The LAPD, Texas Rangers, SWAT, Navy Seals and Canadian Mounties have all joined the search for Britney Spears after she escaped through a tiny window in the maximum security mental wing of the UCLA hospital where she was being held.
After being committed to the UCLA mental asylum on Thursday, Ms Spears was deemed “Gravely Disabled” by the doctors.
Fernando Rodriguez, one of the hospital attendants, told the Daily Squib, “We don’t know what time she escaped, but it was between her meds – between 4 and 5 in the morning. Oh lord! If she don’t take her meds it ain’t gonna be pretty y’all.”
The UCLA area has been besieged by thousands of photographers and news crews. The air is so thick with news helicopters that a midair collision is inevitable.
California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger has called for a code Red
Alert situation and is under mounting pressure to call in more state
troopers from neighbouring states to calm the situation.
Britney, the ailing celebrity mime artist, apparently blew a gasket when she heard that her whole estate is now under the care of her divorced parents.
Britney’s father has already moved his trailer into the grounds of her mansion and her mother seeks to follow next week. The chickens and farm animals will also be shipped in with the extended family of 450 cousins, aunts, uncles and assorted offspring.
Britney’s dad outside his Alabama trailer earlier in the week
The Los Angeles area has been warned not to confront the crazed celebrity walking around talking gibberish with a fake cockney accent.
“She will probably run for the nearest Starbucks or drug store to buy laxatives and Red Bull. If anyone has any petite dogs, which are popular with celebrities, please keep them locked inside your homes. Do not confront Britney or offer assistance because you may be in severe danger – just dial 911 or run as fast as you can,” Officer Timpson from UCLA Police Dept. announced on the K-ROQ radio station last night.
Osama Lutfink, her manager, was fighting back tears at the thought of the pain and suffering poor Britney must be going through.
“I am a compassionate man and my heartfelt condolences go out to everybody who cares for her. We will restore her finances and accounts to their rightful place very soon — in my full control.”
If you see Britney CALL Emergency Helpdesk TOLL FREE : 1-899 INS-ANE
Britney Spears the ailing autotune celebrity has been ordered by the Catholic church and her keepers to undergo an exorcism.
The once-in-a-lifetime experience will be filmed live on MTV and broadcast all over the world.
After having 12 highly public nervous breakdowns in January, Ms Spears is slowly reducing the monthly frequency of her breakdowns from a high of 34 in December.
Pope Benedict himself has intervened on this sensitive matter and has ordered his chief exorcist to complete the harrowing task of casting out the devil and satan’s demons from Britney.
Britney has already tried the typical celebrity wishy-washy cults like Scientology and Madonna’s celebrity perversion of the real Kaballah, but these only perpetuated her illness and made her even more sick than she already is.
The Clenbuterol worked for awhile but the crystal meth and cocaine was a bridge too far. The rehab did not work and having the starlet chained down in an ambulance did not restrain her.
Adnan Ghalib, her paparazzi boyfriend, fears for his subject and has concerns that she may not complete her contractual obligations with him if the demons are not cast out soon.
“It’s Britney, bitches.”
“Her room is always very cold and there is a frost in the air. She speaks with many tongues, including a fake British accent and she levitates every few seconds. I am sick of the pea soup that is projectile vomited from her cussing mouth. Her eyes are red – is that normal?”
The Daily Squib reporter, Ebner Pazuzu, accompanied Ghalib and a bodyguard into the ailing celebrities room when she started speaking an ancient British dialect called ‘mockney’. After levitating above the bed for a few minutes, Britney regurgitated fifteen bags worth of Cheetos and a Starbucks Mocha with extra chocolate sprinkles onto our terrified reporter. Our reporter has since been given compassionate leave.
“She then started to walk down the stairs backwards on all fours. At first we thought she was practising a dance routine for a performance but when her head made a 360 degree turn we knew this was something else.”
MTV will broadcast the LIVE Exorcism this Friday at 8pm PST.
Unelected comrade Brown announced at the People’s Republic Square in
Trafalgar on Monday to a gathering of the one party state and assembled
workers that Britannia will be removed from the fifty pence coin.
