Archive for Katie Price

Katie Jordan Price Andre No Mooooore. Lewis No Moooore. Linwood No Mooooore. Skye No Moooooore.

Posted in I'm More Annoying! with tags , , , , , , on July 15, 2009 by MrsMinxington
Peter wonders if he slightly overdid it on the "Insania"

Peter wonders if he slightly overdid it on the "Insania"

 

Poor Katie Price. Well, I dont mean poor in the lack of money sense, because she must have plenty of that stashed under her reinforced mattress, but, poor in the sense of how the mighty have fallen. Fortunately for her, her mighty fall will be cushioned by her mahoosive mamoogas, provided she falls forward of course.

She had it all in the palm of her hand. She couldn’t reach much of it due to her tits getting in the way – but stood proud as a shining example of how to market yourself, your family and every little miniscule detail of your life, and make lots of cash. Many will try and fail to achieve the results she has achieved. Who needs credibility anyway? Or an actual honest-to-goodness talent? That’s so last century.

Personally, I consider her to be a wart on the arsecheek of humanity. A really itchy wart that won’t buckle to the usual treatment and refuses to be accidentally knocked off, for fear that she might actually bleed.

What could possibly be more humiliating than being dumped by Peter Andre? Other than being married to him, obviously.

And that wedding dress! GOD STREWTH! You would think when marrying a man who is one letter away from being named after a leading brand of toilet tissue, you might think twice about wearing a dress that is more often seen atop a waiting to be liberated bog roll, attached to a doll, sitting gathering dust on the cistern or bathroom window ledge of an old persons toilet, next to the Yardley Gardenia flavour talcum powder and matching bath cubes. 

But now, the floral scented fairytale seems to be coming to an unpleasant and even more tacky than the wedding end. The worm, has, as it does, turned. The footmen have turned back into mice, the carriage back into a pumpkin, and the fairy godmother is having a damn good cackle at how it’s all turning out. The glass slipper, is now firmly on the other foot.

Pseudo-Ken-doll Peter has unceremoniously dumped Psuedo-Barbie-KatieJordan, and scarpered for the hills. And now battle must commence. The media have firmly come down on Peter Perfects side, the public who have been watching the endless reality shows about their marriage nod fervently and say things like “He’s such a good dad, and how he put up with her I will never know…” and I am sure Jeremy Kyle will be licking golfballs in agreement. Katie has been ripped into left right and centre for her conduct, her parenting, and her behaviour within the marriage.

In front of her very eyes, and excessively enhanced busom, her perfectly crafted illusion of marital bliss has crumbled. So what does she do to defend herself, and put her side across? Gets interviewed by Piers Morgan and uses her recent miscarriage to rubbish the rumours that they didn’t have sex for the last two years of their relationship. Tastefully done there, KP. You clearly are nuts.

She has, I fear, really shot herself in the foot with that interview. She came across as just as callous, uncaring, and shallow as people would believe that she is from her other media exploits, and lowered the bar even further. If that were at all possible.

If this were just about her and Pretty (Nauseating) Peter, and there were no children involved, then it might just about be forgivable or bearable that she sold their lives as a way to make an income. But ever since children have been involved, their lives too, have been subject to story after story after story, without their permission, or understanding of what is being done to them, and how little their privacy has been respected. That goes WAY too far over the border of acceptable parenting.

We the public DO have to shoulder some of the responsibility for that, as purchasers and funders of the magazines and books that she has gratuitously filled with her presence for far too long now. If there was no demand for the product, there would be no value, and thus no product to sell.

But her children are unlikely to realise that their opulent and overtly trashy lifestyle are being funded by their own daily lives. The youngest two may well grow up to realise eventually, and fight back themselves, but can Harvey? Will he ever have the emotional capability and maturity to appreciate just how much he has been exploited in the name of cold hard cash?

If you want to handle this in a dignified way, Jordan Katie Price, stop doing what you are doing, right now, take your millions and go live quietly in the country with your horses and your kids and BE a responsible parent. It’s really not too late to cut your losses and run.

Never going to happen though, is it? Not until we, the public, stop buying into this shit and turn our backs on it. But at least our backs may hold out for a lot longer than yours will, if you dont get a reduction, and soon.

You know something – I WANT to feel sorry for her, I really do. Unless she really has NO emotions whatsoever, how can she possibly go through all this and come out unscathed? I am not really that surprised that the marriage has failed – how high are her emotionally protective walls? Is there not one tiny chink in that armor anywhere? How can she emotionally connect with anyone, her husband, her kids, when she cannot reach out to them and show her vulnerability?

It is a real shame. For her kids, for all of them. Having financial comfort means nothing if you don’t have the loving warmth of those around you to enjoy it with. If the guard doesn’t come down soon, there won’t be anything left but a bitter shell of not very good memories, and no-one around to share the reflections.

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Peter Andre-x

Posted in I'm More Annoying! with tags , , , , , , on July 7, 2009 by MrsMinxington
Warning:- May cause nausea and vomiting.

Warning:- May cause nausea and vomiting and insanier.

*shudder*

Greetings to you, avidly despondant readers. Todays nominee for the list of disgust is, as you can see from the above picture, Peter Andre. He was on the original list, back in yesteryore, and he still rightfully deserves a place today. He has this unnerving effect on me, one that I only experience normally when thinking of voles or malt loaf, and that effect is most accurately described as “a triggering of the gag reflex”. 

