… I was impressed by the originality of an idea in the new Celebrity Big Brother series.

It’s like admitting addiction to heroin… having to publicly state something that flies in the face of everything that society expects!

Rather than risk yet another catastrophe involving small minded, e-list celebrity flotsom acting like ignorant pieces of rat-shit, this year the housemates aren’t really celebrities. Some (including me) would say this isn’t much of a change, as most contestants over the last few years have been vacuous non-entities that are unheard of before they drop their arses live on Channel 4. At least this year C4 has pre-empted this criticism by deliberately picking “up and coming” people from the world of sport, politics, music, and… erm… the circus.

The real fun comes through the “hijacking” of the show by actual celebrities (or at least people that I have heard of). This works by the day’s celebrity taking the role of Big Brother, and essentially playing the role of puppet master in this televised dolls’ house. I am genuinely looking forward to Brian Sewell taking the reigns, which he will do according to something I read somewhere (there’s a reliable source for you people!). Sewell, by way of explanation, is an English art critic who has the most ridiculous accent you’ll ever hear. It manages to go beyond that of Loyd Grossman, and I can only describe it as an upper class interpretation of Dick Van Dyke’s cockney codswallop in Mary Poppins- it is that exaggerated!

We’re still in the early stages, as it only began last night. If it all turns to shite before your very eyes, don’t come crying to me. Yesterday’s Hijacker was Matt Lucas- the round/bald/gay comedian from Shooting Stars and Little Britain fame. In a masterstroke of television, he gave the first housemate to enter the house a challenge. John, the big ginger happy Scottish political activist, had to wear a stereotypical tartan hat to hide an earpiece. Through this earpiece, Lucas gave John instructions on how to act in front of each new housemate as they entered the place in turn.

TS and I only caught this half way through, but it was great to see the faces of men being approached by this big, smiling ginger loon, who would give them an unsolicited back rubs. The confusion that gradually spread as John had to go up to each of them in turn and say the word “cake”, before just nodding and walking away. All of a sudden, it was like having an out of body experience… that is the sort of random behaviour that I have grown used to from TS, but there it was happening to other people in an intentionally bizarre scenario. I actually checked TS’ ears last night to try and see if she’s been controlled by some unseen camp celebrity. Unfortunately I couldn’t find any receivers, so any voices must just be inside her pretty little head. Oh well.

Anyway, what was I on about? Oh yes, John had to satisfy his invisible manipulator in order to win a party for the rest of the house, and a free pass to the grand final for himself. Without wanting to ruin the surprise (not that there is any) for you dear readers, he passed the test thanks to successfully collapsing to the floor as if shot, and holding his leg while complaining of spontaneous cramp. Well done to him!

So there we have it. Hell has frozen over, and I have written positive things about an episode of Big Brother. However, normal service will be restored.

Smoking Monkey will return in: A Review of Celebrity Fitness Videos (working title)

ps… it has been pointed out that apparently we know Liam. By this, I mean that TS knows him from back in the ghetto of Widnes. He’s not a web designer/entrepreneur as he claims… though I got lost in TS’ ramblings and so can’t give any more information. If I remember, I’ll let you all know

Firstly, I will offer a caution and sincere apologies for my current attitude. I am on a major buzz as i have been read by people other than Techno Scouse (Monkeh to some). I have to be honest, and admit I had my doubts that anyone would read this, let alone enjoy it.

Anyway, today’s rant is brought to you by the vacuous chunks of crap that appear to float on the top of the pool of society. I speak of course of the Celebrity culture, documented by the high-class journalism of Heat magazine.

These people are the scabs that drop off pre-fabricated pop groups, or brain-dead slappers who are only known for banging a married footballer. And instead of gently encouraging these unfortunate wasters to get a proper job, what happens? They spend the next 18 months appearing in magazines (usually retelling the same bullshit stories, or being “spotted” in a London club known as a regular haunt for such no-hopers), or appearing on chat shows such as Trisha offering guidance to the unemployed scrubbers who watch.

Ok… so everyone has to do something in life, whether it’s signing on for benefits, smuggling class A drugs, or joining the rest of us in salaried employment. However, when you have the likes of David Beckham (don’t get me started)’s former PA or that one who shagged Sven Goran Erikson, we have people who are only known for being caught having adultarous affairs with people with a modicum of talent.

What example does this create for the otherwise hopeless kids growing up? The media focus on these tossers so much, that kids actually view them as role models! I am not expecting kids to have realistic, or frankly boring, ambitions like becoming a bin-man or an accountant [I hope to God they aren't deluded enough to want to be criminal lawyers either]. Kids should want to do things that are extreme… that stretch their imagination like being a spaceman, an explorer, or a train driver.