The imperialistic capitalistic remnant of the Phoenician Barati,
Britannia, will be erased thankfully by our supreme leader after over
300 years on the coin.
After signing away national sovereignty and all British laws to Europe in December, Britain (soon to be sector 4), will be joined to the United Europe Federation. The supreme unelected leader is erasing all past history – for
it is all irrelevant now under the new Brownite Era.
“I, as leader of the New Age of Change, announce from next week that all
prole workers and party officials will be able to pay for goods with the new improved fifty pence
piece. With the advent of the new design and the elimination of the
sordid imperialist capitalist image of Britannia there will be true
impetus embracing our new era within the Soviet Europe Union.”
Standing in the People’s Republic Square in Trafalgar, Comrade Brown
also announced an increase in the bread ration for the month of January
to one whole loaf per household per month. A supreme reward to all
prole workers for the increase in production in the New Era of
Change.
The supreme unelected commander then made a speech that surprised one of the party members and revealed him to be a traitor to the state.
“There has been criticism of comrade Milliband by the Central
Committee.
Comrade Milliband – the most dedicated to our cause. He shall give his life for
the cause of the party. But we cannot overlook his weakness in certain aspect of
his work. Comrade Milliband as our Minister of Foreign Affairs, finding himself at
a “slippery” Diplomatic Reception, gave assurance to an American
diplomat that the capitalists can start to publish bourgeois newspapers in our
country. Why? Was that the place to give such an assurance, without the
knowledge of the Labour Party? Is it not self-evident that the bourgeoisie is our
class enemy and to promote bourgeois newspapers amongst our party people besides
doing harm, shall not bring us any benefit. If this were allowed to transpire,
we could foresee circumstances where the attacks against Socialism and the Labour government
would be started, first very subtly then overtly. This is the first political
mistake of comrade Milliband.”
Comrade Milliband was then escorted from the podium by four Stasi
guards and will thus continue his service to the state from a gulag somewhere in
Northern England.
Just when you thought it could not get any worse for Britney, she has now been photographed by the paparazzi having an orgy at her mansion with paparazzi photographers.
There were queues of paparazzi waiting for their turn to ‘shag’ Ms Spears outside her Hollywood mansion all of Friday and Saturday.
Adnan’s success with bedding Britney has opened the floodgates for a debauched paparazzi orgy LA has never seen before.
“I’m so excited! I get to do Britney doggy style then sell the pics for a few thousand,” an ecstatic pap from the Splash agency, who can’t wait to make a splash over Britney’s ass, told the Squib.
According to the rules posted on the lamp post outside Britney’s mansion only 30 paparazzi are permitted to have sex with her at the same time, so this is why the buzzing queue stretches for three blocks.
You can hear the paparazzi discussing lens sizes and stalking techniques through the warm Los Angeles night air.
Every paparazzi in Los Angeles and California is in Britney’s street and some have even flown over from New York to get the chance of penetrating Britney.
“I flew in this morning, yeah, my whole agency is here. One of our guys Billy has already queued up four times and he still wants another crack at her loose oyster.”
Britney Spears has started a new craze amongst celebrities.
Sleeping with the paparazzi and allowing them to profit off the pictures. The new in-phrase is ‘exploitation therapy’.
I haven’t weighed myself for two and a half minutes, and even though I’m convinced I have the body of a heifer, it seems strange that I still find it hard to squeeze into a size minus three dress.
“A lady never likes to be asked her weight, and particularly not this one”
Like most women, I’ve tried every diet in the book, so when Channel 4 paid me loads of ‘wonga’ to investigate the world of “get thin quick”, I couldn’t wait to get started.
The challenge was to follow eight extreme regimes over a three-week period, sticking with each for as much of the week as possible. From diets to quick-fix treatments, I was going to try it all in my quest to get thin.
Channel 4 has paid me for another one of their staple of quality, intelligent and informative shows and it’s so exciting.
The reality was a rollercoaster ride of emotions and unpleasant physical side effects such as headaches, flatulence and PMT.