There is a reason I experience it with voles or malt loaf, and that is because as a teenager, after a family holiday to Hay-On-Wye (of bookshop and book festival fame), we were returning home when we stopped for something to eat at a roadside catering caravan. I had neither voles OR malt loaf from the van, but a harmless enough looking ham sandwich, whilst the rest of ma famille had fromage.  

Long story short, by the time I got home I had the worst dose of food poisoning I’ve ever experienced, it lasted a week and involved hallucinations and the usual unpleasantries that accompany it. During the week of that holiday (it was a camping trip) I had eaten a lot of malt loaf, and also we had found a nest of baby voles in a hay stack. For some reason, an association was made in my head with feeling incredibly sick, voles, and malt loaf, but not with ham sandwiches. Even now, I still cant write those words or think about those things without beginning to feel really quite sick, so if you don’t mind I shall move swiftly on.

Anyway, I have no such weird and tenuous links with Peter Andre that could create such a psychological phenomenon, but the fact remains he too causes me to feel quite nauseous and generally fairly unwell. When he first arrived in the public eye in the UK, he had already achieved some level of celebrity in his home country of Australia (although he was actually born in the UK, which I didn’t know) via an appearance on “New Faces”. He first came to my attention with that heinous “Mysterious Girl” song, which was a huge summer hit and I ABSOLUTELY LOATHED. And don’t even get me started on that supposedly sexy video of his far-too-chiselled-self splashing about and grinding his pelvis in waterfalls. It makes my skin crawl. Actually OFF my body and under the nearest table to hide.

Then he had a couple more hits, which were a couple too many for my liking – and then it all went tits up, he disappeared and I could breathe a sigh of relief.  Or so I thought. More fool me. Poor More Delusional Fool Me.

Thanks to his reappearance on “I’m A Washed Up Half-Wit, Get Me Out Of Here And Back Into The Public Eye Where My Ego Tells Me I Rightfully Belong” – and his subsequent romance and marriage and offspring spawnage with Miss “Katie-Jordan-Tits-Oot-For-The-Lads-Oi-Oi-Saveloy-Polo Darling?” Price, he’s barely been out of the papers, or off the telly box since. 

Now, obviously I dont go out of my way to watch or read about him, because the doctors would call that bulimia and make me go and see a nice psychiatric doctor who would force feed me and show me pictures of him to get me over my phobia. I do try, where possible, NOT to inflict him on myself. But as he and his cash-hungry soon to be ex-wife insist on inflicting themselves on us at every possible opportunity it is a bit difficult to avoid him.

I can say, honestly, and without a shred of a crossed finger, that I have never watched an episode of “Katie and Peter – The Disastrophe” – fortunately it’s on ITV2 I think so is easily avoided, as are most programmes in my house that aren’t shown on the Playhouse Disney channel, but from what I have gleaned from other media, the premise was basically that it was worst-case scenario reality tv at it’s finest. If you happen to think finest means the same as “desiring to rip out your eyes and ears with a crochet hook to save ever having to suffer it again”.

The same can most definitely be said of their Disney duet of “A Whole New World” – the song from Aladdin (Michael Jacksons most borrowed video from the local Blockbuster… probably – unless of course his assistant misunderstood when he said “Let’s get Aladdin tonight”.) which was THE most singularly horrifying piece of I cant even begin to dignify it by using the word music that I have ever had the misfortune to inflict upon myself and yes, I did listen to it voluntarily out of sheer morbid curiosity.

From what I have gathered though, the nightmare coupling of Peter and Katie has been far from a harmonious romance. But, you know, I dont really care about that. Since their recent separation there has been an awful lot of negative stuff said about her and positive stuff said about what a great dad he is, and credit where it is due, even though in this day and age its incredibly common to have splintered family trees with children with different fathers and stepfathers, he clearly DOES love Harvey as though he was his own son and has taken the responsibility of fathering him very seriously, (unlike a certain footballer, apparently/allegedly/maybe, all those words that can save me from getting in troubly).

HOOOOOOOWEVER.

The fact that both he and Katie have used their relationship, their children, their lives, in all the tawdry gritty detail to provide an income for themselves, and a VERY substantial one at that, kind of negates any good father points he gets, in my mind. In most countries selling your kids is against the law. Not so in the south of England it would appear. Not that in the countries where its against the law it doesnt still happen – I’m looking at YOU China, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Those kids have NO choice as to whether their faces are splashed all over the front of Allo Allo magazine, (“Eet is the picture of the fallen Jordan with zee big boobiez” would never have worked as well…) and no choice in whether the intimate details of their family life are exposed for the world to dissect. And lest we not forget, one of them had no choice in being called Princess Tiaaaaaaaami either. FFS.

But the most CRIMINAL thing of all, really, for me personally, was the year my brother bought me a bottle of “Insania by Peter Andre” scent. I would call it perfume but that would fail to describe the aroma with any sort of accuracy. For the uninitiated, and I pray for your sake that you are – a more accurate way of describing the smell that permeated my entire house within a microsecond of opening the box the bottle came in (WITHOUT actually spraying the damn thing) was the perfect blend of dead baby voles, rotting malt loaf and the scrapings from Peter Andres groin, left to rot together for about 15 years and then unleashed to destroy every single one of your senses on impact.

We had to actually put it outside the house, by the bins, to stop it from killing us.

If North Korea are looking for something to REALLY do some damage, they should sack the nuclear programme off and instead fill missiles with this crap, it could wipe out the planet in a matter of seconds.

Off to puke now, have a nice day!