered, I'm something of a fan of French film. It's refreshingly different from the Anglo-American product. It isn't just the language, it's the whole look and approach, good and bad aren't so clearly defined and the film's often refuse to take a clear moral stance, leaving the viewer to make up their own minds. However, the vague impression most people in this country have of French cinema is that it is either pretentious, or raunchy. Indeed, this was the reaction I got at work today, upon mentioning the fact that I'd spent the weekend watching French films - all knowing winks and innuendo. Upon mentioning that you actually had to wait right until the end of Horseman on the Roof for a decidedly non-erotic nude scene, I was simply confronted with more gurning and innuendo. And the morons I work with wonder why I try and avoid speaking to them...

Nude Mobbing

A Buckinghamshire branch of the furniture retailer Ikea recently found itself temporarily overrun by nudists. “Ten or twelve of them at a time were leaping onto the display beds and indulging in wild an energetic sex,” claims Ralph Milner, assistant manager of the Swedish chain's Quainton Road branch, who suffered third degree friction burns to his groin when his polyester trousers were ripped off by a naked reveller. “The springs just weren’t designed to take that kind of thing -they all collapsed!” Milner admits that he remains mystified by the whole incident. “At first I thought it was some kind of performance art thing, where they get all those naked women to tun up. Then I realised that there were blokes with this lot, and a lot of them, both male and female, were bloody ugly! I don’t call that art!” Police suspect that the Ikea store incident was another example of the so-called ‘Nude Mobbing’ craze. “It’s like ‘Flash Mobbing’, where large groups of people would be organised by mobile phone to just turn up at a particular location for a few minutes,” says Inspector Tim Carling of Bucks Constabulary. “This new activity seems to be aimed at creating an affront to decency through mass demonstrations of public nudity!”

Carling himself has first hand experience of ‘Nude Mobbing’, having been caught in an earlier incident on London’s Westminster Bridge. “I was driving to Scotland Yard for a police conference one Monday morning, when scores of pedestrian commuters suddenly tore their clothes off and started jumping all over vehicles,” he says. “They were pulling people off of buses and forcibly stripping them! I found my car immobilised by some fellow sticking his todger up my exhaust! When I got out of the car to remonstrate with him, I found myself overwhelmed by the mob and my uniform being pulled off! Before I knew it one woman had my truncheon between her legs, whilst another one squatted over my blue helmet! It was most humiliating!” Like the Ikea riot, the Westminster Bridge incident ended as abruptly as it started, with the participants putting their clothes back on and melting back into the general populace. Whilst the authorities suspect that militant naturists, determined to force a change in Britain’s public nudity laws, could be behind this new craze, others suspect that more sinister forces could be involved. "Mark my words, this is all down to 'Police State Britain'," opines top conspiracy theorist Tommy Dodd. "I have it on good authority that these 'nude mobbing' incidents are the result of a faulty batch of those ultrasonic devices they use to drive teenagers away from shopping centres. If the sonic resonances they put out are even slightly off-frequency, they interfere with the parts of the adult human brain dealing with inhibitions, inducing an urge in anyone standing close enough to tear their clothes off and copulate wildly!"

Talking Dirty

One of the things I thought that I'd miss when I abandoned cable in favour of Freeview were those ten minute previews the adult channels used to run around midnight. I swear that all the 'highlights' of these channels were packed into those ten minutes - quite why anyone felt the need to subscribe for more was beyond me. Whilst programmes with titles like The Adventures of Walter Clitty might seem amusing when you only have to see thirty seconds at a time of them, I can guarantee that having to endure the full thirty minutes would have been agonising. One thing I learned about pornography at a very early age was that it is extremely boring in bulk. The novelty very quickly wears off. Porn films, in particular, are utterly tedious. There are only so many times you can watch the same people humping in different positions. Besides, for the male viewer heterosexual smut always carries the risk of seeing exposed male genitalia, which is a huge turn off, (not to mention the fact that those hugely hung porno actors always make us feel inadequate), that's why we prefer full-on hot lesbo action.

