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There was an Alias reunion last night, and it was perfect.

At last, TMZ’s disgusting photographers are finally good for something other than helping me maintain the staff office chart of Britney’s favourite frapps. The paps caught Jennifer Garner, Victor Garber and J.J Abrams meeting up for dinner in L.A last night. You might also know these three as Sydney Bristow, Jack Bristow and the dude who made Jack and Sydney Bristow. I prefer to call them The Holy Trinity of Television. Anyway having dinner individually is really not that big of a deal, but these three having dinner together sends off a CODE RED WIG alarm at the FFAR (Fans For Alias Reboot) headquarters. If that shit went down i’d hope it wouldn’t be as bad as that messy “24” reboot. An Alias reunion would mark the end of my life on this planet because as soon as that shit is done I would have no reason to live, and/or any hopes or dreams to follow any more. Apparently, when a TMZ ratface asked JJ if Sydney Bristow would be coming back he replied with only “Haha, You’ll have to ask Jen!” And then they all got in the same car and drove off to whatever dark voodoo arts place they have to toy with all of my emotions and general mental well being. If Lena Olin and Bradley Cooper had attended, well, let’s not because I’m not feeling so great and I’m scared incase I give myself a heart condition so.
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CNBC’s Squawk Box is a damn mess.

In “Damn, America – You still a dumb bitch!” news, CNBC’s anchors for the painful late night financial experience known as “Squawk Box” decided to invite Irish CEO Martin Shanahan onto their show to basically discuss all the things he had no idea he’d be forced to discuss. After asking him about Apple and Google’s tax policies, the anchors decided to show viewers why they are trusted, respected names in the financial news sector by not even knowing that Ireland is not, infact, part of the United Kingdom. In addition those ho’s kept asking why Scotland uses pounds if Ireland doesn’t, because its in the same island (not true) and they are like, right next to each other ( true). Poor fucking Martin, he just went on Squawk Box to talk business and then he had to educate the anchors on the geography of Europe. This is easily forgiven, of course, as it’s not like the EU itself is the largest economic power on the face of the planet or anything. The seg ends with the anchor querying if Northern Ireland indeed has the pound, stating “You guys gotta get it together over there!” which is interesting because I’m pretty sure Martin feels the same way about you guys.  
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Working on Grey’s Anatomy is the worst thing in the world.

When you have to peel yourself off of crammed public transport to then sweat your way up twelve flights of stairs, wrestle your way into your grey-ass office and then be greeted with fifty shades of shade from the new receptionist at an hour god didn’t even know existed yet, spare a thought for the poor lambs on the set of Grey’s Anatomy who have it way worse than you, me, or Ebola workers in West Africa. After you’d survived the horrors of Katherine Heigl you’d think that the only way would be up for the tricks on Grey’s, but unfortunately there is still some sadomasochistic horror (I see you, McDreamy) on the set who is demanding that the only fun part of shooting a tv show becomes the worst part about shooting a tv show. Craft services on Grey’s Anatomy reads like a Gwyneth Paltrow cookbook and there’s bound to be a high up  skinny acting ho to blame for that, because the only thing that ever gets camera operators past the sixteenth hour of shooting is copious amounts of crispy bacon drizzled in maple pecan sauce. According to TMZ the Grey’s craft table includes the following egg whites with zucchini turkey bacon vegetable sausage gluten-free banana oatmeal greek yogurt berries and other fresh fruit for juicing I know the actor sorts aren’t allowed to eat more than a rationed amount of almonds once every three days, but this is no way to treat your colleagues, Grey’s Anatomy! I have kindly revised the above to create a food list that everyone at Grey’s will be happy with egg whites with zucchini served on a platter of bacon turkey bacon served in a pool of syrup vegetable sausage house. A house literally made out of sausages. gluten-free banana oatmeal  lard. greek...
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And now a moment of refined modesty from Celia Sawyer

