Kick-Ass is one of the best films of the year and, as we learnt last week, one of the most impossible films to follow if you’re trying to watch the censored version on an aircraft.

But forget that, because Monday sees the DVD release of Kick-Ass (order it here) and we’ve got a phenomenal giveaway to mark it. One of you lucky swines will soon be the recipient of a LIMITED EDITION, individually numbered Kick-Ass box set packed full of goodies, including exclusive art cards, the original graphic novel that started it all, and all kinds of other crap. To stand a chance of winning it, all you have to do is answer this question:

Whose ass would you most like to kick, and why?

Email your answers (and contact details) to hello[AT]hecklerspray.com with the subject heading ‘Kick-Ass Competition’. Best entry wins. Competition closes at midnight on September 10. UK readers only, please.

Film(c) 2009 KA Films LP. All Rights Reserved.

Ricky Gervais seems to have the ability to rub people up the wrong way.

Maybe it’s his egotistical rants or perhaps because The Invention of Lying was complete turd. Either way some people just cant stand the sharp-toothed tubster.

Whatever it is it seems to be mostly unfounded. As both The Office and Extras proved that when paired with Stephen Merchant he has an ability for creating both comedy steeped in real-life while delivering some genuine drama to each scenario.

While Cemetery Junction doesn’t quite have the squirm-inducing Gervais in centre stage, it does have a trio of leads that seem adept at providing as much grounded humour, with the added bonus of not looking like a deep-fried marshmallow.

Set in ‘70s Reading, it’s hardly the glamorous tale that you’d expect Gervais and Merchant to promote after their international success and celebrity filled fun on Extras. What we get is coming-of-age drama, set against the backdrop of the blue collar upbringing of a group of three distinct lads.

While Freddie gets a job working for a superbly straight-faced Ralph Fiennes at a life insurance company, his mate Bruce is trying to cope with being a rebel, while Snork is just trying to be the ‘Gervais’ characters.

Although, that’s a bit unfair on Snork. The character provides most of the laughs as the comedy sidekick simpleton. The character manages to provide plenty of chuckles even if he doesn’t quite seen believable in the setting. Most of the early humour revolves around sniggers at schoolboy gay insults and Elton John’s sexuality. A few smaller characters also make an impact but it doesn’t quite hit the memorable balance of humour and humanity that The Office excelled in.

It’s more functional as an indie drama and it’s here, without the weight of expectation from Britain’s home-grown comedy heroes, that the story shines. A study on adolescence, marriage and dreams against the backdrop of ‘70s England with a great soundtrack. You care more about the eventualities of the situations rather on waiting for Snork to guff on Fred again. In that way, it’s probably one of the most involving British films for some years.

It’s clear that both Merchant and Gervais have filled the film with many cinematic influences and it plays on the era well. Also, the casting of Fiennes is a masterstroke, given that the legendary actor has a gravitas that makes much of his comedy the standout. Similarly, Watchman’s Matthew Goode makes for the clichéd controlling boyfriend between Fred and his love interest Julie. One trope of cinema that never fails to annoy is how the girl only ever discovers her boyfriend is such a monster when the really nice guy shows up. Presumably, being pushed around like a geriatric on a bus trip was all hunky dory before he arrived.

So it doesn’t all work on inventive levels but when the story and characters are propelling Cemetery Junction so well, it proves that Gervais and Merchant aren’t two of Britain’s best comedy writers but they’re actually two of the best dramatic ones.

‘Spray Rating: 4/5

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Kelly Osbourne first appeared on the radar as a kinda-chunky potty-mouthed brat with daft hair and a house covered in dog-shit. Then, she releases a couple of singles and does a duet with her dad.

Then she almost disappeared.

Well, it seems that, in the interim, she’s been losing weight and now she wants us all to see it as a picture of her looking svelte in a bra appeared on Twitter. That’s not really that newsworthy… but the fact she joined the Pussycat Dolls is so weird that we really ought to relay it to you all.

The thought of Kelly Osbourne gyrating with the Pussycat Dolls goes against everything our puny little brains have ever thought. I mean, they’re the girlfriends of jocks right? Kelly is the snotty little punk in the toilets smoking tabs?

Not anymore. These worlds melded as one peculiar beast on Wednesday night in LA.

Apparently, Osbourne has been working hard on improving her body. She’s a size two these days. We don’t even know what that means. Is it like children’s shoes? If she goes lower does she end up in thirteens?

Anyway, she performed alongside the Dolls during an invitation only show at the Viper Room club… you know the one, the club where celebrities go and die.

She took to the stage wearing a flashy white sparkly corset, hot pants and fishnet stockings.

“It’s the first time I’ve really danced since filming ‘ Dancing with the Stars,’ but it’s so different,’ she said. “This isn’t stiff ballroom – it’s slinky and sexy!”

Robin Antin’s hybrid burlesque act invited Osbourne to join them and Antin wrote on her Twitter page:

“SNEAK PEEK of Kelly in rehearsal for Pussycat Dolls Burlesque Review! WOW, she’s so HOT!”

And then she posted this:

So there you have it. Famous person is now thinner than previous. Everyone continues their lives unchanged.

