After being shunned by the UK's fastest-selling racist Cheryl Cole, X-Factor's Simon-seeker Gamu has somehow managed to stun the world by having newspapers print false rumours that she has been signed by 50 Cent's music label. After You're My Sunshine being so edgy and all, is Ring A Ring 'O Roses on the cards to next year's auditions? I'm guessing as much as Cheryl probably already calls her the black plague as it is. I hope Gamu does make a triumphant return on this year's contest as it will mean another 'toughest, limpest and lifeless-est year of me lyfe' again for the nations racist sweetheart Cole.
In a word: Wagner looks like My Little Bison from the makers of My Little Pony; Mary looks like diarrhea in a dress; Cheryl looks like Nadine with a budget; Simon's face is so frozen Kerry Katona is keeping her dinners in it; and Dannii's Joan Collins fetish delivers a throbbing hard-on tonight.
Above: just because.
Wagner is first out, groomed and tucked in and does a passable take on Radiohead's Creep - the song's point is almost to not sound good anyway. Remembers Fake Plastic Trees from Clueless.
One Direction have nice hair. My jealousy, and age, render my opinions slightly impotent.
Above: "it's not Terry's it's miiiiiiiiiiiine. Peace out to my darter."
In her VT, Mary is wearing a fleecey-poncho and looks like a wig-wam. Her bingo wings shudder with motherly determination and the song is actually rather lovely. She is humble, not entitled at all, and if you don't know that already she still wants you to do it all for her daagh'er. Her daughter.
Rebecca also has a daughter, the same amount of daughter as Mary and also the notes she can sing. Sounding like a tuneful wale giving birth on land. Using her Liverpool accent to sound stupid and unassuming is an insult to her city - it's such a cliche it's not even funny. With a face that looks like an easter egg when her hair is scraped back, Rebecca has her hair scraped back tonight and looks like an easter egg. Rebecca's distinctive standing ability makes me want her to walk on a treadmill next week - same effect, but 110% more nice, different and usnusual.
'Rexia ragdoll Cher is like that wart you know will eventually go away but can't really do much about. She thinks you need a new girlfriend and I think she needs to stop throwing up her dinners. She quotes Britney: "I think I'm ready now". I'd like to quote Gloria Estefan: "go away now".
Above: gonna use my arms....
Matt's arms are soul-destroyingly covered up. 12 girls spread their legs for him: lucky. bitches. He is head and shoulders, but strangely no neck, above all the other MOR over 25 male contestants Smacking it? Yes please, Matt.
The Kwik-Save Lady Gaga, Katie is given the elusive final slot. Her post-chemo crew cut is officially the new new-real-her, and it's actually the best of the night even if it's a bit mannered deliberately to create that kitchen-sink drama effect. Dannii is spared having to lower herself by commenting on it.
Shit! They are singing two songs? Oh fuck that, I'm not reviewing two songs.
It's been a while since hooker-jam Love's On Every Corner singer Dannii even remotely had a live on-air hissy fit (remember The Word, This Morning and Jonathan Ross to name just 3?), but charisma-vaccuum Konnie-something from the Xtra Factor said the wrong thing at the wrong time and Dannii exhaustedly hissed "un-boi-loi-voi-boil" and even went as far as an audible sigh. Akward! Anyway, poor Konnie-something, but it was great to see Dannii 'lose it' again - as awesome as she always is, this is kind of the reason I loved her in the first place (apart from the incredible 90s music of course).
Whitney's extravagantly anticipated live UK TV comeback had spectators grovelling for her sillouette to emerge back into the spotlight: recieving their OMG ITZ WHITNEYEUSTON!!! applause like the oxygen she was missing during Million Dollar Bill's honey-dribling rapid verses, Whitney worked the crowd; hoisting her gown up to make her way back and forth, and round and round, the stage, microphone-gesturing just about anybody to save her from singing - I am sure she stuck it in Dannii's face backstage as well. Her helpless tarzan soars were kept to a minimum but were devoured by the whooping oinkers in the audience with the appropriate restrain one has came to expect from this show.
However, the main show was her 3-way chat with 'random' Dermot and a fawning Simon Cowell. If anyone can say WTF with half downturned eyes alone, it's Whitters, and her deliberately evasive feedback on the contestants performances was a stunning victory for reality over reality telivision.
Above: with no one to punch, the real wardrope malfunction was Cheryl's disasterous attempt to make herself sexy by covering her face and dressing up as a man in order to get a response from Ashley who was busy with his Nokia 330 throughout her performance to notice his wife getting it out the way without too much faults - it's not as if Fight For This Sham of A Career is a challenging song, even if you sing like a chav getting gang raped at the bus stop before her shift at Lidl.
