31 December 2006

Best Quotes of 2006 (Part 2 - Celebrities)

In the past, one considered forming a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Celebrities.

Apparently for certain individuals, men and women in the public eye are fair game to be knocked off balance occasionally and made to look foolish. It’s so cruel… after all, a central figure at a social function isn’t always as happy as she looks.

But I have decided against forming any such society, given how difficult it is to determine what a celebrity is nowadays; why, a celebrity is any well-known face who looks like he/she spends more than two hours working on their hair.

One rarely receives an invitation to a celebrity event worth attending… but one often attends whenever one is invited, particularly if one has absolutely nothing else to do and there is a free bar.

But gentle readers, you wouldn’t believe some of the pug faces I have to look upon at such functions… and some of rubbish I have to listen to!

Take Mr Noel Gallagher, who is a member of a group that used to produce music and was once quite well known… really, how one wishes he’d all wander into the middle of a desert, leaving us in peace. When I arrived at the party, he was interrupting a conversation taking place about soldiers who claim compensation for their injuries, and all he had to say was this:
"If you're bothered about getting shot, don't join the army."
Some part of me felt a smidgeon of loyalty to my new intimate acquaintance Sir General Michael Rose, and a larger part of me that simply wanted to show Mr Gallagher up for the pillock that he is.

“You might recall that a certain well-loved musician by the name of Mr John Lennon was shot dead by a crazed fan who misinterpreted his words,” I said coolly. “Obviously you don’t have to worry about being well-loved or having fans nowadays, Mr Gallagher… but if one had a fan, the sad and solitary kind who sits in a bed-sit listening to a terrible album over and over and over- one of your last albums, for example- then I would certainly be a little worried! For is it prudent to make provoking remarks to an army that is bound to have at least one crack-shot sniper that has witnessed disturbing violence in Iraq and be ready to snap?”

At that point, I snapped my wicked fingers in his ugly pug, and either Mr Gallagher spilled his champagne without my noticing or… well, I’d really rather not discuss what might have been in that fizzy puddle on the floor.

“Yes, I’d bear that in mind before opening my stupid mouth if I were you, Mr Gallagher!” I said, sailing off toward the opposite side of the room, passing yet another insufferable guest.

"If I was a gold-digger, I'd have a lot of money in my account. I'd be worth millions," she had the audacity to declare.

Why, I spluttered champagne across the room!

“Try saying that with a straight face in a year’s time, Ms Heather Mills- formerly McCartney!” I cried, to which another guest added a particularly cruel remark about how they’d like to see Heather standing straight without her prosthetic limb… a remark far too unkind to repeat.

For a while it seemed there was to be no escape from insufferable guests at this particular social function; there at the bar was Ms Victoria Beckham, helping herself to all of the freebies as usual, while trying to start a rumour that husband David is to be Knighted…

"It's just so camp! It's wonderful isn't it! Lady Victoria ... that would be quite amazing," she gushed.

I wasn’t the only one pulling a face at this performance, let me assure you; there was one of the members of the Rolling Stones alongside me, although it is often difficult to tell if those band members are pulling a funny face, or if that’s simply how they looks.

“Given how often Ms Beg-ham is around at Dame Elton’s, you’d think that she understood the meaning of the word camp!” I remarked. “Why, she's even stupider than one thought, and that is saying something, if she believes her husband will be given a title! Not in her wildest dreams!”

To this, my companion nodded, albeit a little blankly. Together we stood, an awkward silence between us as we both waited for Ms Beckham to move aside so that we might assault the bar ourselves.

“Personally, I’ve never been among those interested in having David Beckham bend over, but the thought of having to address her as Lady Victoria makes me feel quite, quite queasy,” I continued, glancing at the guest out of the corner of my eye. “Why, Mr Richards, whatever is the matter? You look quite unwell! Is it something you’ve taken?”

He shook his head wistfully… if only, he told me. He hardly bothered taking drugs nowadays, he declared.

"I really think the quality has gone down. All they do is try to take the high out of everything."

“You don’t expect us to believe that you actually remember what the drugs used to be like, Keith?” I pointed out. “For years, your brain has been so addled that you hardly know what instrument you’re playing! Still no problem getting it up, from what I hear, but you have trouble figuring out where to put it… or where not to put it!”

At that point, the double doors were opened behind, to allow a rather plump fellow to swagger into the function.