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TI, who is a rapper, has had frequent brushes with the long arm of the law. He’s caused near riots which saw the police pepper spraying everyone and shutting down a music award ceremony, as well as getting done for the ol’ possession and a firearm trick.

And now, he’s back in prison, less than six months after being released from a year-long stretch in the clink after he and his wife were arrested on drug charges, after police couldn’t help but get a load of weed-stink up their nostrils when they stopped the couple’s car.

Oh dear. More Magic Trees needed.

According to a representative from the sheriff’s department, “deputies smelled a strong odour of marijuana emitting from the vehicle” and “a narcotics investigation ensued”.

A bunch of pills that “resembled ecstasy” were taken from the vehicle and the couple were then arrested on suspicion of possessing methamphetamines and posted bail to the tune of $10,000 (£6,500) each.

This is bad news for the dunderheaded rapper as he was already on probation from a 2007 weapons charge.

He noted that his last stint in jail sent him down an unhealthy road.

“Putting me in prison took me off the path of positivity. Now I’m working to get back on that path – or at least back on the path to the extent that I was before I went in … Being in that environment and having those daily surroundings, it’s going to affect you.”

Oh dear. Now he’s going to be all negative again. Oh well, we can only assume that the US police department will let him out before he’s even got close to serving his time and let him spend a couple of days in a rehab.

What?! There’s one set of rules for young actresses and another for young black men in America?!

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Celebrities are annoying aren’t they? That’s why we like being nasty to them. Sometimes, we like to slag people off who are more talented than us. Sometimes we like to chide them simply because they’re richer than us.

In most cases, we hate celebrities because they get much more attention than we do and we’re just as needy as they are. It’s quite possible we’re more needy. Not one member of the press took any notice when one of the editorial team got arrested for hoovering up lines of drugs whilst getting their genitals messed with by someone dressed up like a Tudor peasant.

But who is the most annoying celebrity on the planet right now? There’s a lot to choose from isn’t there? Piers Morgan? Su Pollard?

If you want to cast a vote, or indeed, hurl endless abuse at us, click here to visit our Facebook page.

So. You’re Paris Hilton. Wait, wait, take that man’s penis out of your mouth, we haven’t finished yet.

OK, you’re Paris Hilton. You’ve just been arrested and charged with felony cocaine possession after a police officer found a bag of drugs in your handbag. Luckily you have a cast-iron excuse – the bag isn’t yours. A friend lent it to you and, even though it contains some of your belongings, it’s not your bag and you had no idea that there was any cocaine in it whatsoever. And that, Paris Hilton, is your one-way ticket to freedom. You’re a genius.

Unless, of course, you’d taken a picture of something that looks identical to the offending handbag in July and posted it on Twitter along with the caption “Love My New Chanel Purse I got Today.:)”. Because that would sort of make you a colossal dimwit, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it, Paris Hilton? You dimwit.

The main question surrounding Paris Hilton’s recent drug arrest isn’t ‘Is Paris Hilton guilty?’ but ‘Is Paris Hilton really that stupid?’, and rightly so. After all, the main thrust of her defence seems to be that a) the handbag she was holding wasn’t hers, and that b) she thought that the bag of cocaine inside the handbag was actually a packet of chewing gum. So is it true? Can Paris Hilton really be that stupid?

The answer is no. She can’t be that stupid. Because it actually looks like she’s much, much stupider than that. She’s so stupid that her stupidness can’t be measured in reasonable human terms. To get an accurate gauge of Paris Hilton’s stupidness, you’d need NASA to divert all of its resources into a building a cutting-edge, space age Stupidness Observation Tower on the moon just to capture the outright vastness of her galactic moronitude.

Why? Because all the while that Paris Hilton was telling the police that the Chanel handbag wasn’t hers, she appears to have forgotten that she tweeted this on July 15 this year…

And lord knows that the Twitter detectives have seized upon this with all of their might, leaving Paris messages like:

Did the bag come with cocaine?

And:

What the hell is wrong with your thumb?

But it’s not an open and shut case yet. Some sources claim that Paris Hilton bought the bag, then gave it to her friend as a gift, and then borrowed it back. Also, there’s a chance that she’ll refine her defence or, better yet, have the charges thrown out because of the supposedly illegal nature of the search carried out by the police officers. So this picture is by no means evidence that Paris Hilton is guilty.

But it probably is evidence that Paris Hilton is a numbskull. Obviously.

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What’s the best thing about Natalie Portman? Her constant determination to take on one challenging role after another?

Her fierce political activism? Her intellectualism? No, you idiots. The best thing about Natalie Portman is probably the way that she looks quite nice when she wears pretty dresses. Look at her, all pretty in a lovely frock. She looks like a fairytale princess. What a lovely, pretty, lovely little princess Natalie Portman is. Why, if she didn’t waste her time by thinking about things so much, she’d be perfect. She’d be our pretty, lovely, lovely little perfect princess in her lovely pretty perfect dress.

Anyway, here’s lovely Natalie Portman in a lovely red dress at the premiere of her new film, which is about swans or something. It doesn’t matter, though, because it’s a good excuse for her to walk up and down in a pretty dress, which is what she’s best at. Not acting. Or thinking. Stupid Natalie Portman.

