RUMOUR: KATE IS DISPLEASED WITH THE CHEEKY GIRLS BECAUSE THEY STOLE HER IDEA OF WRITING A POP SONG ABOUT JULIAN CASABLANCAS ASS.....CONFIRM OR DENY.

Cheeky girls………………….
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys

I never ever ask where do you go
I never ever ask what do you do
I never ever ask what’s in your mind
I never ever ask if you’ll be mine
Come and smile don’t be shy
Touch my bum this is life.
Oooooh

We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys
We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys

Hhmm cheeky cheeky
(laughter)

Cheekycheekycheeky

Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys
Ooh boys cheeky girls
Ooh girls cheeky boys

I never ever ask where do you go
I never ever ask what do you do
I never ever ask whats in your mind
I never ever ask if you’ll be mine
Come and smile don’t be shy
Touch my bum this is life.

Unu doy trei si
(translates to onetwothree go)
(with other voices shouting cheeky)

We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys
We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys

Come and join the cheeky club
This is what you want
Come and sing the cheeky song
Our cheeky song woo
Come and join the cheeky club
This is what you want
Come and sing the cheeky song
Our cheeky song woo
Come and smile don’t be shy
Touch my bum this is life

Cheeky cheeky

We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys
We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys
We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys
We are the cheeky girls
We are the cheeky girls
You are the cheeky boys
You are the cheeky boys

Cheeky-cheeky

Celebrity Assmatch, Part 3: Addicted To Pies.

**********************

Julian is getting in shape for the upcoming Celebrity
Assmatch title bout, or, in other words, sitting upon
his magnificent Assets, watching TV. "Missy Elliot?"
he snorts. "Man, I could take her with one asscheek
tied behind my back! Pass the pretzels, and get me a
beer from the kitchen, Nick."

"Get it yourself," grumbles Nick Hammond Jr.

"No way, man, I'm resting my ass for the big match!"

Grumbling, Nick Hammond Jr. gets off the couch and
heads for the kitchen. Just at that moment, the
doorbell rings.

"And while you're up, get that!"

At the door is a record company flunky, with a mystery
guest. "Hello, boys, I'd like you to meet your new
housemate, Robbie Williams."

"What?!" explode Julian and Nick.

"See, we're trying to break Robbie in the States.
We're trying to raise his profile by having him seen
about town ith his new celebrity best friends, The
Strokes. Take him out to your assmatch, show him
around, and MAKE SURE ROLLING STONE GETS YOUR PICTURE
TOGETHER! Now, come along with me, Nick Hammond Jr."

"Where am *I* going?"

"We've sold you to Courtney Love to revive her
career."

The record company flunky disappears, dragging Nick
behind him, and leaving Julian and Robbie staring at
each other. Julian had never hated anyone so much on
first sight. "Let's get some things straight,
Williams," he growls. "No one sits on my couch, no one
changes my TV channel, and the new boy has to fetch me
beer and pretzels from the kitchen whenever I ask."

"I guess you won't be wanting any of *these* then,"
shrugs Robbie, gesturing to a huge cardboard box with
a WIGAN PIE COMPANY logo on it. Robbie rips the box
open, pulls out a steak and kidney pie, sniffs at it,
and licks his lips.

"Pies..." Julian starts to salivate. "I want a pie! I
want a pie!"

"Let me sit on your couch."

Julain moves over reluctantly, and the couch leans
dangerously to the left. But just as the couch is in
danger of tipping over, Robbie plops himself down.
Ker-plunk goes the couch and rights itself again. Oh
no... oh no... this can only mean one thing. Julian
quakes with fear and envy at the thought that his ass
might be facing some competition in his own home.

Julian relents a little as he takes a bite of the pie.
Mmmm. Chomp, chomp, chomp, the pie is gone in thirty
seconds.

"Oh, mate," laughs Robbie. "You call that
pie-scarfing?" He pulls out a pork pie, opens his maw,
gnashes his teeth, and the pork pie is gone in twenty
seconds.

"Dude!" exclaims Julian, digging in the box. He downs
an eel pie in fifteen seconds. "Take THAT, Williams!
*I* am the pie champion!"

"Wanna make a bet?" counters Robbie, flexing his
mighty gut. "Some folks like water, some folks like
wine, but I like the taste of Wigan Pies..."

