Addiction 7 out of 9 (selected lowlights from DS:BB)

When Charley said, "Eat the shit out of my arse" (or whatever it was)

I so wished I was in the house when she said this so I could sidle up to her later in quiet moments and all deadpan say, "about that eating the shit out of your arse...." and just make her think I was into it, be the complete naive weirdo and freak her out; I think that would be a good way to handle her, sneak up while she's sleeping and whisper, "Charley, can I bum your head? Charley, can I take you like a frog and cum in your ears?" Imagine that! Imagine what she'd do then!

i have arrived at the land of the degenerates!!

yay!
lol but seriously guys you are making me feel sick

"Oh Charley, Charley, I don't normally go for fat girls' toes but yours are gorgeous...let me chew on them, Charley, let me dribble and drool on them and gnaw you like I gnawed me grandma's bones..."

ok beginning to worry bout rubs now

When I worked at the corporation that shall remain nameless we often had meetings about [...] (you know who) which probably went somewhere along the lines of, "you really ought to put a tick by his name," and, "there were seventeen Scotts in Neighbours; he was the eighteenth; he was the worst," before descending into Florentian episodes of causticnesses and solitude. That was back in the day before we had turtles (which my Uncle Jan invented) and before the Irish had turned Glasgow into a four-gallon bottle of flour. "The greatest thing I ever learned," he said, "is that little can be done without the love and support of a nice bar of soap and a roll of sellotape. Puddles can be crossed; mountains looked at; train timetables flicked through. The love of sellotape is all I've ever needed - and, really, the only thing I never got." I smiled hissilly like a well-worn record and kissed Norris McWhirter on his shiny tiny shoulder. That was pretty much the last I ever saw of him - well, that and Upton Beacon.

Upton Beacon!

No natural comedians

What the house needs is a total freakin' weirdo - someone who would actually take Charley up on her offer of eating the shit out of her arse. Arguing with her is what she wants; eating your bogies and peeing on your own clothes in front of her while she's trying to get a rise is what's needed, she wouldn't have a clue what to do with that.

I'd certainly find that funny!

errrr think we have a different SOH ;-)

Chanelle is a Goddess!

Or, at least 'round Wakefield she is!

I was walking around town yesterday and it really is staggering how many genuinely ugly people there are in these parts. Like, rough, man! Ziggy was dead on the nail when he said she's probably the center of attention of all her friends and that - she's probably one of the only people around here who would actually be allowed on TV. Honestly, the proportion is amazing!

(Apologies to all you (fellow) Wakey people, by the way - but you know it's true!)

:-)

Amy's cool! She's the only woman in there…

...who's shown any signs of maturity, self-awareness and emotional intelligence. She listens, she learns, she doesn't get over-excited (note the way she dealt with Liam, totally down to Earth) and she's not a complete bitch. Her only crime, really, was when she first went in there: a bit full-on with her moaning about the other HWHMs and maybe so keen to stay in there - which I thought was more self-preservation than anything; fair enough - that she came across as competitive. Well, those crimes and threatening the others by being 'together' and having her little bit of fun with Liam (totally understandable, given the circumstances).

The others:

Carole: horrible, black, malodourous presence that stalks the kitchen and control-freaks over everyone. Never listens, just talks over, has no empathy, just dishes out unasked-for advice without realising people just want an ear. No self-awareness at all.

Kara-Louise: blubbering wreck

The twins: Okay, so they're only fourteen, so you can't hold too much against them but...well, need I say more?

Tracey: generally sound, but - she's not really real, is she? Everything she says seems like it's at least one layer above what she's really thinking/feeling (whether she knows it or not). A real nodding dog.

Chanelle: hysterical, demanding, blind in both ears

Charley: who? oh yeah, 'nuff's been said about that demon-possessed monstrosity

Shanessa: actually quite nice, if more than a little desperate and self-deluded (among other things)

Nicky: miserable, moping, blinkered (have I missed anyone?)

For me, Amy stands head and shoulders above them all as a decent, intelligent, strong and sensitive woman, mature beyond her years. Just because she's a glamour model don't mean she ain't got no heart or head or brain!

Gerry a Laughing Stock – Come Swim In Gerry The Fool Gravy!!

The thing is, because Gerry's Greek he probably doesn't even like gravy and I bet he's never taken a bath in Yorkshire Pudding mix in his life! Tracey, on the other hand, has dredged many a canal and that's why she gets my vote. If you stuck the two of them together in a barrel and whisked it around I don't suppose they could make it across Niagara Falls but they'd give it a bloody good go! Can you imagine that? Ziggy'd be there in a leather tuxedo whooping 'n' hollering like a big left-handed chimp while Brain took stock and counted all the pins that Tracey's witless uncle had spilled across the road. It'd be worse than that old bean commercial where Keith Moon slipped on an Oscar-shaped meringue and landed smiling into Carmen Silvera's hat!