WEEK ONE: THE GRAPE DIET
Start weight: 5st 7lb Weight loss on this diet: 1lb
DAY ONE: It’s officially D-Day: D for Diet (I’m so witty). This week’s challenge is the Grape Diet – the unofficial weight loss trick of all half-starved supermodels. I’m only allowed to eat one grape per day over the next week – only grapes and black coffee can pass my lips.
Are they mad? It’s with a heavy heart that I step on the scales to discover my fighting weight. I nearly faint. I’m 5st 7lb! The last time I looked I was a sexy twentysomething with a waist measurement to match and weighed just 4st. How did I get to 37 and be as fat as a fishwife?
Crunch time: Anna Schwartz laid out on the slab – it’s a long way to size minus four
My body is basically in proportion – there’s just too much of it. Something drastic needs to happen. I reach for a grape.
DAY TWO:
I’m up at 4.30am ready to catch the 7am Eurostar to Paris to do a shoot. I pack a grape in my satchel and down a cup of black coffee.
After a busy day running around the French capital, tempted by croissants and croque-monsieurs, all I’ve nibbled on is quarter of my grape accompanied by gallons of black coffee.
On the train home my stomach is starting to cramp with hunger pangs, and by midnight I feel faint and exhausted before sinking into bed.
DAY THREE:
I wake up with raging PMT and break a mirror over my boyfriend’s head whilst screaming like a rabid banshee – I’m fucking hungry too. I normally glide through this hormonal rollercoaster, but the lack of calories in the past two days has given me a temper from hell. I need chocolate.
Instead, I have to make do with one grape. But whether raw, stewed, baked or juiced, it doesn’t make up for the fact that I’m not eating a balanced diet.
Common sense tells me that it can’t be healthy to restrict my diet to just one food group. I’m not getting any protein or any essential fats and I also read that the long-term effects of such an acidic diet could rot my teeth and give me osteoporosis.
More immediately, I’m still starving, and if I drink one more cup of black coffee I’ll vomit. I’m also constipated: I haven’t been to the toilet for three days.
DAY FOUR:
I’ve eaten more than 4 grapes in three days and been beside myself with hunger, so I nearly burst into tears when I discover I’ve only lost 1lb. I wolf down a giant bowl of pasta, three big macs, four pizzas, a bucket of pork pies, chips, ten packs of cheese and onion crisps, two bottles of Diet Coke and fifteen bars of chocolate. It tastes wonderful. That’s when I stick my fingers down and bring the whole lot up again.
I don’t care if I’m not supermodel skinny. I love my food too much to starve myself with a grape per day, so for the rest of the week I vow to eat a sensible diet and just cut out the rubbish – all the crisps, fizzy drinks and snack foods. Thankfully, I don’t put any of the weight back on.
That night I do a tiny poo in the toilet and it plops in the bowl. Three hours of straining for that?
WEEK TWO: THE QUICK-FIX EXTREME WEIGHT-LOSS DIET
Start weight: 5st 6lb Weight loss: 2lb
DAY ONE:
Now this is the kind of dieting I like! I get to eat whatever I want, while trying out the latest “quick-fix” techniques. Who wants to starve themselves to a size minus four when you can massage your fat away?
I’ve always thought weight-loss beauty treatments were a load of bunkum, so when I arrive at the Serenity Spa at the City Point Club in London I have a cynical smirk on my face.
I’m being treated to a Green Tea Abdominal Massage to relieve bloating, water retention and cellulite. It’s been coined the “natural tummy tuck” by devotees. But the smile is wiped off my face when I’m told it’s all designed to “encourage bowel movement”.
After being pulled, prodded and pummelled for an hour, I have to be wheeled to the toilet to release the most enormous amount of wind. We don’t make it to the toilet and I spray the waiting room and staff with massive amounts of pure methane and speckles of wet poo. But I’ve lost an incredible 7cm off my waist and 5cm off my hips. Hooray!
Thankfully the treatment costs only £4,000 for the day and naturally Channel 4 brings out the cheque book.
DAY TWO:
Quick-fix surgery as a means to instant weight loss has been the preferred method for many a celeb.
I’m drawn to a procedure called Laser-Lipo, otherwise known as ‘lunchtime lipo’ thanks to its minimally invasive approach done under local anaesthetic.