Next morning, Julian's apartment is trashed. There are
pie wrappers all over the floor, the fridge is
decimated and even the sofa has toothmarks on it.
Julian and Robbie are lying semi-comatose at opposite
ends of the couch, glaring at each other. Robbie has
put away 37 steak and kidney pies, 24 pork pies, 3 eel
pies and an unfortunate pillow which got in the way.
Julian is tied with 21 steak and kidney pies, 36 pork
pies, 6 eel pies and the cardboard box that they came
in.

"I want a pie in the USA, I wanna pie on a sunny day,"
mutters Julian.

"I ate myself and I want a pie," whimpers Robbie.

At that moment, the alarm goes off. "Shit, the
assmatch! I don't feel so good..."

"Come on, mate, you can do it," urges Robbie, trying
to stumble to his feet, but neither of them can move.
"Only one thing for it... we'll have to ROLL ourselves
to the assmatch!"

Some time later, they have managed to roll themselves
to the assmatch ring. A thin, sylph-like black woman
greets them over the roar of the crowd. "Casablancas,
your ass is MINE!" she purrs.

"Later, babe," he assures her with a smooth wink. "I'm
here for the assmatch. Where is Missy Elliot?"

"I *AM* Missy Elliot," the thin woman insists.

"Where's the rest of you, then?"

"Hi-YAH!" Missy delivers a swift karate chop to
Julian's ass and sends him flying. Julian struggles to
get up, but he is too full of pies to move. "One...
two..." counts Missy. "THREE!!! It's a knock-out! I am
the new ass-champion! Wooo!"

Julian looks like he is about to cry, his lower lip
sticks out and his eyes quiver like an admonished
basset hound. Several teenage girls in the front row
burst into tears from the cuteness and have to be
carried out. "You... you mean, I... l-l-lost?"

"Missy sits down next to him and starts to talk.
"Look, Casablancas, I can help you, but you've got to
help yourself. Are you willing to admit that your life
is out of control and that you are powerless over
pies? Come to Pies Anonymous with me, I'll introduce
you to my sponsor, Eric Cartman."

"Waaaaaah!" wails Julian. "My name is Julian and I am
a pie addict."

Scene: a week later. Missy has Julian and robbie both
chained to exercise bicycles.

"Come on, boys! Work it! Work it! I wanna see you move
your fremme neppa vennettes!" she barks.

"I can't go any further!" pants Julian, sweat pouring
off him. His ass is aching and his thighs feel like
they are on fire. His Levi's are hanging off him,
revealing a terrifyingly bony plumber's crack where
his Bootie used to be. "How will I impress the girls
now?"

"Surely this is against the Geneva Convention,"
whinges a near-skeletal robbie. "When they said i'd
have to work my ass off to break the States, I didn't
think they meant LITERALLY!"

"No talking! I wanna see you SWEAT!"

"I want a pie!" moans Robbie.

"A hot dog... a bagel with cream cheese and lox..."
Julian is raving, delusional.

"Be quiet!" Missy's mouth waters. Clearly, she is
starting to waver.

"A pizza, man, I'd kill for a pizza, i'm never going
to taste Famous Ray's Famous Pizza again, am I?" rants
Julian. "Hello, Death, goodbye, Avenue A..."

Suddenly, Robbie has an idea. He whips out a mobile
and starts frantically texting. "Come on, Missy, join
us. You know you want to eat... think about hot,
buttered ears of corn, Missy!"

Julian suddenly understands and joins in. "Get your
free corn, Missy, get your free corn!"

"I do NOT want corn! Work it, Williams! Put your ass
down, flip it and reverse it!"

"Yes, but have you met my friend, Ken?"

"Ken?" wonders Missy, her resolve slipping.

"KEN TUCKY-FRIED-CHICKEN!!!" screams Robbie as the
door bursts open and a delivery man rushes through on
a scooter, throwing drumsticks and hot buttered corn
to everyone.

Half an hour later, Julain, Robbie and Missy are
splayed out over Julian's couch, surrounded by chicken
bones, empty wrappers and stripped corn cobs. The
Magnificent Bootie is restored to its plump, pert
roundedness, straining against Julian's Levi's. "Mmm,"
burps Julian. "Turn on the MTV, Robbie."

"Righty-O," says Robbie, flipping on the remote.

Suddenly, the screen is filled with blonde hair and
blood red lipstick. "I'd like to introduce my new
band," announces a familiar female voice. "Meet Nick
Moog, Nick Farfisa, Nick Hammond Jr, Nick Theremin and
my personal stylist and lawsuit consultant, Nick
Rhodes. We're here to play my new single, 'But Julian,
My Ass Is A Little Larger Than Yours.'"