Anyway, getting back to the point, of late we Freeview viewers have been treated to two late-night non-subscription channels featuring semi-naked young ladies writhing about on a bed as they talk on the phone to punters. That's how they make their money - idiots, (presumably back from the pub and pissed), calling or texting them. Just lately both channels have been running in split-screen, presenting two-for-the price-of-one (or, to be more accurate, in view of what most men will be focusing on, four-for-the-price-of-one), and, presumably, twice as many idiots prepared to call a premium rate phone line for the privilege of talking to some bird with her norks out. Increasingly, I've found myself wondering what exactly is it that you are meant to talk to them about? Is it a bit like one of those telephone enquiry services where they answer your questions? In which case, should I call in tonight and see if any of the topless beauties can enlighten me as to whether a Jaffa Cake is a biscuit, (actually, it isn't, as biscuits are hard-baked)? Or perhaps they could give me an answer to that other burning question - other than clay and grass, what other surfaces is tennis played on? Maybe I can finally get an answer to that great philosophical conundrum - if a girl gets her norks out on TV, but there are no drunkards viewing, is she still being exploited?

Have You Been Shagged By a Spy?

How likely is it that you’ve been shagged by a spy? Well, you never know, especially if you work on sensitive government projects or are employed in a security cleared position. They’re out there you know, just waiting for some likely prey to pounce on, and the worst thing is - they look just like us! So, how would you know if you’d been bonked by the Stasi, or received a golden shower courtesy of the Kremlin? Forget about being able to spot them by their huge false moustaches, or by the fact that they have a hammer and sickle tattooed on each breast or a portrait of Lenin on their knob. And who is to say that its a foreign spy out to steal our secrets who has given you a good seeing to? It could be one of our own agents, testing your loyalty and checking for leaks - they are the most difficult to spot!

However, there are some tell-tale signs to look out for. If your partner has a predilection for playing with your nipples during love-making - beware! This could be reflexive behaviour conditioned by years of twiddling the knobs on their radio sets as they attempt to attune them. Moreover, be very careful if, instead of them inviting you to perform oral sex on their genitals they ask you to speak the words “Mary Had a Little Lamb” two inches from their penis or vagina - they could be carrying out a sound check for cunningly concealed microphones. You should also think twice if your partner tries to persuade you to indulge in any form of kinky sex, such as a three in abed romp with a goat or making love to a skate. This could be a sign that they are an internal security agent checking you out for aberrant behaviour. Remember, even agreeing to do it with the light on could lead to you being stripped of your security clearances and dismissed from your sensitive government post.

So, do you think you’ve ever been shagged by a spy? If so, let us know. We’re offering fabulous prizes for every successful conviction resulting from a tip-off from one of our readers! We are also offering prizes for the reader who has been shagged by operatives from the greatest number of intelligence agencies. Can you prove that you’ve had polony parties with a complete set of the CIA, NSA, DIA, KGB, GRU, MI6 and MOSSAD? Remember, double agents don’t count twice!

Misdiagnosis Petty Crime

Whilst having an enforced day off last week, waiting in for the plumber, I caught that legendary episode of Diagnosis Murder. You know the one - where Dr Sloan actually finds time to treat a patient in between solving murders for his son, the LAPD's laziest detective (why do any police work when you can get your old man to clear up all your outstanding cases?). I wouldn't mind, but it isn't as if Dr Sloane is even a pathologist, like Quincy. He's just a regular hospital doctor. I'm sure that, in reality, the hospital authorities at Community General would be taking some kind of disciplinary action against any doctor - no matter how senior - who seemed to spend most of their time investigating murders. I'm pretty sure they'd be in breach of their contract. But hey, I suppose things must be different in America, particularly California.

