Some refer to him simply as âThe Most Hated Man on TVâ ™. Others merely know him as “That bloke on Dancing on Ice with the silly hat..â? But we were keen to find out who the real Jason Gardiner is, so we did some investigating and discovered his explosive secret blog, where he writes under the alias âSatan’s Baldie’. Read on as we exclusively reveal a selection of Jasonâs posts. It seems he just can’t help himself…
About
Gâday, and welcome to my blog. Iâm good looking, funny and Iâm a pretty big deal in the world of showbiz. I can’t even walk down the street without people waving at me – although admittedly most of the time they don’t use all their fingers. While my identity must remain top secret, I thought Iâd give you an insight into my wonderful life and maybe share some tips so that you can attempt to be as good as me. A bit of advice though honey: you wonât succeed.
How to be as beautiful as me
Working in showbiz, itâs incredibly important to look your best. On the days where I really want to shine, itâs all about my slaphead. I often get asked how I keep it so shiny and itâs really simple. I start with a three inch layer of Vaseline and then get my personal slaves assistants to really polish it up a treat. Once Iâve gargled a cup of bleach to keep the teeth abnormally bright (household stuff works fine), Iâm pretty much on the road to looking fabulous. Being an Aussie, I realised pretty early on that I needed to fit in with these Englanders by dressing like them. Thankfully someone at the bus stop told me all the coolest media types are now wearing knee-length tweed trousers, ivory loafers and flat-caps, so thankfully instead of making a complete tit of myself, I’m ahead of the game.
Being a perfectionist isn’t easy though honey, I have to deal with total dingbats who pretend to be beauty professionals every day. Just this arvo, I booked in for my weekly Botox substitute injection and was greeted by a particularly dim human being. Seriously, I thought Karen Barber one of my colleagues was useless at their job… but this person was unbelievable! You’d think a professional would be able to tell the difference between my face and my ass! Nearly everyone else can! Anyway, after that little mix-up was sorted (a tight bum is the last thing I need if you know what I mean!) it was face freezing time. Iâve become immune to the regular stuff, (I was able to move my forehead – eugh) so my doc suggested a powerful snake venom that worked wonders for Joan Rivers. He listed the side effects as unexplained mood swings and talkingoutofyourarseitis, but I took a risk because after all, acting like an unimaginable twat on live television is a small price to pay for physical perfection. Personally I don’t think it affected me..
Celebrity rule number one: public transport is for peasants
Today was humiliating. After a spot of bother to do with pay (I haven’t been paid for five months due to an admin error. Must remember to intimidate that school girl doing work experience in the human resources department as punishment), I was forced to take public transport like the rest of the disgusting people in this miserable country. Just thinking about it is making me be a little bit sick in my mouth. Anyway, this guy carried a fold up bike onto the carriage, but his lift had less grace than a drunk elephant. Just as I was telling him this, some stupid Sheila tried to cut me up to get the last seat. The cheek! “Don’t you know who I am!?” I said. It turned out that she didn’t. She had this disgusting body; slim all over, but with a huge grotesque belly. Kind of like Holly Willoughby – you know, one of the presenters on Dancing On Ice which stars the devilishly handsome Jason Gardiner?
Never listen to a therapist
A bit of advice dear readers. Donât see a therapist; theyâre a waste of (your bossâs) money. Iâve been sent on an anger management course you see. Iâm not in trouble, my boss assured me theyâre the showbiz equivalent of jury service (he was shaking like a leaf when he said that. Probably drunk, the alcoholic low-life).  Anyway, my therapist tried telling me that my âissuesâ stem from when I was bullied at school. I told her to shut her pie-hole and not to believe everything she reads in the press because I was never bullied; the kids were way too scared of me. Anyway, I hate the way my PR misquotes me all the time; all I did was tell her about the hilarious time at nursery when I was accused of being a bully just because I cut off a girlâs ponytail and fed it to the schools pet âroo. Next thing I know, sheâs telling all the papers that I was bullied. The good for nothing Sheila. Iâll make a mental note to invite her and her parents round to dinner, and then fire her in front of them. Serves her right for making me look like a victim.
How to deal with presenters who are less attractive than you
Last week I had such a nightmare at work. One of the whiney presenters has really let himself go – you should see the hair on it. Greyer than a wallaby thatâs been shoved up a chimney. I canât be seen on TV next to that, it completely takes the attention away from my shiny head so I sneaked some dye into his dandruff shampoo. How was I supposed to know heâs allergic? His stupid eyeballs started popping out of his skull so I got my assistant to bung him in a van and send him back home to my dungeon basement. Iâve kept him on a leash all week which really compliments the grey, plus he hasnât had to go to This Morning his work for a whole week, so really Iâve done him a favour. Better go, I can hear him yelling again… I think heâs hallucinating, he keeps asking me where his multicoloured coat is.