Anyway, at least that's what I think.

Funniest moment in BB8

Funniest moment for me was when liam was throwing poo around in the swimming pool

Carole's driving me mad!

Why does she have this total inability to listen to people? Why does she just talk over them, and tell them not to be upset, and totally disregard their feelings? Tracey needed comforting just now when she was upset, not to be told not to feel how she was feeling, or to be told that she could do the thing that she was blatantly feeling that she couldn't do - just give the poor girl a hug and listen to her talk about what's wrong! And then maybe she'll feel a bit better and be able to get on with the task. Carole's no mother - because she hasn't got a clue about other people's feelings, how to be compassionate, or listen, or make someone feel better, she just steamrollers them and totally ignores what's actually going on for them, intellectualising it away, absolutely without heart, without awareness. It would drive me mad if she did that to me - I really couldn't tolerate that - and I'd definitely have to tell her so.

Also, she's another one who makes me wish I was in there; makes me wish I was in there refusing to eat her food, doing my own cooking, or maybe getting pushed to the edge with all her rationing and controlling and just going in the kitchen early one morning and eating every single little bit of food that's in there, just to pee her off and see what she would do.

Most of all, though, it's that listening thing, that monotone drone, that way the grey mist falls down over her eyes and she gets so blinkered it's like she doesn't even see the other person, just the command to bleat out cliches and rationalisations and blah blah blah; that's what gets my goat...

And, there, I've expressed myself. :-)

Chanelle would have won if she had stayed in!

Chanelle would have turned into a poodle on Day 72 and non-human animals aren't allowed to win Big Brother, unless I'm very much mistaken.

Also, I have it on inside information that Sam and Amanda (aka, the wints) are going to start shrinking next week, and by finals day they will only be seventeen inches tall between them. BB regulations state that contestants must be at least two feet tall at all times, so they will be asked to leave the house, leaving the way open for Kara-Louise and Jonty (who are going to be revealed as twins, and therefore one housemate on Thursday) to seal a shocking, coming from behind victory.

Can I have some of whatever you're on please :-)

Sure. But you wouldn't believe me if I told you what it was...

Paracetendomol?

What was so great about Emily?

People who have several acting parts on their CVs can safely be assumed to have some acting skills? How do you explain Orloondo Bland? Sorry, Orlando Bloom, and Keira Knightly for that matter?

That's a very good point; I'd explain them in this manner: Orlando Bloom was a tea kettle salesman for Grundig back in the seventies, around the time when they used wind-up alarm clocks instead of remote controls (and you could also shave with them), while Keira Knightly - or to give her her full name, Steve Shapiro-Twig - grew up on the underside of a dustbin lid in Stockport, just outside Moon-on-the-Moon. Therefore, it bequeaths me to state that they don't really have any genuine, on-the-breath acting talent as their numbers will never add up to more than 13 (Orlando+Bloom+Keira+Knightly=7; Orlando+Florida+Bloom+Steve+Shapiro+
Twig=9; even factoring in for Bovril you can only get to twelve and a half) - and as we all know, acting talent can only really be measured in little upsy-downsy waves of Trevor's tremulousnesses and sandwich.

Amanda leading Brian on?

Anyways, the thing with Brain and Amanda says so much about so many of the people in our world today: he wants her, makes no bones about it, and she don't really know what to do, because she doesn't know herself, can't access her true feelings about it, and doesn't have the experience to know which way to go so she just kind of plays along and goes with what he wants while never really wanting it (I'll accept, of course, that she probably likes the attention and affection on some level). But how many young men and women get themselves in these messes everyday? How many people end up in bed and in relationships with others that they don't really like just because they don't know themselves, don't know how to say no? And how many go on with it for perhaps days or weeks or months, because they don't have the strength or the experience or the self-belief and self-awareness to find their truths? It's kinda heart-breaking in a way - because although nothing bad's really gonna come of this - 'cept, maybe, for Brian's broken heart - you could see how easily this could turn pretty crappy in the outside world, and just see how easily someone like Amanda would get dragged into something with someone she didn't actually want to be with, and maybe stay there for some time - if you know what I mean.

Best ever Diary Room moment?

1. John clapping a trumpet and Spoony wetting his whistle in a bucket of sod
2. Cameron waiting for over seven hours for Big Brother to say you can leave now, almost drowning in the process
3. When the elephant man (John McRicket) told BB to chew the ears off his own vomit and hung upside down from the ceiling like a bat humming the theme tune to Z-cars mashed up over a Ginger Baker drum solo
4. Simon Groom and Bungle doing the ditty dance in leotards
5. BB6 when Nadia ate Stan Laurel's shoe and then complained it tasted like a dead comedian's shoe. (That was my personal favourite)

What is to become of poor Kara-Louise?

