Where’s a mysterious man wearing a Batman costume when you need one? The country’s national treasure in the north, Helen Flanagan has been robbed. Sadly it’s true, the mailonline are reporting that 3 men snuck round to Helen’s house just before midnight last night and robbed her ass blind.
Helen heard noises in the house and thought a burglar was in the loo, so she grabbed her gun, went downstairs and mistakenly shot her boyfriend Scot Sinclair thinking he was an intruder.
Oh I know I’m looking at this story with a sardonic squint and a silly face on. Here’s what really happened.
The other night Helen slipped up on Twitter and let all her followers know that her boyfriend, Scott Sinclair was away. The next thing she knew was that three not-so-dumb trash bags had arrived at her home in Cheshire with the intention of taking advantage of her dumb model ways.
Because those nasty men knew there was nobody in the house to creep up behind them and put an end to their criminal foolery they just pointed a gun into Helen’s face and demanded all her treasure.
They obviously weren’t bothered that Helen might have a loaded gun hidden in her underwear or that all her patron saint statues had turned to face the other way. No, while one thief held her against a wall the other two ransacked the house. They stole all Helen’s jewels and her mobile phone before making off into the night without so much as a by your leave. Poor Helen.
The police say that unfortunately they have no surveillance footage of robbers wielding weapons or Helen waving a huge-ass stick in order to defend herself, but because robbery is no laughing matter there’s really nothing more for me to say about this.
Now if you’ll excuse me I’m just going to go and write an e-mail to Pete Doherty.
I know today is like a disappointing grand finale of a 2-star porn competition (or something), but the real entertainment was going down in Los Angles last night.
The Sun are reporting on this one exclusively so allow me to translate the story into the melodramatic gutter trash style you’ve become accustomed to seeing here on NMi.
QPR footballer Anton Ferdinand was enjoying his ass at the Viper Rooms nightclub in west Hollywood last night, getting all high on bare thighs, peach hand lotion and the light aroma of grease glitter wafting up from his ‘nads. Life was beautiful, life was a breeze, but suddenly it all turned to shit. Anton had spied his arch rival Ashley Cole across the room. The pair spent a few moments eying each other up before taking their shit outside to the car park.
Ever since the John Terry race slur trial where Ashley had testified against him Anton has wanted to punch Ashley like he was a plain salad without a dressing. So when the two men got themselves outside it instantly brought out a pulsating red skid mark of rage in both of them.
Well everyone knows that four feet of Ashley is no match for seven feet of Anton so fortunately (or unfortunately) before things got too hot to trot Ashley’s sessy mate Andy Carrol stepped in and grabbed Ashley by the ear before dragging him back to their hotel to spank some sense into him.
If brawls like this happened at every night club, then I’d go to night clubs more often. Sucking on a kebab dipped in a vodka martini and watching two mad mullahs choke the life out of each other while a crowd of Jockey-wrapped bulges dance around in the street? Well it doesn’t get much better than that does it.
If you were thinking about a magical place where those who have 10 Tory Party credits to their name can hit-and-run on a bitch without a police officer even thinking about his notepad, well think again!
Last night Charles ‘strangler’ Saatchi spoke with his lawyer about the public outrage his strangler hands have caused to people right across the world. They both agreed the best course of action was for Charles to shuffle his dumb-ass over to the nearest police station and admit his wrong-doing.
So, late last night the ‘Saatchi strangler’ presented himself to the cops together with a license to kill certificate, only to find the cops shooed it away because that shit is only valid in Charles’ fantasies. Instead they slapped Charles with an official police caution and told him to never ever strangle anyone again.
Now, did Charles spit in their faces or trample over their asses? No. Charles did not spit in anyone’s face because Charles always looks on the bright side of life and knows that the bright side is always more comfortable than having a taser-gun fired up your backside.
So the Saatchi strangler left the police station with a smile on his face and a caution in his pocket, knowing that to all intents and purposes he’d got away with it! Why oh why wasn’t someone there to record that glorious moment on a phone and upload it to YouTube?
You know what? If I were Nigella then my next move would be to get photographed with a brace around my neck and a cast all over my head. I’d make damn sure I was photographed sipping a Vitaflow nutrition drink through a straw while wedged into a wheelchair. If they interviewed me I’d be like, “Huh? What? Who are you? Where am I? The pain! Jesus, is that you? Jesus, hug me, I’m ready!”
Then I’d sue Charles’ droopy diaper pants for all the millions he hides in them. MILLIONS!
I guess Nigella won’t be on our TV for a while, so for those of you that want to know how to make a scrumptious ham-n-cheese sandwich here are the instructions. Watch.
Welcome to Morning Model, a brand new thought-provoking post that will feature here every morning. I probably won’t keep this up because I can’t think of a more mind-numbingly boring task to start my day with. Really, I can’t.
The first lady to make her debut on Morning Model is former Towie star, Lauren Goodger. I got the idea to feature Lauren from New Magazine after seeing her picture set on the mailonline. I kinda like Lauren because she has huge tits ambitions and once had a tattoo just below her bikini line that nearly spelt my name, Mike. (It said Mark).
I’ve always held a strange fascination for a short women. There’s a collective belief that all short women are somehow gymnastically inclined nymphomaniacs who can fly on and off your favourites like an actress in a Peter Pan harness. I once had sex with a short girl. She was bad tempered as hell and afterwards she punched me in the liver and ran off with all my money. I’m not saying that’s how all short women behave but just the same, I’d watch my back when doing the deed with any woman not tall enough to ride a space hopper.
Anyway, here’s Lauren in her underwear. Apparently she and her big fake boobs can spin 360-degrees on her boyfriend Jake with just a gentle push.
You’ve all seen those images of Nigella Lawson apparently being throttled by her husband, Charles ‘strangler’ Saatchi. Well Charles would like you to look at those pictures again. Stare real hard now until you can see what he can see.
Can you see? That’s right, those pictures are just a few funny and amusing caricatures of Nigella looking like a guppy-fish in an aquarium, just snaps of a lovers tiff, nothing more. That’s what Charles can see.
Yes, it’s beginning to look like Charles Saatchi has pressed CLT+ALT+DELETE on reality and tip-toed down to his dungeon to throttle the life out of a mannequin he dressed in a pair of Y-Fronts snatched from Gok Wan’s gym bag.
Yes, Charles Saatchi sounds about as borderline sane as these words he shared with the London Evening Standard this morning. Here’s a snap-shot of the case for the defence:
“About a week ago, we were sitting outside a restaurant having an intense debate about the children, and I held Nigella’s neck repeatedly while attempting to emphasise my point.
“There was no grip, it was a playful tiff. The pictures are horrific but give a far more drastic and violent impression of what took place. Nigella’s tears were because we both hate arguing, not because she had been hurt.
“We had made up by the time we were home. The paparazzi were congregated outside our house after the story broke yesterday morning, so I told Nigella to take the kids off till the dust settled.”
(Via: Evening Standard)
I’m guessing Margaret Thatcher’s hologram stayed up all night writing out those words. Seriously, you might see destruction and ruined lives here but Charles sees the perfect opportunity to mould his failed reputation into a glorious work of art. I think the producers of Alienshould just follow Charles with a hidden camera and put that footage into a movie, because I’m sure there’s nothing more hilariously horrific than seeing Charles in his natural habitat.
Anyway, the next time you see Charles strangling someone in Mayfair…..
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