Instead, you get a generation of little girls who want to be a Footballer’s Wife. It pains me to say this… but what happened to feminism???

Lads are quite different- when I was at school (ok, I hate myself for how old that one line has made me sound) there were a few who wanted to be footballers. As one who was very aware of my skills on the pitch (i could bring down anyone, and usually make them think twice about ever touching a football again). Now though, they don’t want to play for united for its own sake, they want it for the trappings of obscene wealth.

So let us have a quick look at the “A-list” celebrities I’m on about:

Chantelle Houghton: This genuine nobody inevitably became a celebrity, when she was put into Celebrity Big Brother as a glorified practical joke. Of course, she went on to win the thing, and marry that humourless twat from the Ordinary Boys (one of the most accurate band names ever). She was nothing, did nothing, and has gone onto achieve… NOTHING.

Jordon: She had tits. She had surgery. She then had big tits. She then had more surgery. Guess what, she got bigger tits. Now have i missed something, or has this girl managed to somehow create something from nothing (with the aid of silicon). As with others, she achieved the start of publicity by shagging pop stars and footballers. Somehow, she has become her own industry. Some say that she has engineered it herself, and deserves credit. Underneath it all though, she’s still just a pair of non-biodegradable norks.

-One footnote on Jordon: her son, Harvey. I have sympathy for anyone who has a child with a disability, and I don’t want to sound like I’m taking the piss out of him because of his condition. I mean that. However, Mrs Peter Andre has turned him into yet another method to stay in the glossy magazines by having to talk about his latest difficulty. If you are under so much strain, how is a magazine article and photoshoot going to help? I know how- BY GETTING PAID FOR IT YOU PARASITE. And in those photoshoots, she is always glammed up, tits hanging out while Harvey is sat on his lardy-arse with one eye on the camera and the other on the wall. It’s seen as cruel for circuses to exploit animals for performances, but fine for a bimbo to use a sick child to get pity and payment. Curious.

Jade Goody: She’s thick. So thick, that she tried to get away with saying her recent weight loss was because of her exercise regime (DVD now available, unsurprisingly). Unfortunately, it had more to do with the liposuction she had.

David beckham: yes he can kick a ball, and I suppose he’s not the ugliest bloke on the planet. But at the end of the day, how is that worth so much money? join me in the Beckham Boycott: Do not buy anything that the pillock advertises. The money that he is paid is not exactly needed. it could educate kids in LA, help the homeless or drug addicts… anything but buy that pillock another fleet of cars.

Victoria beckham: Oh just don’t get me started.

Rebecca Loos: Started by shagging a clothes horse. Last noticed wanking off a pig. That’s quite a carer progression.

Pete Doherty: OK- I wanted to like the Libertines. They looked cool- dressed as Napoleonic generals on tour. But try as I might, I just couldn’t get into the music. Then Pete Doperty (for the record, I’ve not read that pun in any of the tabloids. If it suddenly appears, I want everyone to give me the credit, ok?) gets chucked out of the band because he’s a raging smackhead. I don’t have a problem with drug addicts- they pay the mortgage indirectly. This is the problem- anyone other that that pasty-faced prick would have been remanded in custody the second time he was arrested for drug posession while already on ail for the same offence. Instead, because he has the money to go to the Priory Clinic (instant PR payoff), he just goes on reoffending and gets bail every time. And babyshambles are shit.

Princess Diana” She’s dead. She was not murdered, she was in a road traffic accident and turned into a saint courtesy of the Daily Express. Despite the fact she died 10 years ago, she still made it into the top 10 most mentioned celebrities of last year, simply because the Express did at least 2 covers on her a week. And why? because the people of this country somehow believe she was one of us, and represented that which is good about Britain. But let’s just examine this- she was born into one of this country’s many pointless aristocratic families, groomed into the equivalent of an arranged marriage, and then got divorced after both she and Prince Charles (wait for that blog entry) had affairs. And don’t go on about her bloody charity work… do you REALLY think that when she was wearing body armour in Cambodia, there was the SLIGHTEST risk that a landmine would actually blow her cosmetically sculpted nose back to Highgrove? Don’t talk arse.

-Yes it sucks when anyone dies in a crash, and it’s worse if they have kids. However, the media shit-storm at the time was so overblown that Radio Stations just took requests for songs that meant something to the listeners at that emotional time. Radio 1 hung up when i requested “Ding Dong the Witch is Gone” from the Wizard of Oz. Bastards.

If anyone has any other celebs or comments they wish to share, feel free to post them. Or if you don’t agree, post that too… would be fun to have a second opinion!