It goes without saying that Natalie Portman’s greatest achievement to date is her role in Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, because she got to wander around with her eyes all big looking adorable and she didn’t have to think about things very hard. It’s so much better than films like Brothers or Closer, where she spoilt things by being subtle and morally ambiguous. Ugh.

Anyway, apparently Natalie Portman’s new film The Black Swan is almost as good as Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. It’s so good, in fact, that following its premiere at the Venice Film Festival this week, some say that she might even win an Oscar for it. That’s great news! It means that the Oscars are so impressed with Natalie Portman that they’ll introduce a brand new category – for Loveliest Princess In A Lovely Pretty Dress – just so she can win something.

But what’s The Black Swan about and, more importantly, how many lovely pretty dresses will Natalie Portman get to wander around looking pretty in? CBS reports:

In Contention’s Guy Lodge called the film “boldly deranged and beautifully despairing.” Screen International’s Mike Goodridge said “Portman is captivating… Like Catherine Deneuve in “Repulsion” or Mia Farrow in “Rosemary’s Baby,” she captures the confusion of a repressed young woman thrown into a world of danger and temptation with frightening veracity.”

What? Confusion? Danger? Despairing? Captivating? This is no good. No good at all. It sounds like The Black Swan isn’t going to contain any lovely pretty dresses at all. And Natalie Portman probably isn’t even going to wink and blow a kiss at the audience, not even once. God, we hate The Black Swan.

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Punks are idiots. Phlegm soaked idiots at that. You see, they told us for years that there was ‘no future’ while sneakily getting one of the most lucrative pension plans in existence – and that is the one of coining it in from faux-rebellion.

You see, punk had a great get-out clause. Basically, that meant that any attempt to fleece you, the public, could be filed in the ‘Art School Prank’ column and the biggest slags of the lot, The Sex Pistols, are at it again.

Bizarrely, they’ve released a perfume.

That’s right. On the back of appearances on countless clips shows, an appearance on I’m A Celebrity… GET ME OUT OF HERE!, some Country Life butter commercials and the re-releasing of their sole LP in countless guises and tarted-up box sets, the Pistols are now putting their name on a unisex perfume.

The advertising gubbins says:

“Resisting tradition, fighting conformity and disregarding aromatic conventions it leaves a fresh, restless bite of lemon, sharpened and intensified by a defiant black pepper. Electrified by aldehydes, the fragrance exudes pure energy, pared down and pumped up by leather, shot through with heliotrope and brought back down to earth by a raunchy patchouli.”

“As well as a strong scent, the bottle also makes a bold impression, with its iconic graphic inspired by the front cover of the single ‘God Save the Queen’ released in 1977.”

Are you getting all this down? ‘Raunchy patchouli’ and ‘defiant black pepper’.  Jeez… stop us from laughing so we can ingest huge amounts of heroin before stabbing our wives to death.

Of course, if the Sex Pistols really meant it maaaaaaan, they should have released a bottle of vinegar and piss for you to wear on your scrawny neck, all mottled up with huge green snotty loogies. That’s the scent of most punks if you ever brave their grotty little bedsits.

If you’re a complete idiot, you can buy it here for £20.

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Ultimate Big Brother has given us a blizzard of beige thus far, switching from vaguely charming nostalgia trip to reminder of how boring people are when they get ideas above their station. I mean, someone is going to tell Victor at some point that, really, he’s just a git without any noticeable talent other than sitting smugly while being filmed… right?

So there’s a new housemate to enter the house? Indeed. After a week of nostalgia and reminiscing, Big Brother has yet another surprise for the Ultimate Big Brother contestants.

Tonight, during the eviction show’s, one new housemate will enter the house, joining our remaining housemates in fighting it out to be crowned the champion of champions in next week’s Ultimate Big Brother Final.

Chantelle, Makosi, Nadia, Nick, Nikki and Ulrika all face the boot tonight in a double eviction.

Not only will tonight’s longer-than-usual show feature the eviction interviews and all that… as well as the addition of a new housemate… there’ll also be a very special performance from Michelle.

As part of this week’s shopping task, Housemates have been reliving significant moments from the past ten years of Big Brother. The task has been taking place over the past three days and will culminate in a live performance of Pie Jesu by Michelle on the show in front of tonight’s eviction crowd.

Jesus H. Christ.

Again, we find ourselves hoping that Science gets thrown in the house to call everyone amusing names.

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Make no mistake, we had more fun playing Effing Worms than we’ve had in ages.

It’s brilliant – just like Tremors, but you play the worm monster instead of Kevin Bacon or any of those idiots. Leap out from underground, eat a few cows and continue. Awesome. But what makes Effing Worms really special is the way that you grown and evolve while you’re wiping out humanity. Before you know it, you’ll have spikes and horns and wings and you’ll be as big as the entire screen. AMAZING.

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The celebrity world looks glamorous from the outside, but once you’re in it, it’s a world that stinks of too-much-coffee, Malboro lights and the body odour of frantic personal assistants desperately trying to smooth over the egos of ‘the talent’ like a cleaner trying to stamp a dead-body flat under a living room rug.