Celebrity Assmatch 4: But Julian, My Ass Is A Little Larger Than Yours

Scene: a secret location, somewhere in the Hollywood
Hills. The four remaining Strokes have been locked in
the basement of Courtney Love's Californian Mansion,
which, for some reason, has been made over to look
exactly like a dingy diver in the East Village. The
universe is permeated with the odour of kerosene...

"Man, this sucks," complains Nick Hammond Jr.

"How long do we have to stay here?" grumbles Nick
Moog, tinkering with his guitar. Nick Theremin looks
at his bass with a sensitive, longing expression,
sighs deeply and bursts into tears.

"Dude, I need a razor. My white boy 'fro is starting
to grow back!" protests Nick Farfisa. "Someone's going
to mistake me for a Stroke!"

At that moment, a hidden door in the far wall opens
and a voice rings out. "Strokes, have you finished
writing my new album yet?"

"Oh god, she's back, look busy, guys!" The four
remaining Strokes run to their respective instruments
and start jamming. "Sorry, Courtney, there's been a
bit of a hold-up..."

"What is it NOW?" growls Courtney, stepping into the
light. "Last week, you said you were homesick for the
Lower East Side, so I had my entire basement
remodelled to look like CBGB's. Where IS my ALBUM!!!"

"We need more time!"

"You've got one more week. Finish my album... or
ELSE!!!" demands Courtney, storming off in a burst of
maniacal laughter.

Nick Farfisa shakes his fuzzy head. "That bitch is a
slavedriver! I never thought I'd say this, but I
actually *miss* that cocksucker Julian!"

"We've got to figure out a way to escape. Has anyone
checked if there are any windows in the bathroom?"
suggests Nick Hammond Jr.

"Man, if this is an exact replica of CBGB's, I don't
want to go anywhere NEAR that bathroom," responds Nick
Moog, wrinkling his nose.

"Dude, I live with Julian's ASS, I am USED to the
smell of terrible things. I'll go," offers Nick
Hammond Jr.

Meanwhile, back on the Lower East Side...

Julian, Robbie and Missy are ringing aroun
dfrantically, trying to get past Courtney Love's
battalion of lawyerrs and find out what has happened
to the other Strokes. Finally, Robbie rings up a
friend in England and comes up with a lead. "There's
only one person in the world that can stop Courtney."

"Who's that? I'm desperate, man, I'll try anything,"
whines Julian

"The same person that created her."

"Fine! Let's find him!"

"Well, we'll have to coax him out of retirement first.
He's settled down in a sleepy little town on the
Southern coast of England."

"Man, and I though you were going to see Tattooine or
something. England's close! I'm booking the tickets
now!"

A few hours later,our unlikely trio step off Concorde
and get on the train for Brighton. "Dude!" exclaims
Julian when he sees the seafront. "The Helter Skelter!
I wanna ride! Nur-nur-nur-nur-nur, Helter Skelter!"

"We don't have time for this, Casablancas!" barks
Missy, but he pays no attention, running up the
stairs. Julian starts to slide down, but his ass is
too large and he sticks. Robbie climbs up and tries to
help and soon they are both helplessly caught.

"Help! We're trapped!" cry out Robbie and Julian.

"Trapped, my asslessness," snorts Missy. "Only one
thing for it..." She goes off and buys a huge puff of
candy floss. Julian and Robbie start salivating, which
lubricates the slide they both come flying down and
collapse in a big heap. "Hyuck, hyuck, hyuck,"
sniggers Missy.

They tramp through the backstreets of Brighton until
finally they reach the address they've been given and
knock on the door. There is the sound of shuffling
from inside, then a greying head appears. "Fuck off,
you kids, how many times do I have to tell you no
autographs... Oh, sorry, can I help you?"

"Oh, we hope so. Are you Everett True?"

Half an hour later, they are all sittingn drinking tea
in a cramped study filled to the rafters with promo
CDs. "So what can I help you with?" Everett asks,
after loading them all down with more CDs than they
can carry.

"It's Courtney Love," Julian explains. "She's stolen
my band!"

Everett slaps his forehead with his hand. "My god, if
I'd known what that woman would turn into, I'd never
have encouraged her." He looks up and shrugs self
effacingly. "See, I *invented* Courtney Love."

"So we heard. That's why we need your help. Only you
can stop her! Will you help us?" Julian begs. Everett
wavers.

