Crash and Burn Posh

With all the stories I could be obsessed with; Iraq, Iran and its incipient nuclear plan(t)s, George Bush's stupidities, the Lizards in the House of Parliament, Global Warming, Honours R'Us, ID Cards or rampaging comedy al qaeda units, no I turn my back on all of those and spurn them like I would a rabid dog and become fixated on Posh Spice. Maybe in this age of mindless celebrity Victoria Beckham is the vacuous heart of drossness. She's gone to Hollywood to be famous; to be the uberceleb, to be the alphatart.

She's famous for what? In historical order: being a spice girl? Look at the videos, she does fuck all, standing there without even her characteristic, mindless pout, OK she can sing a bit but so can a lot of people.

She's the subject of a football chant, "David Beckham, David Beckham do you take her up the ARSE, up the ARSE ? Though this may not be satisfactory to Vicky, can I call you that Maam? as it doesn't contain her name.

She's married to David Beckham one of the more clueless footballers to put on the England Captain's armband, and there have been a few of those. And as a footballer he can only do two thing, take free kicks and pass the ball a bit. Yeah right. In the words of George Best, who could play a bit, "Beckham cannot kick with his left foot, he cannot head a ball, he cannot tackle and he doesn't score many goals. Apart from that he's all right." Thanks George. Plus he's petulant little git who lost us the game against Argentina in 98. And he's been caught playing away with his goldenballs with two other ladies.

She's had three children. Not especially distinctive.

She's famous for her clothes, she designs them you know. And her role model is Sandy from Grease. OK.

Oh she does a few handbags, has sold sunglasses and a his-and-hers perfume called Crass, or something like that.

So she moved to the US on July 12 with the pussy-whipped Beckham in tow.

I feel like I'm watching the Hindenberg slowly crash and burn. That's fairly comforting thought, like nursery food, thinking of Vicky Beckham as a Zeppelin. Often while sitting at my desk and the news is slow I lie back in my delux easyboy and fantasise about kidnapping Posh, tieing her up and using a gavottage machine to feed her pureed kebabs and fish-and-chips until she can barely use a scratching stick.

For the moment things aren't going as she really, really wants. American critics are panning her self indulgent hour long advert for herself. In particular the New York Post. Just a little taster; vapid condescending, slack-jawed at the gall, "best friends" on the payroll. Read it and relish.

From the New York Times

"There has to be something going on behind the scenes because there is no other way to explain so much time and videotape spent on the moving arrangements of Mr. Beckham’s wife. Mrs. Beckham, the once and future Spice Girl nicknamed Posh, is somewhat famous for being sort of famous, and is photographed a lot in Britain, a nation so open to media hypnosis that a Web site devoted to the ripening of a 44-pound wheel of cheddar has received more than a million Internet hits. (As of today Wedginald is on Day 206.) "

Why does she annoy me? Well she's a talentless woman basically, who's whoring herself for celebrity and to boot she thinks we're stupid enough to be gulled into staring slack-jawed at her.

But then, I've just written this.