One woman is repeatedly flinging the doors open with more frequency to show us just how grim the inner-workings of SlebWorld really is. Thank you, Kerry Katona.

She’s gone from wired performances on the This Morning couch, to being secretly filmed with a suspicious looking bag of powder on her toilet bowl, to generally falling face first into various hard surfaces whilst desperately clinging on to anyone who might pay her money for something.

As it’s all gone a bit south for Katona, she’s planning to use her upcoming 30th birthday party to relaunch her career. Now, this should mean that she throws an extravagant bash with famous singers and footballers in tow, with tabloid reports muttering excitedly about how much money she’s spent on the whole thing.

Instead, she’s showing her workings-out on the page, leaving us to become thoroughly depressed at the state of fame clutchery.

It’s claimed that Katona has bought a revealing dress (check!) to get in the papers and, with any luck she won’t look like a written-off car with a bow wrapped ’round it.

She’s also been ordered to invite celebrities (check!) along and that she’s to impress them. It doesn’t matter if she knows them or is friends with them. She just needs to be seen to be around them.

This is all because she’s looking down the barrel of a P45 gun. Yep, her agency is allegedly thinking about ditching her because… and here’s more depressing insight… she’s received no interest from supermarkets approaching her with potential deals.

That’s it. She’s merely a thing to hang around supermarkets asking for change.

A source says:

“A lot of companies are turning Kerry down because they don’t think she’s right for their image. Kerry has been told that she needs to start making friends with some A-list celebs.”

There you have it. The formula for getting noticed and staying in some bullshit currency. Ultimate Big Brother contestants, take note. Sadly for our Kerry, the threat of a leaked sex-tape holds no value as there appears to already be one doing the works online for years.

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For a while, it almost seemed like Cheryl Cole was the Queen of England. This doesn’t mean she was discovered as having blue blood whilst kicking a swan to death. Nor did it mean she wiped her arse on £50 notes while a butler fanned her with peacock feather. Rather, it meant that everyone was ambivalent toward her, which in celebrity terms, is as good as being loved.

Then, she released her solo album which was weird. On first listen, it was a bit rubbish, and then, after hearing the singles on the radio and television, they transformed into ‘quite good’. And it looks like she’s got a new record coming out, if the leaked tune on YouTube is to be believed (which you can hear over the jump).

And guess what? It’s initially disappointing but promises to be ‘quite good’ after a few listens.

The leaked track is called ‘Promise This’ and will feature on her second solo LP. With Nadine Coyle’s inevitable faux grown-up album on the way (think Ronan Keating’s solo work), feel free to start discussing the imminent demise of Girls Aloud (who, regardless of what you think, are the best thing to happen to British pop music in decades).

The 50-second preview has been leaked on to YouTube, in which Cole can also be heard saying: “I’m scared, I’m excited.”

It looks like someone working on the track sneakily whipped out their phone and shot a video of a wall while the track played in the background.

The single will probably be released in the next month so she can piggyback on the The X Factor live shows.

Anyway, here’s the leaked song.

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Axl Rose is a bloated prick isn’t he? Seriously. He’s an astonishingly shit human. He preens about this Earth like his balls are clad in gold, when really, he’s just a chubby shrieker with a chemically peeled pink head. These days, he’s less the frontman for a rock group and more like a piñata filled with faeces.

And hilariously, the Irish didn’t mind letting him know. Of course, he’s well known for making the people he’s supposed to love (the fans) wait and wait without regard for them in the slightest, by entering the live arena as late as he possibly can.

As such, the Irish took the piñata feeling and tried to knock his insides out with bottles.

The latest incarnation of the Guns N Roses took to the stage at the O2 in Dublin typically late and hurled as much  at the stage as they could muster.

To play to stereotype, you can only imagine how angry an Irishman has to be if he’s willing to throw away perfectly good booze.

Anyway, Axl asked an already furious crowd to stop chucking things at him, or they’d ‘go home’. They managed a couple of songs before Axl just bid everyone a good evening and buggered off, stage right.

At no point did Axl Rose consider that he may have been the reason why the crowd turned so ugly. We at hecklerspray can only applaud the Irish crowd for the levels of hostility shown toward this jumped-up shithouse.

You have to wonder why he continually comes out late. Is he having a little nap, curled up like a sick kitten under a desk? Is he furiously tugging his genitals trying to get them to work so he can pleasure himself because posturing on stage?

It’s probably fair to say that he’s quite simply, an arrogant chump.

Here’s a video of the Irish crowd turning on Axl & Co. You will invariably feel sorry for the poor buggers at the venue who tried to appease the crowd AND coax Axl Rose out from his dressing room.

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The ending of Big Brother (when they actually, you know, get round to taking it off the telly and take it round the back of the Channel 4 shed to cave it’s head in with a spade) seems to have created a vacuum of crappy, ill-judged housemates designed to make the average person want to drive a sinusoidal stake through their eye.

Just the other week saw the momentous cultural juggernaut that is Jedward: Let Loose was introduced onto the nation’s screens, provoking dozens of the manufactures of basic building materials to commit suicide, just in case they provided a single brick or sliver of cement to the house that they are living in. Glassmakers, on the other hand are waiting till the end of the series before they start topping themselves, on the off chance that a pane of glass might shatter and stick in one of the twins’ eyes, or shear one of their heads off between vertebrae C3 and C4.