Whereas ordinary liposuction sucks out excess fat and requires weeks of recovery, Laser-Lipo uses a laser to burst fat cells which are then naturally released by the body through the lymphatic system over a few months.
I plump for a gorgeous surgeon in a Knightsbridge clinic and feel flattered when he asks me to strip – until I realise he’s merely interested in my bingo wings. We make a date for him, me and the laser.
DAY THREE:
I arrive at the clinic early. Because I suffer with diarrhoea, I ask the surgeon to use a local anaesthetic that doesn’t contain adrenaline. Big mistake. Adrenaline makes anaesthetic more effective and prevents excess bleeding. Take it away and it hurts. A lot.
The surgeon has made a cut on my left arse cheek and I wince with pain as he feeds the laser under the skin and begins to melt my fat. Like an episode of ER, I see beads of perspiration form on his forehead as he tries to tackle the blood streaming from my ass hole. I’m white, shaky and sweating like a Catholic priest at a choir boys convention.
After 20 minutes of drama, he puts safety first and calls an end to the surgery. I’ve only had one arse cheek done. I’m lopsided! But he bandages me up, and after a cup of hot, sweet tea, I go home and burst into tears. Now it hurts even more when I release wind.
DAY FOUR:
I’m taking painkillers and am still in a state of shock when I go back for my check-up. But I’m glad that I did. My surgeon reassures me that I’m the milliontoone girl who simply had an unlucky experience.
He expects the third degree burns (from arse to elbow) to be there for two weeks, but he’s keen for me to return to have my right cheek done when the skin grafts heal.
It’s made me think twice, though, about quick-fix surgery. It’s no to the knife for me from now on and at £8,500 per session Channel 4 picks up the tab again.
Amazingly, I’ve lost 2lb this week – through pure fear, I expect. Quick fixes sound good, but that’s enough trauma for my body, thank you.
WEEK THREE: THE BABY FOOD DIET
Start weight: 5st 4lb Weight loss: 2lb
DAY ONE:
Apparently, eating baby food is the slimming secret of Hollywood star Jennifer Aniston. Something to do with tiny portions and a tiny spoon equals a tiny waist. No wonder Brad Pitt left her.
The TV production team arrive with more than 30 jars of organic mush – all beige. I can treat myself to “cheesy pasta bake”, “apple and pear”, “creamed porridge” and “apricot and yoghurt” – although I draw the line at “mashed Sunday roast”.
The good news is that I have to replace only two meals a day with a pot of baby food, so at least I’ll get to eat a proper meal at some point within 24 hours. I grab my tiny plastic spoon and tuck into a 3in pot of slime. With no added sugar, salt, spices or flavourings, I may as well be eating snot.
DAY SEVEN:
There’s a reason babies cry when they’re being fed, and why they often bring it back up again: they obviously can’t bear to eat one more pot of tasteless slop – and I don’t blame them, although i’ve swallowed worse things in my life.
Each pot has only about 50 calories, so I’ve slashed my daily intake to under 400 calories. But I’m fucking hungry, fucking bad-tempered and constipated through lack of fibre.
I’ve done my time with baby food, and I’m relieved the week is over. I’m surprised I’ve lost only 2lb this week, but it may be because I have replaced only two of the three meals with baby food.
• NEXT WEEK – Weight Loss with the Internal Organ Removal Diet and the Heroin Cocaine Diet
The vain actress, Leslie Ash plans to get more plastic cosmetic surgery with the massive windfall.
“I feel that my lips aren’t big enough yet and plan to have a smile so wide that it will take up the whole width of my head.”
Five million pounds is more than enough to bring a wider botox smile to her already smiley face. The NHS handed over the money to the actress after she contracted MSSA (treatable with antibiotics) in a hospital when she was there receiving treatment for a broken rib after a wild sex session with her boyfriend.
Lip Service
The sum of five million pounds could be used to pay for more equipment or staff so that hospitals can combat MSSA and MRSA. Instead, the enormous amount of money has been awarded to Ms. Ash for an altogether costly coital injury – that sure was one expensive f*ck!