Since John H Watson MD (the 'crime doctor') we in the UK haven't had much of a tradition of crime-solving medics. Possibly because NHS doctors are so overworked they barely have time to see patients, let alone investigate murders. But I think that should change, and I have a suspicion that BBC might be about to redress the balance. I'm sure that, like me, you've noticed that Charlie Fairhead has been appearing less frequently in Casualty of late. I'm convinced that the beeb are poised to unveil their latest Casualty spin-off, Holby Eye, in which the venerable charge nurse sets up as a private eye and spends his days off fighting crime. Of course, being a British TV series and being set in 'Holby', a large city in the West Country which bears more than a passing resemblance to Bristol, rather than racy London, dangerous Manchester or violent Glasgow, Charlie won't be investigating many murders. I suspect that he'll spend most of his time on divorce cases (possibly involving his highly promiscuous colleagues from Holby City Hospital), climbing up ladders to get photographs of doctors committing adultery with social workers, and the like. Sure, they'd probably spice it up with the odd insurance fraud case (where Charlie can apply his medical knowledge to prove that a bad dose of the clap doesn't really count as a disability). When it comes to action, it would probably be confined to a scuffle in the car park with some old biddy who has been cheating at bingo. This could be a real winner for the daytime schedules and a natural successor to Diagnosis Murder (which the BBC must have now repeated at least thirty two times).

Celebrity Crime Time

OK, it's time for some end-of-the-week competition fun! As we all know, many celebrities have stood trial or even served time for various crimes and misdemeanours. Wrestling star Booker T, for instance, was once convicted of armed robbery, whilst Robert Mitchum famously did time for possession of dope. Jerry Lee Lewis, although not actually arrested, was run out of Britain in the 1960s when it was found that he had married his twelve year old cousin - those crazy degenerate colonials, don’t they know that sort of thing is only for Royalty and the landed gentry? Brit celebs have also committed (or been accused of) their fair share of crimes. Oscar Wilde went to Reading Jail for buggery, the multi-untalented Johnny Vaughn did time for drug offences, Stephen Fry for credit card fraud and Lord Archer for perjury and generally being a tosser.

So, for our fun-filled competition, all you have to do is match up the celebrity to the crime. Its very simple, we’ve given you a list of eight celebrities (labelled A to H), and a list of eight crimes (labelled 1 to 8). If, for example, you think Charles Bronson (Celeb B) has ever exposed himself to schoolchildren (crime 7), just put down B-7. Keep doing this until you’ve matched each celeb to each crime and send your choices to Sleaze Diary. Remember, if you get it wrong and accuse the wrong celeb of the wrong crime, you could be sued for libel! If you get it right, you could win a fabulous prize (but probably not as we’re totally skint - OK maybe I’ll send you a porn pic from my private collection, but don’t bank on it). Good luck!

CRIME 1: PROCURING YOUNG BOYS FOR IMMORAL PURPOSES

CRIME 2: CORRUPTING THE MORALS OF NOVICE NUNS

CRIME 3: DEFECATING ON THE QUEEN’S HIGHWAY WITHOUT SHOUTING A PRIOR WARNING

CRIME 4: PERFORMING SIMULATED FELLATIO ON AN EFFIGY OF CHRIST ON THE CROSS

CRIME 5: FRAUDULENTLY OBTAINING OLD AGE PENSIONERS FOR SEXUAL PURPOSES

CRIME 6: MASTURBATION IN A PUBLIC PLACE WITHOUT THE PROPER PERMIT

CRIME 7: INDECENT EXPOSURE IN A CHILDREN’S PLAY GROUP

CRIME 8: DEADLY ASSAULT WITH A VIBRATOR


CELEB A: JACK BENNY

CELEB B: CHARLES BRONSON

CELEB C: CLIFF RICHARD

CELEB D: JOHN WAYNE

CELEB E: CHUCK NORRIS

CELEB F: ANGELINA JOLIE

CELEB G: HEATH LEDGER

CELEB H: AMY WINEHOUSE

More Twitter Twatter

Yet another piece of research which falls into the "No shit, Sherlock" category: over 90% of Tweets on Twitter are made by only 10% of users, meaning that it is more of a mass broadcasting system than a peer-to-peer communication tool. As I've noted before, the whole terminology of Twitter, all that 'followers' business makes it seem like a religion, so it really shouldn't be a surprise that it is dominated by a relatively small number of 'power users' - usually celebrities - dispensing words of wisdom to their acolytes who, in turn, await each new pearl of wisdom -"I've just picked my nose" - with bated breath. Is it any wonder that so many people on Twitter pretend to be celebrities, masquerading as someone semi-famous in order to attract followers! Actually, such a desperate need for adulation is really quite pathetic. And let's face it, no matter how many followers you've attracted under false pretences on Twitter, you still can't change the reality that you are actually some sad little bloke sat in his pyjamas in front of his laptop i a shabby bedsit in Salford.

