Just One More Celebrity Scandal

The celebrity world was scandalised – yet again – this morning.

‘Apparently…,’ said the editor of Tepid magazine, ‘the celebrities have all got together and decided they just can’t be arsed any more. They’ve all had enough of the constant competing to get into the gossip websites and mags, and the constant struggle to make the front page headlines in the tabloid papers.’

‘Actually, like. I just got tired of falling out of my dress for the paparazzi all the time,’ said Bolton Grand-Hotel, the infamous tit-girl and heiress to the Grand Hotel chain.

Pumpkin Dropincentre, the world’s biggest-grossing film star, said in a recent interview:

These celebrity parties are all so dull. All the celebs just want everyone else to tell them how great they are. So at a celebrity party no-one speaks to anyone else, we all stand around looking at ourselves in the mirrors, while our agents arrange amongst themselves who will leave with who and whose turn it is to thump the paparazzi this time. I’d much rather sit at home in a tatty cardigan and my slippers, drinking cocoa and watching the telly.

Gravelly Chinstubble, the leading male film star in Hollywood echoed these sentiments:

Look, I’ve got divorced and remarried three times in the last nine months just to keep my name in the papers. Now, I just want to actually spend some time with my new wife… er… hang on… I’m sure I wrote her name down somewhere… er… with my new wife. Who knows we may actually like each other if we get the chance to get to know each other before the divorce gets scheduled for our next publicity boost. Anyway, all my previous wives have already sold their stories of my weird personal habits, my sexual kinks and my infamous temper tantrums to every gossip column in the world. There is nothing left about me the world doesn’t already know.

However, it is not just the inane and empty-headed habitués of the celebrity circus who are getting tired of the whole tedious charade. Bonio, the lead mouth in yet another tedious bunch of superannuated guitar-botherers long past their sell-by date, waded into the debate in his usually po-faced way:

Listen, even I know I’m talking bollocks most of the time. All this pontificating about Africa, the poor and the environment that I do, I know I’m talking out of my arse most of the time, but what can I do? I know I could just as easily talk about puppy dogs, curtains and my enormous collection of shoes for all the good it does. But I have a market, a demographic, that pretend to care about these ‘issues’ as much as I pretend to care about them, they expect me to spout all this well-meaning bollocks. Frankly, I’d rather spend the time with my accountant minimising my tax payments, but I suppose I’m stuck with this ‘caring’ reputation now.

Various representatives of the media expressed serious concern that the lack of celebrity fluff and trivia would mean a significant loss of revenue for themselves. However, one media mogul, speaking from the deck on his topless model-festooned yacht, dismissed such concerns, ‘It doesn’t matter what the celebrities say or do about this,’ he said, ‘the brain-dead proles we spoon-feed this garbage to don’t seem to actually realise most of it is made up. Either that, or they just don’t care, as long as it prevents them having to face the trauma of thinking for themselves for once, which might make them realise they are leading such pointless and dreary lives‘.

‘In a way,’ he added ‘it is a kind of public service. I am proud of that. In fact, it is why I bribed the government into giving me a peerage. Now, piss off it is time for these lovelies to give me my afternoon massage.’