So here I am, frustration levels peaking like Paris Hilton’s diarrhea attacks on a bad day. Yes, Paris poops. All by herself. Probably. But you can never be sure.
I want shit to happen. I want it to rain blood (or shit). I want all old people to die and all young people to grow old at an alarmingly fast rate. I want people to get eye herpes. I want the Earth to shoot out of its gravitational pull and be hurled into the cold, lifeless nothingness that we call space.
And what do I get instead? Orgasmic happiness.
Heart throbs Westlife have finally realized they fucking suck and decided to throw in the towel at their last concert ever, which was (amazingly) visited by more than 2 sweaty greasy funky smelling 23 year old girls who still haven’t realized they actually have grown up, albeit more physically than intellectually.
The only cool thing about the show was probably that thing where the Fab Four go up in flames whilst performing “You Blaze Me Up”, but I strongly suspect that that thing was staged and that Nicky, Mark, Kian and Shane are still alive but hiding under a false name somewhere in the Peruvian Andes.
Read the full story here: The Sun.
Are you going up in flames right now? First call 911, then send your email to Raunchy Contacts and my personal assistant Deirdre will send you her panties. She’s very clean.