Mind you, worse than these fake celebs are the sad bastards who spend their time directing vitriol at real celebrities. For some it is undoubtedly the fact that if they direct enough foul-mouthed and libellous tirades at famous people they will, themselves, achieve a degree of notoriety and followers, which motivates many of them. For others, I'm sure, it is a deeply seated sense of inadequacy which leads them to hurl abuse via Twitter at those who have achieved some degree of success. But really, it's all just a waste of energy. Whilst Twitter doubtless provides an unprecedented opportunity to get as close as most of us ever will to calling Russell Brand a 'Twat' to his face - what's the point? I really don't care enough about any of these people to be bothered. More importantly - do you really think your targets actually care? Even if they do read your angry Tweets, they'll just block you. Trust me, they don't give a toss. I certainly wouldn't. I did think of running a campaign whereby I harassed these pillocks in the same way they harass celebrity Twitterers, by directing hate-filled Tweets at them for no reason other than that the service allows you to abuse complete strangers. But I couldn't be arsed.

Crazy Bald Heads

The celebrity slaphead - who can deny the fascination that a gleaming pate holds? A glistening chrome dome can propel a hitherto run of the mill celebrity into another level of fame. Take Telly Savalas. For years just another hairy heavy in supporting roles, but as soon as he shaved that bonce - a singing, wisecracking and lollipop sucking megastar. Its a similar story for Yul Brynner - who remembers any of his hairy parts, eh? But as a slaphead - unforgettable! Of course, the slaphead look can be made even more striking by combining it with a goatee beard - as did former 'Gillan' bass player John Mcoy. This writer has fond memories of seeing McCoy and the rest of 'Gillan' perform 'No Laughter in Heaven' on Top of the Pops in the early 1980s. There’s no doubt that the combination of shiny bonce, goatee and shades made a lasting impression, and sparked a lifelong fascination with celebrity slapheads. Indeed, the 1980s quite possibly represented the high water mark for the popularity of celebrity baldness. Those were the days when, following Neil Kinnock’s example, the Labour Party’s front bench proudly sported the bald-look. How I cherish the memory of all those shiny heads dazzling the press at the 1988 Labour Conference. For a while it looked as if Kinnock might have spawned a whole slaphead dynasty when he was succeeded by John Smith. However, when Smith tragically died and was succeeded by the hirsute Tony Blair, it was clear that an era was over. Nonetheless, in their heyday the zany antics of those crazy celebrity slapheads entertained the world!

Who could forget the time in 1976 that Yul Brynner and Telly Savalas, at a loss as what costumes to wear to one of Michael Winner’s fancy dress parties, put their heads together and went as Raquel Welch’s cleavage? Their exploits were topped in the late 1980s and 1990s by famous Shakespearean Star Trek baldly Patrick Stewart. He once told fellow thespian chrome dome Steven Berkoff that he would like to play Berkoff’s head like a musical instrument! The ever innovative Berkoff took up the challenge and arranged a special one-off performance at the Strand Theatre in which Stewart performed a series of popular bongo hits on his head. This proved so popular with critics that the run was extended and, for six weeks, played to packed audiences! The show was also a sensation in the US, playing both the East and West Coasts. Stewart later adapted the show into a one man performance, in which he played a variety of music - including a steel drum medley - on his own head. This proved even more popular with young avant-garde audiences. Berkoff, not to be outdone, devised his own musical slaphead show, in which he played the 1812 overture on the heads of no less than six fellow baldies, including football commentator Brian Moore, swimmer Duncan Goodhew and famed WWF wrestler Stone Cold Steve Austin. This proved a smash hit at the Hollywood bowl and Berkoff soon took the production to London. There he went head-to-head with Stewart’s one man show. However, the two were reunited at a special Albert Hall performance of Berkoff’s piece when, in a sensational finale, Stewart joined him on stage. At first the two indulged in their equivalent of the 'banjo feud' in Deliverance, playing 'Duelling Slapheads' on the bonces of Moore and Austin respectively, before joining together for a searing duet!