Most jawdropping of all was the American singer's bemusement when her dress-straps came off - at least no crack came falling out. Her impromtu striptease no doubt wasn't even noticed by the morons clapping for high notes and other qualifications they might want to consider when voting such as talent and stage charisma. Seriously, she could only have topped it had she fell over or snorted cocaine of Dannii's note-perfect baps.
Above: Dannii feels the pressure of the nation's insatiable craving for a new facial expression from her.
Before dinner-plate face Dannii Minogue gets off her sling to tracklist a forthcoming 2012 rarities album, the woman has people to judge and 2 more facial expressions to fit in until botoxing for Boot Camp and proper studio lighting.
Above: with such a busy schedule, Dannii still finds time to cram yet more in.
Getting rid of the dregs is tougher than manipulative editing would suggest. Apparantly the standard of skanks, hairdressers, widdowers, gay acne suffers and coffee shop workers is higher than EVER! They just scream 'qualified' as they attempt to emotionally rape us with their hard-done-by stories of limb loss, irregular face symmetry, lack of singing opportunities for those who have previously done nothing to become a singer, and your standard 'I know my Mum would be proud if she could see me cry in front of strangerse right now'. Frankly I am jealous, but at least know what the new Topman collection looks like.
Above or Behind: as the competition heats up, eager Dannii takes it all in her stride.
As the Black Eyed Peas underrated I Gotta Feeling plays, Simon groans like a cow giving birth that 'I've got a feeling we may have themosttalentedgroupofpeopleeverthisyear'. As a viewer, I am completely gripped and deliberately wet myself just to prove it.
Above: Louis' famous kiss and make up storyline with Dannii remains the shows most convincing sob story to date.
Dannii orders her sex slaves to separate their legs and themselves into her 3 favourite sexual categories: female, male and group. The shit-grinning imbeciles choose their groups of 3 and sing for a chance to sleep with Minogue or get punched by Cole if they are black, mixed race or just back from their holidays. We get more VT's, Simon eyerolls, Dannii forehead furrows, Cheryl cheek-sucks blankly and Louis butt-clenches to supress his famous lean-over semi.
Overall, tonight's show was shit and so shall be tomorrow's second part, which promises to finally wittle the warblers down to the final 300 or whatever. These tedious pre-botox pre-Bootcamp episodes have been more boring than a cancer victim asking you to donate money as if it's a personal obligation to throw a wig and draw eyebrows on them - some people just don't know when to call it quits!
Saturday's X-Factor was more of the same as last week, only without the squeeling excitement of Dannii debuting more looks than she's had hit singles, Dannii's forehead thawing to room temperature, Dannii gasping 'yes' at anyone with a cock, and well you get an idea as to why I can stand to watch this conveyor belt of vainglorious misfortune-boasting. The oinking contestants use their families death count like league tables - we all know this, but when a fatherless kid is chased onto the stage with a chainsaw in order to cling onto his uncle who is alive and not letting us forget about it, then I think it is time for things to stop. Are producers secretly crashing funerals and asking 'well can anyone sing at least?'
Above: as the show heats up, so does Dannii's dartboard forehead - she literally beams with pride these days.
The biggest problem of this series has been the butchered editing - Simon reaching 'the end of his patience' has already been narrated last week in typically hyperbollic style, so how are they going to edit surprise talent at the end of more episodes if footage from all auditions are mixed together like a public school? Unlike Britain's Got Talent, diversity is a good thing, but serving vomit as ice-cream doesn't taste as good as it did first time around. And where are my bullimics at? It's all dead relatives when clearly the post-size zero 21st century contestants ought to be throwing up a curry live on stage instead. Dannii could crawl up and then go 'nah, I don't eat meat mate, has anyone got a big fish?'
Below: where my bullimics at?
And whilst Dannoushka uses any excuse to scrunch her newly set free forehead, I cannot wait until she flies her group to Iboiza where she is helped by Kylie to choose her final three fuck buddies: tears will flood as she grips onto her elder sibling, accidentally drawing blood.
Above: double-D do-gooder Dannii puts the British public's needs before her own religion by bravely quiting botox until studio lights go and ruin everything she wanted.
Apart from web-camming with a hot Spanish top it has been a quiet week for Diva Incarnate so apologies for the excruciatingly tense 4 day absense of new posts. I am going to squeeze the sleaze all out with one big flush: and pricking my g-spot this week are Therese, Lisa Scott-Lee's stoic resistance to rejection, Michelle 'Hagface' Heaton coming under fire yet again and Olympic forehead-mover Dannii Minogue returns to British television after an unbearable 8 month absence.
