Hello fans, I’ve spent the last three weeks congratulating myself on my decision to haul-ass (as they say over here) from the UK X Factor. Just been watching the final audition rounds sitting on a new couch stuffed with hate-mail from Cheryl and it made me realise how glad I am to have thousands of miles of Atlantic Ocean between me and Louis. Once again, he’s put through some absolute stinkers! Thereâs this one little scouser who was kicked out of about a dozen schools and Louis is all.. âOh yeh to be sure, to be sure, go on trewâ?. He’ll be sorry when all his villa’s electricals end up in Loot! Thinking I might have to replace him with someone less annoying next year. Timmy Mallett perhaps.
Oh man the shit really hit the goddam fan today! That old Welsh bird came to another audition and now everyone is saying that the show tried to make her look like an idiot. WTF!? Is that supposed to be ironic? I mean, I already told her she couldnât sing the last three times that she pitched up and now she is all furious cos she got told she is a crap singer…again. Error sweetheart. She wonât be turning up to any auditions again. Ever.
Things have gone from bad to hot diggity dam awful. My ex has decided to keep the Â£250,000 engagement ring I gave her â I was only being polite when I said she could keep it. Curse my good manners! And now Britainâs Got Talent is going tits up. Amanda is up the duff and McIntyre has left me up to my neck in it. Now everyone is saying I shouldnât have sacked the Hoff but that beefy bastard was getting right on my nerves with his rugged good looks, beautiful girlfriend. If the Brits think he’s the most annoying American they’ve ever met, they should come down my tanning salon. That place makes the set of Jersey Shore look like University Challenge …thinking about digging out Cherylâs number….
So Iâm thinking Cheryl must have changed her number because I can’t get through to her phone. Weird. But weirder than that, I woke up to this almighty bang today and found three of my helper ladies dead by the front door. So unfortunate. I was really looking forward to hand-squeezed OJ and nobody makes it like Rosalita. Anyway it looks like someone tried to put some kind of home-made explosive through my letterbox. There was a note attached and it said âNO WAY-AYE PETâ?. Christ knows. These Americans are pretty bonkers.
If Cheryl doesnât get back to me asap I might have to call that Australian one instead. I could get one of the Take That lads to sit on the panel, theyâll do anything for a bit of dollar…at least thatâs what Lulu told me. I really need a fit bird on the panel, no matter what the cost (Note to self: call Berlusconi back). Looking forward to seeing how the X Factor halfwits get on in the judgesâ houses. At least I wonât have those vermin running around my pad this year. BONUS. I have heard that Kelly Rowland doesnât want any of her bunch drinking or having sex or anything, she needs to chill out – we are trying to find a star, not a saint! Then Iâd have to call the show The Saint Factor. She is such a douche bag!