So what of the world of the celebrity slaphead today? Well, they’re still out there. A potential new celebrity has emerged at Euro 2000 in the form of that scary Italian slaphead who refereed the England-Germany match - he bears a frightening resemblance to scary slaphead horror movie weirdo Michael Berryman, who appeared in Wes Craven’s The Hills Have Eyes, amongst other trash classics. There have also been rumours from across the pond that some closet slapheads are considering coming out after threats from the 'Bald Pride' group to out them. It has been claimed that William Shatner recently tore off his rug in public and ran down a busy LA street flashing his bald scalp at passers-by. Back in the UK, many bald groups have hoped that former Tory leader William Hague might have been the man to rekindle the public’s enthusiasm for baldness. Indeed, there were stories that practical joker Hague once drew a line down his bald head and pretended it was his bum - just for a laugh! Apparently it gave his wife Ffion quite a fright in bed! However, despite further dalliances with baldness in the form of Micheal Howard and Ian Duncan-Smith, the Tories have returned hirsuteness with its current leader, David Cameron, dashing the hopes of baldies everywhere. With Labour and Lib Dems also featuring leaders with full heads of hair, there seems little prospect of an imminent revival for those crazy slapheads. But who knows, with confidence in mainstream politicians plummeting, the public could yet look to a bald Messiah for salvation - keep watching those hairlines!

David Carradine, RIP

It's an ill wind, as they say, and some sad news has been sending a fair amount of visitors my way. Like all lovers of bizarre low budget exploitation movies, I was shocked and saddened to hear of the death of David Carradine last week. It is the continued confusion surrounding the nature of his demise which has been fuelling traffic to The Sleaze. Now, I must admit that I was somewhat surprised when it was originally reported that he had committed suicide, especially when the first radio report I heard claimed that a maid had found him hanging naked in the closet of his Bangkok hotel room. Whilst I freely admit that I'm no expert on suicide, hanging yourself in a closet, when there must be many easier ways to hang yourself in a hotel room, does seem a strange thing to do, even if you are feeling suicidal. When later reports claimed that he had a rope around his neck and 'other parts of his body', it seemed that he might actually have met his end in an act of auto-asphyxiation gone wrong. If so, it just makes his death even sadder. Even sadder than that, lots of sick bastards started searching the web for anything to do with death by auto-asphyxiation. Which led to a sudden surge in popularity for an old story of mine - Cruel and Unusual - which has nothing to do with David Carradine, but does feature auto-asphyxiation as a means of execution. To make things worse, by Sunday they were visiting in their droves in search of 'celebrity autopsy pictures', presumably as a result of the release of post-mortem pictures of David Carradine. All they found was Celebrity Autopsy, which again doesn't feature David Carradine, but does satirise the morbid obsession in some quarters with such things.

However, I'm not here to bury David Carradine, but to praise him. A childhood icon for me as a result of his appearances in the Kung Fu TV series, I subsequently found, to my delight, that Carradine had appeared in some truly great, off-beat, low-budget movies. Granted, many were crap and unworthy of his talents (but they doubtless paid the bills for him and his family), but others were real classics. Everybody, of course, remembers his turn as 'Frankenstein' in the wonderful Death Race 2000, a typical Roger Corman production that happily mixes exploitation thrills with satire and social comment, but equally good was his appearance as the cop hero of Larry Cohen's surreal Q- The Winged Serpent, in which the titular Aztec god turns up in1970s New York and nests in the upper reaches of the Chrysler Building. Thanks to an interest in classic horror movies, I also discovered John Carradine, and wasn't surprised when I learned that he was David's father. Another magnificent performer in B-movies, who was prepared to appear in any crap in order to finance his various Shakespearean stage productions, John Carradine was another actor far better than most of his material. Although a ripe old in ham in lots of those old Monogram and Universal pictures of the 1940s (and even more poverty-stricken Z-grade flicks well into the 1970s), John Carradine was also an adept and memorable character actor in many bigger-budget productions. Whilst John Carradine succumbed to a heart attack many years ago, ensuring he is remembered for his films, the nature of David Carradine's death means that, sadly, he'll inevitably be remembered as 'that guy who strangled himself in a closet during a bizarre sex act'. Frankly, he deserves far better than that.