After hearing of the large payout there were massive queues building up of people waiting to be admitted as patients outside the NHS hospital where Leslie acquired her windfall prize.
The actress plans to celebrate with her favourite fish supper tonight and you can guess what that is – trout.
The controversial tape was leaked by Scatologists who had defected from the fecal cult and want to warn the rest of the world that Scatologists plan to take over.
Smuggled out of the Scatology compound in Los Angeles, former cult members travelled night and day over barbed wire fences and swamps chased by crazed Scatologists armed with toilet brushs.
Leaked Scatology Video
“I think it’s a privilege to call yourself a Scatologist and it’s something you have to earn through a special Scatology diet. And because a Scatologist eats all the right foods, he or she has the ability to create new and better fecal matter, and improve turd consistency every time.
“Being a Scatologist you look at someone and you know absolutely that you can help them create bigger and better bowel movements..so for me it really is KSW [Keeping Scatology Working] and it’s just, like, it’s something that I don’t mince words with that, you know with anything. But that Policy [doctrine of founder, L.Ron Enron] with me has really gone, ‘Plop’.
“There was a time I strained and held on and only managed a small pebble poo movement, I said, you know what, when I let go of my sphincter, I might just let out this huge ‘Pooh’ : this is it. This is exactly how L. Ron does it.
[Tom then lets off a large fart and his eyes roll back in his eye sockets with extreme pleasure]
“Being a Scatologist , when you drive past an underpant accident, it’s not like anyone else, it’s, you drive past, you know you have to do something about it and your nose gets stuck in. You know you are the only one who can really help. That’s what drives me – big smelly poo poo accidents.
“I know that we have an opportunity to show the world that Scatology is the way forward and, er, to really help for the first time and effectively change people’s poops for the better, and I’m dedicated to that. I’m gonna, I’m absolutely, uncompromisingly dedicated to faeces.
“We are the authorities on getting people off constipation. We are the authorities. We are the authorities on improving bowel movements. We can rehabilitate constipators. We can bring fluid and united bottom movement and implement these into our Scatology parties. That once you know the pleasure of fecalizing and you know that the poop sticks, it’s not good enough that I’m just doing Ok I gotta do a behemoth poo on my disciples.
“It’s like, we’re here to help. If you’re a Scatologist, you see poo, toilet paper, the way they are, in all it’s messy glory, in all of it’s smelly wonder, and the more you poo as a Scatologist, the more you become overwhelmed by it. [Laughs again, clapping his hands insanely]
[Tom giggles to himself and his eyes bulge out as he releases another big smelly poo into his lederhosen – the constant loop for the Mission Impossible music plays on]
You too could live in a city where the roads are filled with filth and rubbish, where the overcrowded traffic jammed violent grey CCTV nightmare snuffs the very life out of its suffering inhabitants. A city where the residents are taxed to death to exist in virtual prisons and slums not worthy of a Krakow ghetto in 1941. A city where everything is so overpriced that the only people left able to afford its nasty amenities are the awful, crass and vulgar Russian gangsters and pimps who seem to have colonised vast swathes of Kensington and Chelsea.
The authoritarian
government also likes to watch everything in London with the vast
network of CCTV cameras and traffic cams that span the city. Once you
step outside of your house, every citizen is filmed on average over 300
times daily. The rise in CCTV monitoring of course has not dented the huge increase in violent crime in the capital with daily stabbings and shootings. CCTV is simply there to monitor – it cannot solve crimes committed by hoodies or stop violence after the act.
“If you’re not into getting your face battered in by a gang of hoodies on a crowded underground train that stinks of tramps piss on a Tuesday morning, don’t fu**ing come here then,” says Britain’s Culture and Tourism Secretary John Blunkett Smith.
Red Ken
Ever since the staunch Stalinist Ken Livingstone became London Mayor he has made London a horrible, violent, wasteful, overcrowded, smelly, overpriced nightmare of a city. A toilet of dirt paid for by ‘sheeple’ taxpayers with no say or rights who simply obey their nasty masters without question or reason.
