Anorak News | American Beauty

American Beauty

by | 19th, November 2006

Britney Spears & K-Ferret fight dirty; striking it rich in Blighty; Michael Jackson’s inner waxwork; Mike Tyson for rent; and Tom Cruise’s close encounters of the third kind…

PSSST! Wanna buy a video. This one’s got the lot – nudity, famous faces, white rap and even a ferret. It’s yours for £26million ono.

On Monday, the story was that the divorce of Britney Spears and Kevin Federline was getting dirty – just how dirty may one day be revealed on the video of K-Ferret and his wife engaging in “sex acts”.

The Star had heard that K-Ferret had been offered £26million for just such a tape. Why the rapping ferret would film his wife cavorting about the place naked when he can see her in the flesh every day or watch one of her sticky-fingered music videos is a moot point.

Perhaps K-Ferret saw a video as his insurance policy, a bartering tool to wield should his marriage fail and his version of Roland Rat’s Rat Rap not make him an international megastar.

Of course if Kevin really wasn’t to make it big, all he need do it head for the Blighty. “COME TO BRITAIN AND GET RICH,” advertised the front page of Tuesday’s Express.

On the face of it, this was no little change of direction for the paper that has been warning of Rogarians at the gates for some time now.

Of course, telling Bulgarians and Romanians that the UK is a land paved in the finest oak-style laminate and gilded in gold-plated Argos jewelry might be a cunning ploy. Build up the expectations and when the immigrant sees the grimy streets and grey complexions, the Rogarian will be on the first lorry back home.

That was the impression. The truth was somewhat different as the Express introduced its reader to a guide that tells Bulgarians how to get rich working here illegally.

While Britishers eagerly await the guide’s English translation, all eyes were gawking at another foreigner in our midst.

There is an entire cottage industry given over to gawping at Michael Jackson’s face. The Mail was ogling the scarring caused by numerous cosmetic operations on his nose”, deep “craters” on either sides of his nostrils” and the “stitched-on appearance of his hair”.

But it was still hard to spot Jackson. Jackson was in London for a performance at the World Music Awards. And with time to kill he went along to Green’s Topshop store on London’s Oxford Street. It was midnight and the store had been opened specially for him.

Walking among the plastic dummies and assorted moulded mannequins, Jackson must have felt right at home. Squint at the yellowy strip lighting and it could just another shopping trip among the beautiful people of Beverly Hills.

And while Jackson went to Madame Tussaud’s to reconnect with his inner waxwork, the Star brought news of another American returned to the fore.

TYSON THE RENT BOY.” The Star wafted its front-page headline beneath its readers’ noses like a vial of smelling salts.

Tyson, whose Iron Mike porn name gives him a running start on most newcomers to his new profession, will be a star trick at ex-Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss’s legal brothel.

For his part, Tyson says he cannot wait. “I don’t care what any man says, it’s every man’s dream to please every woman – and get paid for it.”

Indeed, it is the dream for many men. And it will only ever remain a fantasy for Tyson, who in 1992 was convicted on rape and other charges, and jailed for six years.

And, in any case, who is to say that Tyson will only get to have sex with gaggles of gorgeous women?

It is our belief that it is men who make up a large part of a rent boy’s client list.

It’s a belief that invites us to revisit Tyson’s former conquests. What could Tyson have meant when he told Lennox Lewis “I’m coming for you man” and said to Razor Ruddock: “You’re sweet. I’m going to make sure you kiss me good with those big lips. I’m gonna make you my girlfriend.” And then there was the nibble on Evander Holyfield’s ear.

While Tyson’s love is for hire, the course of true love took Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes on a magical flying machine to Rome.

Tom and Katie were to be married. Happy days.

But before the wedding must come the stag and hen dos. Few would miss the chance to see Holmes tottering along the streets of Rome, a giant pink foam Stetson on her head, a massive plastic phallus tied around her waist and a song about a man from Chorlton-cum-Hardy playing on her lips.

The eels were jellied. The vol-au-vents defrosted. The crabsticks would keep.

And so to the wedding…

Paul Sorene


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Posted: 19th, November 2006 | In: Tabloids Comment (1) | TrackBack | Permalink