I think she'll probably open a cats' home and then perhaps get a job on the side flying hot air balloons for elderly rich bachelors in Morecambe. In later life I imagine her wanting to settle down somewhat and concreting herself into a cheap home-made conservatory as a way of ensuring that rats don't sneak into her bun cupboard and leave little messages about "unwanted candyfloss" or "detrimental to the state boardroom", etcetera. When she dies she'll ascend to heaven in a fiery chariot and sit at the right-hand side of God, just behind John the Baptist but at least three seats closer than Bert (out of Bert and Ernie; Sesame Street) and then they'll all just kinda sit there for eternity (or until the chippy opens, whichever comes sooner) sharing toenail anecdotes and trying to guess which way one another's eyes will be pointing the next time someone says, "Butlin's". That's what I think.

I feel like I'm on drugs just reading that. Keep talking!

Happy to.

But need subject.

Mrs Dalloway

or condaleeza rice

Well as you well know, Mrs Dalloway is a book by Big Virginia Woolf, an actress played by Ernest Borgnine in the famous seventie's sitcom, "I shot Alice in her frying pan switchboard and left an awful lot of cucumbers behind, forgetful." Now, when Mrs Dalloway was seven she got a job swinging on a rope from George A. Romero's left trunk and toured with him in various villages around North-East England; one day they were here; one day they were there; another day they might be here in the morning and there in the afternoon (or vice versa); another day they could be there in the morning, and then on their way to here around lunchtime, and then they might decide that they're their was there and say, "snuff" and stop off for an egg and fried ear-muffin in John Little's little john for breakfast. Rice was coming fast (that's not what you think it is). Anyway, old Mrs Dalloway felt sick and died and that's the end of this story. Did I mention Rice? When I look in the mirror I think I see shapely maid's undercarriages but it's probably just my own reflection.

Rice!

Carole meets Gorson Brown

"Goddamnit Carole," said Gorson Brown, long lost invisible werewolf-shaped twin of the recently behedged prime minister, Chris, "I needed that toaster fixing this time yesterday, not tomorrow."

Carole sighed into her eye-holders and quipped. "Last night's tea get you down, Gorson?" she said. "Probably because I licked it before you went to bed."

"Do I even know you?" he said. The chef came in then and danced a bit before lying in Carole's mighty lap and peeking up her bosom. His eyes were on storks; storks were on butter; butter was on Jim Jarmusch; and Jim Jarmusch was on Carole, that's the way it goes. The chef licked his lips and slipped a hand inside her liver and gave it a squeeze.

"Ooh," said Carole, "I'm not sure about that." She took out her notebook and wrote down the names of all the people who were born within a ten mile radius of Upton-on-Severn during the reign of George the Fifth. "Your hands are cold," she said.

Chef smiled and bleated his golden-eared niblets at her.

"Lady," he said, "that ain't my hands."

Sure enough, Carole looked down and saw Gorson Brown (the third) smiling in her lap and unplugging a variety of gadgets from his unbeknownst tentacles.

"Gorson?" she said, "I want you to stop that."

"I will," he replied, "right after I've told you about this dream I had where Angelina Jolie was climbing up the telegraph pole outside our Colin's flat and trying to pin some flag up there declaring umbrage on all things garment; she never made it though; her lips were too slippery and kept getting caught in the railings."

"Gorson," she said, "I'm warning you - either replace my giblets and put those slobbering dice tentacles back where you found them or I'm going to call your mum and tell her about the squirrel you keep locked in your slipper drawer filling out all those applications for fraudulent bus passes in made up languages that don't even exist."

Gorson licked her lungs and climbed a little further inside; he was up in her spleen by now; he had one toe dipped in her prostate.

"You underestimate me, Mr Bond," he smiled, "I've got one of the largest little envelopes in all of Scotland - and there ain't nobody gonna stop me." He laughed long and loud - and then short and quiet - and then neither long nor short and at a sort of undulating, varying in-between sort of volume (probably about seven on the Richter Scale). By this time, though, Carole wasn't interested - she'd already fried her best friend's donkey in old Kajagoogoo records and feasted on the dripping remains in between two nice, soggy pieces of bread. The battle was won, she figured; Chef and Gordon were two mice in her own private world of donkey sandwiches and entrails; even a Michael or a Martin couldn't touch her now. How wrong she was.

"Hi," said Michael, "I'm Martin." He reached over to touch her. His arm was thin and pink with little hairs on it, sort of like an arm.

"You can't touch me," she gurgled, and unzipped her eyes for the fourth time that day.

But he did.

rubsley.

What are you on? I want some!