Red Ken is also well known for creating the congestion zone where citizens willingly pay eight pounds per day to sit in a traffic jam in central London. The congestion scheme has worked for the government by increasing revenue for its state coffers but has not reduced congestion in London and has merely displaced the problem elsewhere.
Ken Livingstone’s personal budget runs into hundreds of thousands of pounds per annum – all spent mainly on taxis and expensive restaurants for him and his staff. He recently completed an all expenses paid trip to China which cost the taxpayer £450,000 for him and his huge entourage. The reason for the trip was never disclosed, but Ken sure did enjoy the hospitality very much thank you.
An American tourist from New York recounts his harrowing trip to London last November. “I felt very unsafe walking in London, especially after dark when the roaming gangs come out. There are no police in the streets.”
Tourism has fallen severely in London due to the many factors that deter people from spending their cash in the rude, violent, expensive sewer that is London.
Heavy taxation of the ‘plebiscite’ as espoused by the Gordon Brown regime of hard-labour and misery seems to suit Londoners very well and they take to large tax increases like ducks to water.
“The English, especially Londoners, have an affinity for paying huge taxes without question. Every year we increase taxes and decrease services and they’re still smiling. You can actually walk up to an English man and squeeze out a turd onto his plate and he will thank you for it – they are that willing to please authority. We’ve been getting away with murder in this country for years and no one is saying a single word. Gordon’s going to raise taxes on everything next month and increase fuel duty by 2p again. This means fuel tax is a whopping 84% of the fuel price per litre. You can’t do this anywhere else in the world and get away with it.” The Labour peer who the Daily Squib interviewed in one of the numerous Parliamentary watering holes chortled into his Champagne glass and let out an almighty guffaw.
Never has a Government apart from Stalinist Russia had so much control over the cowering pliant population.
The cesspool that is London is a stinking sewer being abandoned by the money men and non-doms. They who brought the wealth to London are now scuttling the ship they kept above the waves. Thanks to Gordon Brown and his tax hungry ways he has scared away the money.
Cool Brittania?
Not anymore. What was left of ‘Cool Britain’ is a morose shadow of its former self. The Labour government has ruined the capital and the nation as a whole. Under the spin of the Blairite mirage and the Stalin Bean tax monster Brown it has lost its lustre.
You can polish a turd as much as you want but at the end of the day – it’s still a turd.
Someone needs to tell George W Bush that he cannot run for a third term in office but no one has the gumption to break the news to the ailing alcoholic President.
They call him ‘Dubya Gump’ and his actions throughout his double term in office have proved his friends right.
“When I was in China on the All-American Ping Pong team, I just loved playing ping-pong with my Flexolite ping pong paddle,” George tells the cheering crowd with an excited look on his face.
Dubya Gump comes out with some more wonderful quotations and the reporters all eat it up, “When I got tired, I slept. When I got hungry, I ate. When I had to go, you know, I went.”
“The best thing about being the President is the food! Now, since it
was all free, and I wasn’t hungry but thirsty, I must’ve drank me
fifteen Dr. Peppers.”
A fellow candidate had this to say about George W Bush: “That kid may be the stupidest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen, but damn he can run!”
No one in Bush’s office has the heart to tell the President that his days of lame-duck Presidency will soon be over and he will have to retire.
“He was deluded on Iraq, he was deluded on Iran, he was deluded on Afghanistan and pretty much everything he’s ever done. We just nod to him and tell him what he wants to hear. He wants to run for a third term? Let him do it. Why try arguing with an idiot?” A senior Pentagon aide told the Squib from the primary Caucus.
Britney Spears, Mariah Carey and J-Lo are among the many celebrities who have launched their own fragrances. But what does one of the world’s top perfumers make of celebrity smells?
Daly Squib reporter Jane Constantine takes notes as she sniffs out the best – and the worst.
Already we have enjoyed the scent of Britney Spears, Mariah Carey, J-Lo, Sir Cliff Richard, Danielle Steel, Sarah Jessica Parker, Celine Dion, P-Diddy, Jade Goody, Naomi Campbell, Mel C, Mel B, Marilyn Manson, N-Sync, Jordan and Peter Andre and that timeless classic, Forever Krystle, by Dynasty’s own Linda Evans.
