Column: Miss Prudence Trog, 31

February 18

Oh my Christ, Adele is number one in 17 countries! She’s massive!

February 28

So Nelly Furtado donated the $1m she earned performing a show for Colonel Gaddafi to charity, did she? Did she only work out yesterday that he’s a nasty, vile dictator? Come on Nelly, the clue’s in the name! Colonel Sanders, Colonel Tom Parker, Colonel Abrahams, Colonel Mustard… bastards, the lot of ’em.

Anyway, I can’t keep writing this diary entry as I have to go online now and donate all the money I earned from Negative Press last month to Save The Children because I’ve just worked out my boss is an absolute cunt. Nelly’s certainly like a bird in the brain department, the daft bitch.

March 1

OMFG! Charlie Sheen has joined Twitter! I’ve been watching this tragic saga unfold, though the more I watch, the more I just can’t bear to tear myself away. It’s the media equivalent of a shit-leaking tramp being chased down the street after he’s stolen an orange from Camden Market — sad, yet brilliantly funny at the same time. I haven’t laughed so much since Bernard Matthews died and my friend Demelza screamed “Bootiful!”

The worst part about what’s going on with Charlie is the fact it’s such a great talent lost. Have you seen Hot Shots! Part Deux? How he keeps a straight face right the way through that movie I’ll never know. It’s a shame he never did any more French cinema.

What’s amazing to behold is how idiots look at him as some kind of champion for the underdog. The Americans hear him say “winning” and they all cheer, because they don’t understand irony. If you saw Michael Bolton in the diner and complimented him on his mullet, he’d probably say, “God bless you,” and order a celebratory round of freedom fries. It’s also escaped a lot of people’s attention that Sheen has hit women in the past. Maybe they deserved it, who knows? If you want equal rights then you’ve got to take a pat in the mouth occasionally — that’s what my mother said. But she was in a home for the criminally insane for setting fire to a gypsy caravan at the time.

March 6

Collins has left the building! That’s right, the flabby ballsack that is Phil Collins has said goodbye to show business for good, and good riddance, I say. Does that mean Genesis are over as well? I hope Tony Banks and Ernest Rutherford aren’t going to ask that poor bloke from Stiltskin back again after they messed him around so much last time. Stiltskin did that one song on the Levi’s ad that sounded like the Smashing Pumpkins. Everyone went out and bought it and said, “What’s this shite? Turn it the fuck off and put Pearl Jam back on!” Then, when all hope was lost, out of the blue comes the call from Genesis. A miracle! The chap thinks he’s hit pay-dirt when Phil ‘Nasty Fucker’ Collins comes back fresh from dumping his wife by fax and ol’ Rumple is unceremoniously sacked and banished to the highlands to lick his balls, weeping bitterly every time he gets in a taxi because the driver is obviously listening to Magic FM, and every  third song on that godforsaken station is ‘Su-su-fucking-sussuddio’. Heartbreaking.

What sort of a name is ‘Sussuddio’, anyway? My bet is that it wasn’t her name at all. Collins no doubt met this poor starstruck minx in a bar giving it the Big I Am, got her paralytic and took her back to his place to show her his blue-veined custard chucker. She wakes up in the morning and Collins is sat up in bed grinning with his flabby moobs hanging over the bedspread looking right pleased with himself, and he says, “What’s your name again, baby?” dead cheesy-like. She’s about to ask for a soluble aspirin, but when she catches sight of him she realises she’s going to be sick. Going through her head are the words ‘make something up, make something up…’ And then it all comes out of her mouth. “Soluble. Su-suuuddiiooooo. Oooh-ohhhh-bbbbleeeuuuuugghhh!!!”

I bet that’s how it happened. The dirty bastard.

March 6

That Prince Andrew has been up to no good again. Trade Ambassador? Tradesman’s Entrance Ambassador more like. The only people he should be an ambassador for is Durex, the dirty bastard. Just think of poor Kate and William. There they are about to embark on the most important day of their lives, and all Andrew can think about is which bridesmaid he wants to take up the shitter. He’ll probably order them all to do him by royal decree and they’ll have to say, “Andrew, with this cock you’re really spoiling us.” The dirty bastard.

March 23

I’m so distraught! Liz Taylor has died. She was an absolute goddess, right up to the very end, even when she got all old. She was stylish and sexy, and knew how to keep people interested — by not being on TV all the time and keeping a dignified silence when so many others don’t know when to shut their big fucking mouths. She set a fine example that I wish so many others would follow. She was my heroine and now she’s gone. The way she used to smoulder on screen with Richard Burton was a sight to behold, and even though they never lasted, there’s a frisson captured on the silver screen that means they will forever be frozen in posterity as one of the most divine and undeniably beautiful and orgasmic couples that ever laid eyes on each other. I’ve never actually seen any of her films but they show clips all the time, don’t they?

March 25

Loads of my friends are going to march through London tomorrow because of government cuts. There’ll be trouble and I’m definitely not going. Do you know why? Because it’s Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday. All the LOLZ in the world!

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