Separated at Birth

Irene from "Home and Away"



Jacqui Smith

Because it's been a while...

Anyone else struggling to spot the difference between pint-sized, piano-tapping, Parkinson-fellating, mongoloid-faced crooner Jamie Cullum and the hideous creature off the Sprite adverts?

No?

Just me then.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Yawn of Boredom

So the final Harry Potter book has been out for at least 12 hours and the internet has yet to implode. I really wanted to write something witty about how it's all a great big pile of bollocks but I won't bother as I've found something much funnier that I want to share with you all. Enjoy.

"My wife read one page, screamed, and grew a cock."

P.S. I don't want to spoil the end for you all but rocks fall, and EVERYONE DIES. Or something like that.

Snark in the USA - I love the smell of Schadenfreude in the morning

'Screaming' Paris Hilton has been ordered straight back to prison.

Oh my God. I. Cannot. Stop. Laughing. Seriously, it's getting kind of hard to breathe. I'm seeing dots. That can't be good, right? But she screamed. She actually fucking screamed. Ahahahahahaha!!

Sorry about that. Right. Deep breaths. Phew.

So the thing was Ms. Hilton had come down with a 'mysterious' illness, requiring her immediate removal from prison. We can only speculate as to the exact nature of this disease. A severe allergic rection to the prison's polyester uniforms, perhaps? Severe dehydration from not being allowed to drink Evian? A broken nail? Heaven forbid, a zit?! The poor girl. Whatever it was, it was obviously well beyond the capabilites of the prison hospital. Even the best MD is not trained to handle a torn hair extension or a fading dye job. There would only be so much they could do.

But alas, this brief taste of freedom was not for long as a judge declared she be sent straight back jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200, and not be afforded any kind of "celebrity justice." Hell, this isn't celebrity justice; this is fucking poetic justice. It's just too schadenfredelicious for words. I haven't tasted anything so sweet since Lily Allen cried because some twiglet from Girls Aloud called her ugly. It's just the image of her screaming, SCREAMING, like some emaciated peroxide banshee as she was led away. Oh no, it's happening again...

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

I really need to go now and seek some urgent medical attention. My sides have just split and my guts are all over the floor. Damn you Hilton, damn you to hell!

Snark in the USA - And now the end is near...

Hello again. Long time no see (or read or something). How's it hanging? No, not that... Anyway, where have I been you ask? Lots of places, many with cable access. As a result I have been lucky enough to have caught many of this season's grand finales and let me tell you this, all you poor UK viewers with months until these tantalising tidbits of televisual viewing make it to your screens:

You WILL be disappointed.

Yeah, big surprise. Nevertheless, let me offer you a few glimpses of what awaits (and I promise to keep them as spoiler-free as possible):

ER
You know how sometimes the writers of ER can be a tad unsubtle in hinting at their major anti-war views? Well, they decide to end this season by shoving them in your face, throwing you to the ground and trampling all over you with them (and this is literally the case for one, unfortunate, abused character). They also carry on their long tradition of horribly maiming characters (both figuratively and literally again - how not subtle!), as if using a helicoptor to lob off Romano's arm and then kill him has unleashed a terrible, sadistic streak. I'm going to start taking bets as to which characters will be lucky enough to survive next season with all their limbs intact. And they used Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah over the final montage. This show is now officially CREATIVELY BANKRUPT. Euthanasia please.

Grey's Anatomy
The moral of the story? Fucking both work colleagues (and patients) all over the hospital and particularly in elevators, does not make for happy, stable relationships. Or happy viewers.

Smallville
Like I give a crap.

Lost
Not seen the finale yet but the penultimate episode wasn't bad. It wasn't good but it wasn't bad. And Jack is still a jackass.

24
Jack + guns + terrorists = Good times, good times.

The Sopranos
A couple more episodes to go but I'm not quite sure how many of the characters are actually going to make it that far. Or maybe it's all just a dream and Tony will emerge from the shower in the final scene, shaking his head in bafflement like the rest of us.

That's it for now and maybe the rest of the trip since I am now without TV. The horror! But if anything remotely amusing happens in the American pop cultural sphere, you know you guys will be the first to know.

Snarkos out.

(Oh God, I'm turning into Ryan Seacrest!)

Snark in the USA - Brown Nose Day

Yet again I find myself watching Fox. God, I am so Rupert Murdoch's bitch. But not as much as Richard Curtis. Yes, the creatively bankrupt and now morally bankrupt little dweeber has sold the Red Nose Day format to the US, where it's been combined with Simon Cowell's DNA to produce the bastard offspring of Comic Relief and American Idol: Idol Gives Back. And when Idol Gives Back, it gives back hard. Really this is a match made in heaven. Curtis is an emotionally manipulative, callow sell-out and America is full of people who are easily swayed by crass sentimentality. I still haven't forgiven him for Love, Actually; anyone who uses 9/11 as an example of all the love in the world for a cheesy, Christmas movie deserves to burn in the pits of hell for all eternity as far as I'm concerned and how he got away with it over here I'll never be sure. Anyhow, the flimsy bit of silver lining to the whole debacle is the fact that it only lasts two hours, rather than the week long (at least it feels like a week) trauma inflicted upon the UK of watching Fearne Cotton and Chris Evans prolong their inexplicable careers. I guess Rupert Murdoch's generosity only extends so far and really the AIDS orphans take second stage to the American Idol live results show. Thus the universe's delicate balance is restored.

As Curtis himself states in USA Today:

"The general message is an empowering one, that if people give money or ring in tonight, then person-to-person they can affect the life of one individual somewhere else. It's the same theory as when you ring in and you vote for your idols."

Hmm. Somehow I doubt the great American public will take this idea to heart. They didn't care enough to save Sanjaya after all.

Well, that's it for now. I have to go lie down and take several paracetamol and wash it down with a strong G&T: Celine Dion just sang live with a computer-generated Elvis and now Madonna's threatening to adopt the rest of Malawi unless people donate money. That bitch has got some balls on her (they once belonged to Guy Richie I believe).

Catch you later, dudes!

Snark in the USA - Drive

Howdy y'all! How you doin'? Yeah, I'm talking to you, muthafucka...

Sorry about that. A mere nine days in the US of A and already I'm fully assimilated, yapping away like a real Yankee Doodle Dandy. Today I ordered a sandwich and said, "Hold the to-may-to." Tomayto, tomato, let's give up the will to live, shall we?

So I'm spending 10 weeks in America, the main purpose being to watch as much trash TV as possible and tell you all about it. Thankfully I'm staying in a windowless room with cable, wireless internet access, and several menacing-looking neighbours, which makes the chances of me leaving the house about as likely as an increase in college applications to Virginia. (Oops. Too soon?)

Last night I witnessed the heavily promoted, 2 hour premier of Drive, a kind of Lost meets Top Gear if you will. Lost gear? I don't know. I can barely recall 2 minutes of it, let alone the full 2 hours. Some pretty people are forced to drive around in shiny, new cars across America in order to win some money. It includes the guy from Firefly and Serenity, whose wife has been kidnapped in mysterious circumstances and is played by Fred from Angel. There's also a blond woman who looks like Courtney Love, an ex-con with 'I hate my rich daddy' issues (stupendously original, dontcha think?) and a ginger girl who can only be described as 'Poor Man's Lindsay Lohan'. In fact, I spent more time trying to work out who the predominantly unknown cast resembled rather than trying to work out what the hell was going on. Who cares anyway. The theme song's by Mr. Gwen Stefani, which can only mean the whole thing is going to suck.

Yeehaw! My first US post. Stay tuned folks. There's plenty more of this crap to come.