Taking it Turkish Style

I've a nasty feeling my sins are fast catching up with me. A new 'Turkish style' barber shop has opened a couple of streets away from my house. Clearly, they're closing in on me after all those terrible things I've written about the Turks, both here and over at The Sleaze. Perhaps they've traced my IP address - time to change ISP again! But just what is 'Turkish style' haircut, I ask myself - do you get taken roughly from behind by a man with a huge moustache and shoes that curl up at the toes whilst he trims your sideburns? It could give a whole new meaning to the term 'short back and sides'. It's a recipe for disaster, if you ask me: wild bum shagging and big scissors are a dangerous combination. I shudder to think what the consequences of asking for a 'number one' or a 'number two' would be.

Anyway, I'm sure that it is only a matter of time before they come after me with their heated moustache curlers and sharpened kebab sticks. I've seen the surly looking bastards loitering outside the barber's shop, twirling their 'taches whilst they tout for custom. Believe me, I'm not exaggerating about those bloody Turks - some of us haven't forgotten the atrocities commit ed against captured Allied troops at Gallipoli in 1915. My mate Two Ton Toby from the chippie reckons his Grandfather - who was held as a prisoner of war by the Turks for three years in the Great War - was haunted by the tickling sensation of a phantom big moustache at the back of his neck until the end of his days. He'd sometimes wake up screaming, flailing wildly at some invisible assailant attempting a rear entry. The poor old boy also suffered a severe adverse reaction to the sight of a fez - he once put his foot through the screen when he saw Tommy Cooper on the telly. Trust me - there's a very good reason why the Greeks refer to buggery as 'taking it Turkish style'!

More Crap From the Inbox of Doc Sleaze

Whilst I don't get those requests from TV researchers trying to get in touch with various (fictional) characters from The Sleaze, in between all the e-mails about viagra, or from lonely Russian women seeking soul mates, my inbox does occasionally still see some strange unsolicited missives. Recently, for instance, I got an e-mail from an aspiring politician which took the form of a piece of would-be satire. Now, quite why anyone who openly identifies themselves as a political activist should imagine that I would publish such an obvious piece of propaganda (if, indeed, that was their intent), I really don't know. I suppose that on one level I should be flattered, after all, it implies that the sender of the e-mail thinks that The Sleaze and Sleaze Diary might actually have some influence when it comes to forming people's opinions. Thankfully, they don't. For one thing, they simply don't have that great a reach. Moreover, a lot of their readers aren't from the UK. I'd actually be very worried if anybody based their voting intentions on anything we published.

I suspect that the individual concerned became confused after misreading an earlier post here, in which I lamented the type of people who had been elected to parliament over the past few decades. A closer reading would reveal that I wasn't actually calling for an end to the current system of party politics. Indeed, I actually made clear that without party affiliations, it would be damn near impossible for our elected representatives to achieve anything - collective action is the only way to achieve political change. Hence my opposition toward so-called independent, celebrity or novelty candidates - they are ultimately utterly ineffective in properly representing the interests of their constituents. However, the e-mail's sender misunderstood us in one other important respect - only I get to make politically partisan rants and comments in Sleaze-land. Even then they're confined to editorials or this blog. So, let me make it perfectly clear to any potential contributors - we don't endorse any individual political parties or groups (although it is no secret where my sympathies lie), and I won't allow the publication of any 'satire' pieces which are actually thinly-disguised party political propaganda.