But that’s not all. There’s another, worse one, round the corner. It features Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty. Ugh, we know.

News has it that Amy Winehouse has invited Pete Doherty to live in her spare room. Possibly because he’s a close personal friend, and possibly because she knows that in all likelihood he’ll be bringing several big bags of drugs with him. She probably was going to invite Paris Hilton to stay first, but was put off by the fact that she’s apparently unaware of even the existence of drugs, and it was all just a big mistake and someone probably just put the white powder into her bag while her wonky eye was looking elsewhere. Of course.

Anyway, Now magazine spins itself right round, baby, right round, like a record and tells us that:

‘Amy has offered Pete a place to stay while he’s in London,’ says an insider. ‘She thinks a lot of him and they’ve been through a lot together’

Just think of the creative collaborations that’ll come out of such a union of intellects and vision! P-Doh can finally carry on writing the sixth form doggerel he uses to bewitch the stupid and vain, and Amy can, oh, I dunno, spend some more time on scrapping with various people and pissing off the Zulus.

They could finally release a duet – something like Islands In The Stream, but with more references to getting off your face and writing bad poetry, and sung by a man who sounds like his tongue has been replaced by a slice of bread and a woman who bases her physical appearance on something from the short stories of HP Lovecraft. Islands in the piss, that’s probably a good title.

Thankfully though it’s all moot, because it’s almost definitely going to end up lying a pile of their own filth, old copies of Proctology Today and leftover meat, shuddering as the last of the donkey laxatives work their way out of their systems. And unless you’re Michael Jackson, it’s tricky to monetise that situation.

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You know what’s great about the ’80s? John Cusack, that’s what. You know what’s also great about the ’80s? Back to the Future.

Well great Scott! They’ve only gone and put the two together in some bawdy romp about sex, rock and floppy haircuts. Hot Tub Time Machine takes a look at the radical decade where wives of film stars didn’t tell everyone that they’re husbands were smacking them around. Nostalgia, eh?

Here’s an exclusive clip for you to enjoy on your pathetic Thursday afternoon.

Hot Tub Time Machine is out on DVD and Blu-ray on August 30th 2010.

Now that Tiger Woods is single again, he can throw himself into the bachelor lifestyle with wild abandon.

He can go out and get drunk. He can have sex with as many unsuitable women as he possibly can. He can act like as much of a total pervert as he likes every second of the day. He can… oh, no, wait, we’re just listing things that Tiger Woods already did when he was married, aren’t we? Silly us.

Still, that hasn’t stopped Tiger Woods from taking out a vast $54.5 million mortgage on a new home in Florida. Apparently it’s got everything that a man like Tiger Woods could possibly want, like a tennis court, an oxygen room, a gym, wipe-clean bedsheets and an adjoining 24-hour sexually transmitted disease treatment facility. We may have made some of these up.

We don’t know about you, but we certainly miss the good old days of the Tiger Woods sex scandal. Why, if we had our day, then we’d still be bringing you a different story every day about a brand new set of women who had sex with Tiger Woods during his marriage. Women with strands of synthetic polymer where their hair should be, and a couple of rancid watermelons where their boobs used to be, and skin that looks like it should set off every single Geiger counter in a 20-mile radius, and names that are almost entirely made up of vowels. God, we miss that.

But that’s all in the past now. Tiger Woods has seen what such an exhausting schedule of no-strings sex with a spectrum of ratty-looking cocktail waitresses can do to his public image, personal happiness and financial situation and – now that he’s finally got divorced from his wife – he’s on the straight and narrow again. And to prove it, he’s just bought an insultingly large mansion to begin his life as a bachelor. The New York Daily News reports:

Hot on the heels of his highly public divorce, Tiger Woods reportedly took out a $54.5 million dollar mortgage for his new Florida mansion. The troubled golfer filed the legal docs for the massive mortgage earlier this week. The home, located on the exclusive Jupiter Island, will reportedly have a tennis court, oxygen therapy room, many pools and a fitness center. The loan should be repaid by 2016.

Of course, Tiger Woods would do well to remember that no amount of material possessions will ever replace the family he lost with his serial philandering. But then again, he probably is going to have loads of sex with hundreds of porn stars from now on, and that probably might.

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This year’s Dancing With The Stars will feature the likes of Bristol Palin, The Situation and Michael Bolton.

But that’s not why you’ll watch it. No. You’re only going to watch Dancing With The Stars for David Hasselhoff, aren’t you? It’s OK, you can admit it. You’ll either watch it because you genuinely appreciated David Hasselhoff’s work on Knight Rider and Baywatch, or because you’re an ironic fan of David Hasselhoff’s ironic ‘Hoff’ persona, or because you want to see David Hasselhoff turn up drunk, start a fight with the gay Italian and then roll around on the floor urinating everywhere.