The arrival of Intimately Beckham, twin scents for David and Victoria, was akin to the arrival of backed up urine after a long night of getting pissed on cheap vodka. The Beckham’s stale smell of a Gentleman’s urinal in Picadilly was one of last year’s biggest sellers – David Beckham’s InStinkt sold out last Christmas.
The nose
Roja Ponce is a nose, one of the world’s finest perfumers. Who better to sample the recent fragrant celebrity offerings? Sitting in his little perfumerie in the lofty heights of Harrods, he surveys the clutter of bottles before him.
He begins with Intimately Beckham. David’s fares well: “The urine, the residue is actually rather good: stale tobacco, stale beer. It has an acrid note in it. It’s a potentially nice smell if you’re a frequent cottager like me. It has character, especially that distinct Armitage Shanks saveur,” he says. With better ingredients it would be “a very, very interesting scent”.
Alas, Victoria falls short of her husband: “Jesus Christ,” mutters Ponce. “It’s a transparent anal burst of colour on my palate. Quite soft in the background and the gaseous exchange is quite fresh – diarrhoea, methane and a hint of stale urine.” What it fundamentally lacks, he says mournfully, “is volume”.
Still, Lady V fares better than Naomi Campbell. “I’m sure I’ve seen that in my local sex shop,” he says archly, of Campbell’s undeniably phallic bottle. “That’s where I get my vibrators.” He inhales deeply. “That’s gorgeous. It’s exceptionally old-fashioned. Powdery cocaine, with white speckles of fecal matter, anal lube, old man’s ejaculate, something urinary …” and, ultimately, “coconut.” It is, he decides, the most sensual, but he offers a word of caution: “This would make me feel physically sick with adoration if I were sitting next to someone wearing it.”
Jade Goody celebrates the success of her perfume at her retreat in Magaluf
Jade Goody’s Shhit rates little better. “This is a fragrance that takes its inspiration from a sweaty Working Man’s Club. It has this big soiled y-front shit stain theme running through it, and on top something to freshen it up.” Like lavatory bleach and a large Klingon Dingleberry swinging restlessly? “A wonderful essence of clotted blood and semen soaked tampons.”
What Britney Spears’ Curious loses in nose-wrinkling offensiveness, it gains in blandness: “To me, it smells like a smell, not a perfume. It is a chemically-enhanced, white trash intoxicant, cigarette-stained Cheetos and skid marks on her soiled panties – when she wears them of course.
“For me, it is an odour that has very little personality. It is,” he concludes, “taking hillbilly to a very extreme level.” And what of the fragrance name? “Curious is a very good name,” he observes, “but there is nothing to be curious about.” Paris Hilton’s eponymous debut fragrance is equally insipid and, like all the other fragrances gathered here, “owes more to the public lavatory and cheap industrial cleaners than to perfume”.
And so to Mariah Carey. “Quarter pounders with cheese and aromatic gherkins and a trail of putrid urine speckled with the smell of a menstruating woman. Whoever made it has been heavily inspired by the fragrances from McDonalds and Burger King.” Ponce is not immediately certain who Mariah Carey is: “I don’t know the appeal of the woman, but I think she could make a lot of money out of this, because the juice is very commercial.”
Mariah proudly displays her perfume at the official launch in New York
Ponce has kind words for Sarah Jessica Parker’s Lovely. “This is pretty,” he says immediately. “Enema set to 11, with fresh effluent from a tramp’s arse hole and traces of sweetcorn behind it.” With better ingredients, he maintains, Lovely could have been a classical fragrance. It is a prime example of the current perfume trend.
And finally, to J-Lo, Glow. “It’s a very simple fecal note,” Ponce says. “In a funny way, it’s a little bit old-fashioned, and the smell is reminiscent of a greasy Hispanic hair product schlepped onto the head.” It was J-Lo who kickstarted the celebrity perfume revival (which first began back in 1991 with Liz Taylor’s White Bird Droppings).
Why does Ponce think Glow proved so popular? “I don’t know why. Maybe because of her wonderful talents as an actress and songwriter.”