Counter Crop World

Top cerealologist Frank Dibble has rocked the paranormal world by sensationally claiming that the crop circles regularly seen in Southern England are part of a sinister conspiracy between the British government and aliens. He told the recent annual paranormal enthusiasts convention - Weirdcon - in Birmingham that he had evidence from environmental groups that the fields the circles appeared in had all been planted with genetically modified cereal. “These cereals have been specially developed in secret government laboratories and are genetically pre-programmed to collapse into certain complex patterns upon receipt of a signal broadcast from beyond the Earth’s atmosphere,” he claimed. “The predetermined patterns are a message to the aliens assisting in the genetic modification programme that the experiment has been successful!” He believes that the mysterious signal triggering the circles’ formation emanates from a planet occupying the same orbit as our own, but which is always on the opposite side of the Sun to us - a Counter-Earth - and is bounced off of a secret relay station on the moon. “It is the complete mirror image of Earth - a planet governed by pure evil,” he explains. “The relay station was stumbled on by an Apollo moon mission which was captured by the aliens - the astronauts were replaced by their evil doubles, who came to our earth and infiltrated the upper echelons of NASA, which has been in cahoots with them ever since!”

According to Dibble, the Counter-Earth is drowning in its own evil and rapidly becoming uninhabitable and its denizens are seeking a new home planet - our Earth. “They’ve already replaced many of our own leaders,” he told delegates to the Weirdcon. “I’ve seen X-rays of Gordon Brown and David Cameron taken during routine medicals which show that organs are transposed, their hearts on the right instead of the left! They’re mirror people!” In order to survive, the mirror people also need mirror food - foodstuffs with all of their molecules transposed - this is the true purpose of genetically modified plants. However, Dibble believes that the ultimate aim of the genetic experiments may be even more sinister: “They may be aiming to convert us all to mirror people, our molecular structures reversed by ingesting their genetically modified food. Before you know it, we’ll be welcoming their evil invasion force with open arms - they won't have to conquer us, we’ll simply invite them in!” He believes that there is only one way to fight back - the destruction of crop circles wherever they appear. “Trample the bloody things down! Plough them up! Burn the crops! If they can’t see the messages, they’ll believe their plan is failing - its our only hope!”

Britain's Got Tories

So, this is David 'Dave' Cameron's big idea to reinvigorate British politics, is it? Opening up the selection process for prospective Tory MPs to allow anyone to stand, even if they haven't got any links to the party. Does he really mean anybody, regardless of political affiliations? Would I be given serious consideration if I tried to get adopted as a Tory candidate, standing as an unreconstructed socialist? Somehow, I don't think so. Dave doesn't really want to 'open up' the selection process in this way in order to bring more diverse political perspectives into the narrow-minded reactionary orthodoxy that is the modern Conservative Party. Oh no. Like just about everything else he comes up with, this is a publicity stunt, a piece of political opportunism designed to take advantage of the current public reaction against politics and politicians engendered by the recent expenses scandal.

As far as I can see, he's decided to jump on the reality-TV bandwagon to give the impression that the Tory selection process is now a version of Britain's Got Talent. "Roll up, roll up and take your chances. Everyone's welcome to have a go", he seems to be saying. Just come along to a constituency meeting and perform your amusing act in front of a panel of 'judges' from the local party, and you might just make it through to the 'Grand Final' and the public vote! In common with everything else which passes for a Tory 'policy' these days, it is half-baked and completely lacking in any real substance. Just like his proposals for reforming the political system - does anyone honestly think that any future Conservative government is actually going to strengthen local democracy? This is the party that opposed any devolution of political power to Scotland and Wales. Let's not forget the last time they were in power and the way in which they systematically eroded the powers of local councils. The truth is that central government - regardless of whichever party is in power - jealously guards its political power and is always reluctant to share it. Once more, Dave is just telling the electorate what he thinks it wants to hear. Sadly, a lot of dumb bastards will be fooled by is toss and we'll undoubtedly end up with a Tory government. Still, as I've said before, a dose of the Tories is probably necessary in order to remind people of what utterly horrible bastards they actually are!