But what if you want to see David Hasselhoff do everything in his power to try and have sex with his Dancing With The Stars partner? Don’t worry, he’s got that angle covered as well. It was obviously a massive risk on the part of the Dancing With The Stars producers to hire David Hasselhoff. Don’t forget, David Hasselhoff is perhaps best-known for not being able to eat a hamburger off the floor properly so, by attempting something as complex as ballroom dancing, there’s a very real chance that he could end up dislocating every single bone in his body.

Not that David Hasselhoff cares about that, anyway. He’s only going on Dancing With The Stars for the poontang. No, really. E! Online reports:

“My daughters are the ones who talked me into this, and they said, ‘if you get this certain dance partner, you’re going to be very happy.’ And when I met the dance partner, I was smiling for a long time,” David said with a grin too big to be just for show. Uh-oh. The hookup rumors are starting before a single sequined pantsuit has been donned.

Now, we don’t know who David Hasselhoff’s Dancing With The Stars partner is – partly because she hasn’t been announced yet, and because because we really can’t bring ourselves to care – but, on the simple basis that she’s a female member of the professional Dancing With The Stars team, we’re going to guess that she’s tall, slim, coated in a thick nut-coloured Ronseal mixture and has about 4,000 more teeth than she would ever actually need. Or maybe, because David Hasselhoff loves her, she might be a talking car. We just don’t know.

Still, this news has suddenly made Dancing With The Stars a lot more appealing. As the relationship between David Hasselhoff and his partner develops, we’re bound to see a lot more brand new dance moves from them, including the Sneaky Non-Consensual Grope, the Restraining Order Threat and the Oh God Your Breath Smells Like Alcohol Again Look At Yourself You Disgust Me. We can’t wait.

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True story – Age Of War probably got the best reaction of any Slackerjack we’ve ever published. People loved it, and no wonder. It was brilliant.

And here’s Age Of War 2. Whoopee. The good news is that it’s just as good as before. Age Of War 2 works just the same as its predecessor – you fight an army, slowly gaining the money and experience points necessary to evolve. You go from caveman you futuristic spider-cyborg before you know it. Honestly one of the most satisfying games around.

Play Age Of War 2 now

There are two types of people in this country – people who like X Factor and people who like Strictly Come Dancing.

Wait, no. Sorry. There are actually three types of people in this country – people who like X Factor, people who like Strictly Come Dancing and people who aren’t gormless, backwards, cross-eyed, clapalong, dribbling, remedial Saturday night bellends. Three types. Sorry.

Anyway, some people have lives so colossally empty that they actually like X Factor and Strictly Come Dancing, and they’re bound to be upset by the news that both shows will air at the same time this year. Simon Cowell is upset about it too, but we get the feeling that’s mainly because he knows that if the audience is split then his plan to blind everyone in the country with the agonising glare from his ridiculous granny teeth will end in tragic failure.

So that’s it, then. Summer’s over. It’s all downhill to Christmas now. From now on our weekends will be dominated by hour after insulting hour of dumbly lowest common-denominator talent shows full of crying and pointless explosion noises and toe-curlingly scripted feuds by judges who look as if they’ve never had an original thought in their entire lives. And, whether you choose to take this nonsense in its X Factor or Strictly Come Dancing form, chances are you will end up being sucked in. Because your lives really are that desolate.

But the sole nugget of joy you should take from this is that you can’t watch both. Thanks to some mercifully competitive scheduling, Strictly Come Dancing and X Factor will be shown at the same time this year, which means you’ll be spared at least half of the agony. It’s joyous news. People should be dancing in the street out of sheer gratitude that they can no longer watch both Bruno Tonioli and Cheryl Cole spout the same mindless cack on the telly in the same evening.

But tell that to Simon Cowell. He’s got his knickers in an almighty twist about it, and wants Strictly Come Dancing to relent and get out of X Factor’s way. God knows why. The Sun reports:

He said: “I’d suggest they show Strictly a bit earlier in the afternoon because their audience is older. I’m serious. Then they can have a nap if it finishes at six and watch X Factor later. We don’t pay the licence fee for people to play games with ratings. It is childish and pathetic. We gave the BBC a choice last year about different time slots but they have this obsession with competing with us.”

But despite these protests, it’s too late to go back now. Viewers will have to choose – it’s either X Factor or Strictly Come Dancing. Or, you know, cyanide. Cyanide’s always good.

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Lindsay Lohan is the light of our lives. Lindsay is the gift that keeps on giving. Lindsay is, absolutely, a special and unique snowflake. And, a delusional one at that. And we love her for it.

While you were selfishly living your life, abiding by the law and not doing cocaine, Lindsay was suffering. Suffering, we tell you. She’d been framed for going braless in the first degree and did 14 days in jail followed by 23 days of inpatient rehab (she may have also had a DUI in there somewhere too – we can’t remember).

Lindsay is not long out of rehab, and has already been spotted out and about, and has been in minor trouble with the police again. The actress, who we’re pretty sure used to – you know – act for a living, has also been on more magazine covers than you can shake a stick at. Before going to jail, she was on the covers of three men’s magazines, bikini-clad. Since getting out of rehab, she’s now on the cover of Vanity Fair.