I have tried to keep tabs on Swedish dance chanteuse Therese ever since her brand of sticky PVC-chaffing basslines aggravated my musical complexion into a full-on visceral rash of morbid lust and thirst for sexual validation, but it has been tough. Feelin' Me's stuttering throb pounds remarkably sore like a BBD giving you much more than you can take whilst sober yet makes you beg for more simultaneously. Such innuendo is unecesarry when her questioning just wants answers.
Below: during the video for Feelin' Me, asking 'are you feeling me' might be a bit ambiguous were it not for the prudish use of bondage.
Her sultry collocation of needle-jabbing vocals, meaningless lyrics, and claustrophobic and scrappy rapidity forms a rejuvinating sensation of tingling elation similar to Sheena Easton's pugnacious delivery on U Got The Look. Her impulsive regime of smouldering compositions gives her the kind of magnetic charisma self-harmers Robyn and Agnes would kill for. Her notable vocal bullimia simply is not an issue when her sugar-crisp bee-stung voice rips into such fleshy material as her new single Neon Lights. This thrusting anthem has been ready for ages, a classic case of Sophie Ellis Bextor where the artist is relegated to second billing just to get the bloody thing released (the song is credited to Elektro Junkies featuring Therese).
However, it is the hooker-for-hire promotional clip that is the real faux pas. Her over-painted lips stick out like Britney's swollen vagina-flaps and her eye-shadow is very X-era Kylie or else like whisper-siren Annie's latest promotional shots (message to Annie: get over yourself, you ain't no senorita, girlfriend). The pulsating jam violently regurgitates the writhing ecstatic ejaculation of Feelin' Me's slithering formula of juxtoposing discomforting rhythms with cooingly emphatic vocals making sense of it all. Her unapolegetic conviction and creative cosmetics make her one of music's most reliable if sporadic achievers.
Above: with heavy make-up and protruding lips one might expect to see a baby calf delivered from, Therese says she is a new man.
It was a long Sunday afternoon at work selling moisturiser to poor people, and I was on my lunch break. How else can I explain avidly reading a rare and longed-for interview with one of pop's most sturdy cockroaches? I had seen the pictures, but not until today had I managed to read Lisa Scott-Lee's brand new and totally exclusive interview with Closer magazine (no news yet on Dannii reprising her column with them).
Below: marking her first trashy magazine cover in years, Scott-Lee shamelessly steals Posh's thunder by not being skinny and not being a guest judge on the most watched TV programme in the world.
She has a baby inside her, we all understand how it works, but she opens up in other ways about her party girl former sister in-law Michelle 'STD Junkie' Heaton: 'I had lots of run-ins with michelle' laughs Scott-Lee as she scoffed the last of Heaton's hair extensions still left in her bathroom, before chirpily telling readers she plans to lose her baby weight by doing no more than 20 sit-ups a day unless her busy schedule of keeping it together gets in the way, nevermind record any new material for her myspace friends.
In a world full of people, we can lose sight of the fact that Dannii Minogue wants to have a career. Not just any career, she wants to move her forehead like she were a hot overweight goth adolescant desperate for a Logie award all over again. The 2009 format for the X-Factor has been adapted in order to revolve completely around Dannii's voracious demands for a live audience to scream 'bitch' at her like they mean it this time, and the audition episodes are now a mixture of footage from each venue as opposed to a separate city per show as the series draws closer to 'boot camp' and the studio performances.
This is Dannii's wet dream: every 5 minutes she has a new hairstyle, different ensemble and even finds the will power to express her forehead whilst not slapping Cheryl's. As usual Dannii simply can't keep her mouth shut to the press, squeeling like a gay Will Young about how her botox days are in the past, but this was the case last year where a noticeably obese size 8 Danielle quickly trimmed up for the live shows in order to give 'Madame Tussauds tranny' Cheryl a run for her money.
But Dannii does it better, ageing slowly like a scoop of ice-cream melting horrifically under TV lights, she simply ups her game for the studio recordings. Already we have seen a daring Betty Boo style bob (mistakenly compared to Natalie Impruglia and Kim Ryder), lesbian power suits and a love serum set hair flick Cameron Diaz would dissaprove of, all the while doing just enough with her room-temperature brow to make it all seem real and organic. Mark my words, her botox masacre is just a live show chart-position jibe away from hardening her career troubles out of existence once again.
Above: Cheryl still hasn't seen the back of Gamu.
