Join Date: Jan 2010
Thanks for your comments, Becky Sharpe and Cold Comfort.
Here's the latest episode:-
In which there's one humungous crisis.
Something was afoot, dear reader, because the RS* hadn't sent me any grovelling text messages for the past few days.
Taking a slight break from my 80 hour working week, I decided to see for myself what his fascination with Lorraine Kelly's boobies was so, against my better judgement, I switched on to watch her TV show.
At first, so far so bland. There was some chit-chat and then fashion news from the High Street. Of course it couldn't compare with my vast knowledge of designer fashion.
I wondered how many men had tuned in just for the opportunity of leering at her ample cleavage which she was flaunting quite shamelessly.
Another guest walked in and droned on. I was almost tempted to switch off but continued to watch out of curiosity.
When she announced her next guest, I almost fell off my £10,000 Terence Conran chaise longue. It was the RS*.
I was, as they say in vulgar parlance, gobsmacked. So this was why the utter swine had stopped grovelling. He must have been so overwhelmed at being invited onto her show that he'd lost all sense of proportion.
To my horror, she announced she was a great fan of his music. He was like a child in a sweet shop - beaming all over his sweaty face. Perhaps it was the heat from the studio lights but I thought it had more to do with his lustful thoughts - down boy! His eyes were on stalks - locked onto her vast cleavage.
"Ah'm fair pleased ye appreciate ma music, Lorraine, because Ah've goat three tickets tae ma next gig fur yersel', yuir man an' young Rosie". I felt like vomiting - it was like a mutual admiration society.
Thanking him profusely, she enquired about his love-life and he replied he was unsure if he was still in a relationship. The nerve of the man! He told her he had this relationship with a
famous fashion journalist but kept quiet about my name although that was the only thing he kept quiet about. The disgusting brute discussed that disastrous trip to Scotland and the reason why I'd flung his haggis and chips over him and trampled on his deep-fried Mars Bar, adding: "Ah'd yin helluva joab gettin' that motor home carpet clean".
At this point that woman and the entire studio audience howled with laughter. Wiping away tears of mirth when the laughter subsided, she said: "What a waste of a good haggis supper" and, believe it or not, they both went on to extol the virtue of haggis and chips.
I was shaking with rage by now and my face was beetroot-red with anger and humiliation.
Then came the bombshell. She said it sounded like I was only using him and that I must be a bit neurotic. To add insult to injury, she told him that, being a famous Rock Star, he could have his pick of whoever he wanted.
I couldn't believe my ears - he agreed. His actual words were:
"Aye, come tae think o' it, she's a bit o' a heidcase - in fact a right bampot".
Hyperventilating, wailing and uttering profanities, I shook as I reached for the remote control to switch off: otherwise I would have flung my £1,800 Christian Louboutin shoe boots through my £15,000 state of the art television screen.
Recalling Mme. Lazonga's good advice about chilling out, I booked a week's rest at a world-famous spa for pampering my bruised ego and loads of de-stressing.
Tears of laughter are trickling down my face!!
Honestly, these parodies are sooooo much better than the original!
I hope they keep coming