For the magazine’s October issue, with the creative subtitle of ‘Lindsay Lohan: What Went So Wrong’, the 24-year-old sat for an interview and posed for cover shots as released on Tuesday morning. In her interview, Lindsay talks about her drug and alcohol use. Except, she doesn’t really admit anything. And, despite being caught with narcotics and driving under the influence on at least one occasion each, Lindsay insists she’s sober as a nun.

In one excerpt, from Vanity Fair’s website, Lindsay tries to prove – using her words, like a big girl – that she’s not an alcoholic:

“If I were the alcoholic everyone says I am, then putting a [SCRAM] bracelet on would have ended me up in detox, in the emergency room, because I would have had to come down from all the things that people say I’m taking. I think everyone has their own addictions and hopefully learns how to get past them.”

See.

Moreover, we learn that Lindsay is both a sober and talented actress. The latter of these things we did not know. No clue.

She also insists, per an excerpt on The Huffington Post, that she is willing to give up the sauce for the sake of putting back together the shrapnel that is her career:

Despite everything, Lohan is confident in her acting abilities and future: “I don’t care what anyone says. I know that I’m a damn good actress.”  She says she’ll do whatever it takes to fix her party-girl image.  “I want my career back,” she said. “I want the respect that I had when I was doing great movies. And if that takes not going out to a club at night, then so be it. It’s not fun anyway.”

This was a guest blog by Amy Grindhouse, who really is a special and unique snowflake

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Long-distance relationships don’t work – everyone knows that.

I had one once, it was a lot of hassle, too much travel and involved not nearly enough nookie. And nobody is worth that? Or are they?

It begs the inevitable question: How far would you travel just to see the woman/ man of your dreams? Down the street? To the ends of the earth? Croydon? Personally, if it is any longer than two tubes and a short bus ride, I am making other plans.

But then I am neither Drew Barrymore, who plays Erin, an aspiring journalist, nor Justin Long, a music promoter called Garrett.

Because if I was (and that has just planted some really odd thoughts into my head), I would be more than happy to travel between New York and San Francisco just to spend some quality time together.

Now, that’s a long way, and to be honest, even taking one tube to see Drew Barrymore on the big screen was a bit of a struggle for me, never mind travelling 3,000 miles to see her.

In fact, if it wasn’t for the promise of a free packet of toffee popcorn, I would have probably stayed indoors.

But then I guess I am not the target audience. I have a heart of flint and my only brush with romance was while studying for my A-Level English Literature exams.

Also, unlike a lot of men I know, I am completely immune to Barrymore’s charms. Her and her owl’s anus of a mouth do nothing for me. (Actually, I say that, there was this one moment in Poison Ivy…).

The point is, like most men dragged to the cinema to watch ‘wrong-coms’ with their partners, I need something to keep me going. Sandra Bullock usually does the job. But Drew Barrymore and the gawky guy from Dodgeball? Hmmmm.

To be honest, the only way the film could have sounded even less enticing would have been if I had found out that Nicolas Cage was in it, with Danny DeVito as his comedy sidekick friend.

Thankfully, none of these things happened and, despite all my fears, Going the Distance, helmed by Nanette Burstein (On The Ropes), is an entertaining movie. No, really.

Now, when I say that, I have to admit the best scenes are reserved for when the happy couple are actually apart, which, as it’s a film about long-distance relationships, are mercifully quite common.

The reason for that is not because Long and Barrymore lack chemistry, it’s because their friends and family are a lot more interesting.

Firstly, there are Long’s mates, Box (Jason Sudeikis) and Dan (Charlie Day), who mercilessly rib their lovesick friend about his constant texting, as he struggles to keep the relationship going after Stanford student Erin returns home from her summer stint as an intern at the New York Sentinel.

His roommate, Dan, in particular, is a real treat, particularly his attempts at helping Garrett and Erin get together in the first place.

Then there’s Erin’s uptight sister Corinne, played by Christina Applegate, and her long-suffering husband Phil, played superbly by Jim Gaffigan.

They are helped by a script which splutters in parts but provides enough laughs to have you leaving the cinema with a smile on your face.

All in all, it all adds up to a decent rom-com capable of melting even the hardest of hearts.

Maybe I am a romantic after all. Maybe not.

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With Sly Stallone’s bizarre announcement that he’d like Bruce Willis to appear as a villain in The Expendables 2 (because apparently flogging a dead horse once just isn’t enough) we here at Hecklerspray decided to man up and have ourselves a good, ol’ fashioned Die Hard marathon, to re-acquaint ourselves with one of our favourite action movie icons.

But something troubled us deeply, Die Hard, Die Hard 2: Die Harder, Die Hard 3: Die Hard With a Vengeance and Die Hard 4.0: Life Free or Die Hard, the scenes seemed to be a lot more ridiculous than we remembered. Happily this meant that we can bring you the top 10 most ridiculous scenes from the Die Hard series.

10. Kevin Smith – Die Hard 4.0

Maths isn’t my strongpoint, truth be told it isn’t a lot of people’s strongpoint, so how a cop who’s too stupid to wear anything other than a vest at Christmas and a middle aged man who still works as a shop assistant manage to solve this puzzle is beyond me.