"The big man's back in town," cried a loud distracting voice.

To my great distaste, it was none other than a Ms Wayne Rooney on his return to the England camp.

“Methinks the lady doth declare too much a little too loudly!” I remarked. Big man? Hoping for a little attention from the gay league, are we? Not with that face! But keep on repeating that remark, nice and loud, and maybe someone in a stadium audience will believe you and begin chanting out a nice nickname for you… something like the Big Stupid Roon ought to put a smile on your face. Will that’ll make you feel big?”

Thankfully, Ms Beckham had gone to the bathroom to make herself sick, so I left Mr Richards fumbling with Mr Rooney, arriving the bar just in time to hear a most amusing anecdote about how a certain Mercedes owner- who shall remain nameless- allegedly found the Bishop of Southwark slumped in the back seat of his vehicle, and asked him what in hell’s name he was up to.

“‘I'm the Bishop of Southwark. It's what I do!’ he replied,” a remark that elicited much laughter among those at the function. .

“I do wish that Mr George Michael preferred a nice comfortable back seat!” I sighed.

There was another young girl at the bar who heard my comment; I saw her looking admiringly in my direction, so naturally I introduced myself.

Ms Lily Allen spent a few moment trying to impress me by disparaging another faded 80s pop legend, launching off on a little tirade against Madonna.

"She's the most overrated person in pop history. She might have meant something once but I don't know many people my age who care."

I decided it would quite crush the little girl to mention that I had been saying that for years…and expressing myself so much, much better. So instead I asked her what her name was again…

The evening wore on, with guests that were clearly not celebrities but had crashed the function, trying to get my attention with a quick and pithy remark… individuals like Mr Salman Rushdie who, perhaps having been asked his opinion about what Salome had done to John the Baptist, remarked:

"Veils suck."

“Not as much as Shalimar the Clown,” I quipped.

That shut him up… but it probably won’t stop him from writing!

He wasn’t the only one making stupid statements that night, but I was quite, quite shocked to find this coming from Ms Scarlett Johansson’s ruby red lips.

"I get tested for HIV twice a year. One has to be socially responsible."

I took her to one side, explaining that while one has a social responsibility to provide entertaining quips from time to time and one must endeavour to be sociable and irresponsible in order to ensure endless attention, she was really giving out the wrong signals.

Didn’t she have a fabulous gay friend who had explained how HIV was transmitted? Apparently not!

Having explained that a pretty girl like her might enjoy plenty of fun without any risk of getting HIV, unless she was fortunate enough to meet a man capable of splitting open condoms, I led her to the bar.

“It’s a lot simpler than you thought to have safe sex, isn’t it?” I reassured her. “After all, surely you wouldn’t want to find excessively handsome gentlemen, upon hearing that it had been three months since your last check up, deciding it was too risky? And I don’t to hear any rumours about you taking a ‘Frankly, I don’t give a damn!’ attitude, Scarlett… you deserve better! Really, you do!”

Ms Johansson thanked me profusely, indicating that she had a vacancy in her circle of acquaintance for a fabulous gay friend, asking if I would oblige by filling that position. I told her that I would be quite delighted, assuring her of my belief that she shows all of the necessary potential to become a gay Icon.

Needless to say, upon hearing this she was hardly able to contain her delight, and insisted that she would leave the party with me.

We were among the last to depart, gentle readers… but not quite last! There was a gathering of sad, desperate old men hanging around at the exit, desperate to pick up before leaving, and determined to make an impression on the guests; you know exactly who I speak of, Hollywood has-beens like Michael Douglas, Mr Warren Beatty and of course that hideous man- even in his prime, one would never have stooped quite so low- Mr Jack Nicholson.

"I only take Viagra when I am with more than one woman," he said to an elderly drag queen in his characteristically unpleasant drawl.

His remark drew embarrassed giggles from those gathered around.

“Jack, it’s the drugs those women are taking that we all want!” I told him, resting a flirtatious hand on the wall behind him. “If we can get some of those drugs to Mr Keith Richards, he will be eternally grateful… and I expect those stones will keep rolling for another few years!”

With Ms Johansson clutching delightedly at my arm, we got into the nearest available limousine. A light kindled in the sky overhead; the day started off promising, and so we were driven off into a clear dawn so fresh and bright that it felt like a brand new year was just about to begin...

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