Miss Kitty Brucknell has to be voted off of The X-Factor immediately. That’s all.

It finally happened. Hugh Grant is officially a father now. Please not that the above picture isn’t his actual child, as the baby’s identity hasn’t even been disclosed. What hasbeen disclosed are peaches and cream statements offering vague details of how it happened, and I love peaches and cream statements that celebrities offer to cover up truths (Yes, Kelly Rowland, I know all about your Tulisa-Fall-Out Rumours, and I am not buying the “rare illness” story)! Apparently, Hugh had, what the media is calling, a“fleeting affair” with a Chinese actress by the name of Tinglan Hong. If you ask me, that does not sound as if it’s a real name, so I’m still sceptical. 

Now, this is what I’m able to gather from the press release. When a celebrity bravely admits to having a “fleeting affair” after having impregnated a woman, it is only logical to deduce that there is a much harsher truth behind it, because chivalry is dead and also because Hugh Grant is no knight in shining armour (except in his movies). “Fleeting affair” is just a fancy, cover-up way of saying “one-night stand.” And seeing as to how Hugh has no clean record and has hardly even been the poster-boy for monogamy (a mugshot after being arrested for picking up a prostitute while dating a famous actress and model will do that for you), I think it’s a pretty reliable assumption. 

I’m worried about this baby, though. Even though it’s a Londoner and therefore must be tough as nails, she’ll one day discover that she’s a product of a “fleeting affair” and also that her father got arrested for picking up a prostitute. She was practically just born and already this is looking like the start of a terrible childhood, so I’ll be sure to check up on her progress in 25 years when I see her in VH1’s Celebrity Rehab. Good to see that Prostitute Divine Brown, on the contrary, is having a great time and isn’t sorry for what happened at all. Way to climb up the social ladder!

What a jokester. Too bad William’s not paying attention due to Kate Middlesimpleton’s hex being in full effect. 

(Source: chiaroscuro)

I feel infinitely sorry for Harry. Even though it was his brother who decided to marry Kate Middlesimpleton, he has to endure her presence more than any innocent bystander should. Having said that, I also feel infinitely sorry for myself. 

(Also, I feel sorry for the old lady who lost her old, periwinkle curtains just so Kate Middlesimpleton could have a dress.) 

I don’t particularly like the picture’s low resolution, but I do love fan mail. I can’t say that I love you, because I don’t know you, but I do encourage you to keep this up. 

Does anyone like my new Macbook cover? It was half-off at Curry’s. I’m well excited.

(Source: chanel-starbucks-paris)

With Thanksgiving around the corner and having been commissioned the design of an all new character for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, cinema mastermind, and fellow Englishman, Tim Burton recently said in a New York Times interview that: 

“In England, they don’t really know about it,” he said of the Macy’s parade. “Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July are days of mourning in this country. They don’t pay attention to those things.”

That’s why I, personally, never watch the Parade. The only thing I’m thankful about Britain losing the North American Territory, is that we’re no longer responsible for putrid places, such as California. However, seeing as to how my dear friend Tim has graced the Parade with his genius work, I must be loyal, and in true English solidarity, tune in. With such a brilliant and endearing story as that of B. Boy, Tim’s new character’s name, one cannot help but want to watch it float up in the air.

According to an origin story dreamed up by Mr. Burton, B. was created, Frankenstein’s monster-style, from the leftover balloons used in children’s parties at the Great Ormond Street Hospital in London. Forbidden from playing with other children because of his jagged teeth and crazy-quilt stitching, B. retreated to a basement lair, where he obsesses over Albert Lamorisse’s film “The Red Balloon” and dreams that he, too, will be able to fly someday.

I’m a big supporter of anything with the word “London” in it, and I’m a big supporter of Tim Burton’s work. If I could make any suggestion to Tim’s balloon, it would be to animate it, or possibly fill it with icy water and have it explode over New York City. That way all the happy Americans who are celebrating their Pilgrim-fest will get a little taste of what B. Boy had to endure in the humid streets of London. They’ll be thankful they’re free from us right then and there, won’t they? (But you’re not truly free, America. You just think you are.)