8. Jumping off the Nakatomi plaza – Die Hard

In one of the most iconic scenes from the Die Hard quadrilogy our favourite New York Cop jumps from the exploding roof of the Nakatomi Plaza skyscraper whilst using a fire hose as a safety line, inadvertently giving some nut-cases the idea for BASE jumping. Miraculously the weight of a fully grown man falling doesn’t result in the hose simply breaking off and letting him fall to his death, it linger and gives him just enough time to get back inside… typical.

7. The Military Go AWOL – Die Hard 2

6. John Mclane vs Water Pressure – Die Hard With A Vengeance

5. Blowing Up A Jumbo Jet – Die Hard 2

At the end of Die Hard 2: Die-Harder-than-you-would-have-died-originally-even-though-that-doesn’t-make-sense-because-you’d-have-died-the-first-time it appears as if the bad guys have managed to escape. Until McClane turns up with his trusty Zippo to make them explode in the most over the top way possible. Out of all the weapons he had access too, he chose a zippo to destroy a plane filled with evil soldiers.

Hey, who wants to dress like Kim Kardashian? No? Nobody? OK, then who wants to dress like Khloe Kardashian?

Still nobody? Really? What about the other Kardashian sister, whatever her name is? Kenneth Kardashian, is that it? Anybody want to dress like Kenneth Kardashian? Anybody? No? Because you don’t want to look like a bad pre-op transsexual prostitute? OK, there’s no need to be quite so rude about it. Jesus, you people.

Still, for those of you who do want to dress like a Kardashian but don’t have the money to pay for the full lobotomy and residential stint at a medical-level psychiatric treatment facility that you probably deserve, there’s good news. The Kardashians are bringing out their own clothing line! And it’s going to sell exclusively on a home shopping channel! Hooray! Or, more accurately, whatever the exact opposite of hooray is!

The Kardashian sisters aren’t primarily known for their dress sense. That’s partly because of the internal conflict that stops them from having a unified sartorial outlook – one of them would rather go naked than wear fur, and another one of them loves fur so much she might as well marry it – and partly because the Kardashian sisters can’t be primarily known for their dress sense because they’re too busy being primarily known for porking men on the internet.

However, that hasn’t stopped them from designing their own clothing range anyway. Entitled K-Dash by Kardashian, the collection is a range of leggings and belts and dresses and all sorts of crap like that. And the good news is that, if you’re the sort of person who spends their Friday nights all alone, buying random items from home shopping channels because you’re desperate for a sliver of a moment of human connection from whoever happens to be operating the telephones, the K-Dash collection is going to be available exclusively on QVC. CNN – CNN, mind you – reports:

K-Dash by Kardashian is set to debut on QVC as part of Fashion’s Night Out, live from New York’s Rockefeller Center on Friday, September 10th. Earlier this month, the sisters strolled Beverly Hills with Kim rocking the faux fur trimmed sweater vest with gray knit leggings, only to change into the ponte red knit dress and faux leather motorcycle jacket. So far, we love what we see!

Well done CNN. Thank God someone’s still reporting the real news – that Kim Kardashian wore some leggings at some point in the recent past and that they looked quite nice in one person’s opinion. We honestly don’t know what we’d do without you.

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Las Vegas is Paris Hilton’s spiritual home. They share so much in common – both rich, both vacuous.

Both have housed several men. However, there’s one thing that Paris Hilton and Las Vegas don’t share in common, and that’s their cocaine policy. If there’s any truth in her recent arrest, then it would appear that Paris Hilton likes cocaine – or at least carrying cocaine that she didn’t know about in a bag that wasn’t hers – quite a lot. Meanwhile, Las Vegas nightclubs are so jumpy about drug arrests that they don’t like cocaine at all. And because of this, it looks like Paris Hilton might find herself effectively being banned from Las Vegas before too long.

And that’d be a crying shame. After all, if there’s one thing that Las Vegas doesn’t have enough of, it’s mentally vacant blonde girls with an inflated sense of entitlement. What’ll it do without her?

It’s easy to kick Paris Hilton when she’s down – largely because her wonky eye has impaired her depth perception, and she can’t accurately judge the proximity or velocity of the foot you’re kicking her with – but that doesn’t mean that you should.

After all, Paris Hilton has suffered enough this week. Whatever the outcome of her drug arrest investigation, she loses. If she was telling the truth, and she really did think that the bag of cocaine in her handbag was a packet of chewing gum, then the whole world is going to discover what a gibbering remedial subnormal she actually is. But if she was lying, and that really was her cocaine that the police officer found in her handbag, then Paris Hilton might just find herself blackballed from Las Vegas forever. People reports:

“Because Vegas nightclubs are under so much scrutiny right now, I don’t know how welcome she would be,” says a club executive who has booked Hilton, 29, to host parties. “Considering she’s busted for cocaine, people might assume that she’s going to the club either to use coke or she’s already on coke, and no club wants to be associated with that.”

That might not sound like much, but it could have a profound effect on Paris Hilton’s earnings. After all, Las Vegas nightclubs are willing to fork over tens of thousands of dollars just to make sure that Paris Hilton turns up on a set date and dances on a table for a few hours. Without that income, how is Paris going to survive? It’s not like her family is so ridiculously wealthy that she can just meander through life without ever having to worry about her financial responsibilities, is it?

Oh, hang on.

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