If you don’t live in the UK and have a fetish for terrible property shows in your pyjamas like I do, then you probably don’t know the elegant, subtle, monocle dropper that is Celia Sawyer. Celia is, and I quote from her totally neutral Wikipedia page,  “a self made multi-millionairess” from her interior design ventures. She’s been on Channel 4’s “Four Rooms” and more recently the TV makeover porn that is “Your Home in Their Hands” . What makes Celia special is not her notable wealth or work ethic, it’s that Celia, who NATURALLY creates “high end luxury interiors” for really rich people, looks like a fresh English spring morning covered in soft and gorgeous dew.   If you can kindly lift the mug you dropped in shock and awe for the most regally subtle cast member of Footballer’s Wives woman you’ve seen in your life, then I can tell you that Celia is not just special for her ravishing figure, tangerine skin and divine 100% natural yak hair, but as you can probably read from above, she is also a retiring and modest angel. Celia has her feet firmly on the ground – pretty helpful because her feet are always clad in  100% environmentally evil plastic heels which make her already statuesque body tower above the peons that don’t know a retro hipster chic kitchen when they see one.   Episode after episode, she arrives in stunning patent leather dresses, gorgeous silk blouses and where-did-she-get-that £12.50 Zara bargain bin boob tubes. The best think about Celia is not that she clearly attended Her Highness Zoe Lucker’s Academy of Expensive Dressing, but it is the complete apathy she treats everyone with.. Your Home in Their Hands is effectively a show where BBC ask you if your kitchen has been redecorated in the last sixty years, and if the answer...
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Fuck It, I Quit!

So when I quit my job I handed them a nice little two month notice package and helped train people’s asses and brokered a deal to best allow them to fill my role, but that’s only because I didn’t have a masterclass in eloquent quitting by genteel lady and surprise owner of the Alaska Cannabis Club Charlo Green. Charlo showed us all how best to quit their jobs on air but surprise admitting she was the head of the cannabis club  mentioned in the story she was reporting in the following thoughtfully worded statement. Now everything you’ve heard is why I, the actual owner of the Alaska Cannabis Club, will be dedicating all of my energy toward fighting for freedom and fairness, which begins with legalizing marijuana here in Alaska,” she said. “And as for this job, well, not that I have a choice but, fuck it, I quit.” And for that September the 22nd will now be known as Charlo Green Day. Also let’s spare a thought for the “Well, Fuck” face from the lady in pink reporting after Charlo walked out of that studio straight into a combine harvester full of weed. The Well, Fuck lady is exactly how I look when my boss throws a question to me in any meeting because she knows im four z’s away from completing the alphabet for the 195th time.
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Strictly Come Dancing trumps X-Factor in ratings battle 2014

  Because old people are 80% more likely to have literally nothing else to do on a Saturday and Sunday night, Strictly Come Dancing continued its winning streak of beating out X-Factor as the competitive talent show of choice this weekend when it returned. Strictly was watched by an average of of 8.4 Million geriatrics around the communal room telly whilst X-Factor could only muster 7 Million teenage girls and bored couples over Marks & Spencers meal deal with a bottle of wine (Facebooked about at least one time during the show per couple). Not all bad news for X-Factor, though, as the show is still up year on year on Saturday with around 600,000 viewers, but being up against Strictly on Sunday saw it down a whopping 2 Million viewers. Ya burnt! I guess people really didn’t care that Bruce was shuffled off into the room where they show Strictly (aka the leafy retirement home) and was replaced by Claudia Winkleman’s bangs. TV pundits are surprised that X-Factor is still struggling this year as fuck knows that watching Mel B, Cheryl Chiquitita  and Gay Simon is more entertaining than watching  human plank of wood Nicole Scherzinger next to human tin of magnolia paint  Gary Barlow. That said, there’s only so many northern women who’s mother died in a horrible unicycle accident and are on the show not for fame, but because they “want to make their 2 year old autistic son Dylan/Samuel/Parker proud” after he lost his father to the war that you can stomach before you decide you’ve seen your last slow-motion VT’s set to Snow Patrol songs. The X-Factor has milked the “public empathy” teet so hard with the worn-the-fuck out emotional manipulation button that the public now sees a ho in need on the ground, rolls their eyes, and steps over that bitch to jiggle to Mark...
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