"Please?" adds Missy, batting her eyelids and pouting
her luscious lips.

"Oh, alright, let's go," agrees Everett.

Scene: on the train back to the airport.

"...and that's how I invented grunge," explains
Everett to Missy as Julian and Robbie fight over the
last of the candy floss.

Scene: on the plane back to the States.

"...and that's how I invented riot grrrl,"Everett
informs Missy as Julian and Robbie bicker over the
in-flight peanuts.

Scene: on the taxi over to Hollywood.

"...and that's how I invented the Ramones,"Everett
lectures Missy as Julian and Robbie squabble over
takeaway burritos.

Missy leans forward and taps Julian on the shoulder.
"Jules, I think we have a problem..."

Scene: the taxi pulls up outside Courtney Love's
mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

"Everett, dude, you better not be shitting us,"
grumbles Julian as they ring the doorbell.

"Who IIIIIIIS it?" chirps Courtney from the intercom.

"It's Julian Casablancas, and I'm mad as hell!" growls
Julian.

"Ah, come in, my pretty pretty," coos Courtney. Julian
strides purposefully through the gate, followed
closely by Robbie and Missy, shielding Everett behind
them. Courtney appears on the balcony, waving down at
them like Evita Peron. "Ah, excellent... maybe Julian
can persuade his band to write my new album for me..."

"I'm not writing anything for you, Courtney!" Julian
snarls. "I've come to get my band back!"

Courtney merely laughs. "You and what army?"

"I've brought reinforcements!" Julian threatens,
stepping out of the way to reveal Everett.

"I've come to stop you for once and for all,
Courtney!" Everett blusters.

"Hah!" cries Courtney. "You're just jealous cause I
fucked Kurt and you didn't!"

"I have something here which will destroy all of your
powerr!" Everett threatens, pulling out an envelope.
Courtney merely laughs. "Pictures of you with your
natural hair colour..." Courtney stops laughing.
"And... your PRE NOSE-JOB FACE!!!"

"NOOOOOOO!!!" wails Courtney. "No! Give me those!
Those must never see the light of day. I'll do
anything you want... I'll give Julian his band back.
Just give me those photos!!!" The door to the mansion
swings open, and Courtney rushes downstairs to greet
them. "They're right down here..." she explains,
snatching the envelope out of Everett's hands and
throwing open the secret door to the basement. "Nick,
Nick, Nick and Nick...? You can come out now!" There
is no answer from down below; the basement is silent.
"Strokes? Where are you, Strokes?"

Suddenly, Everett stops in his tracks. "Wait, you're a
STROKE?" Julian nods. Everett slaps his forehead. "I
thought you were one of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs! Oh, GOD,
what have I done? I fucking HATE The Strokes..."
Cursing and muttering under his breath, Everett storms
off.

"Strokes? Strokies? Where are you my pretty,
pretties?" Courtney whimpers, looking around the
deserted basement. "Oh no, they've escaped!"

She pokes around the instruments, but the only sign
that they were ever even there is a guitar pick, which
Julian picks up and clutches to his cheek, whimpering
"Nick..."

"And they didn't even WRITE ME ONE SONG!!!" Courtney
howls with rage.

"Yo, chill, homegirl," Missy snorts, rolling her eyes.
"Sisters gotta stick together. *I'll* write your new
album for you."

Courtney sniffs and wipes her eyes. "Will you really?"
the two of them hug and skip off to the studio hand in
hand, leaving Julian and Robbie staring around the
empty basement.

"But what about my band?" Julian sputters. "Will I
ever see my Darling Nickies again?"

"Don't worry, Julian, we'll find them, if it's the
last thing we do," Robbie solemnly assures him.

Celebrity Assmatch 5: I Love Arse'N'Roll

Scene: somewhere in Hollywood. The four Nicks have
escaped from Courtney's basement thanks to the cunning
bravery of Nick Hammond Jr.

"Dude, I can't believe it, your hair looks great. All
that shit must have acted like some kind of fantastic
fertiliser," compliments Nick Moog.

"I *don't* want to talk about it," insists Nick
Hammond Jr.

"Where *are* we?" whines Nick Farfisa. "We just passed
a Roman coliseum on our left, the OK Corral is over on
the right, and now I swear to god, we're walking up
42nd Street."

"Must be some kind of movie lot," observes Nick
Hammond Jr.

At that moment, one of the doors opens and a man with
a megaphone and a movie slate sticks his head out.
"Hey! You lot! Are you the band?"

The other Strokes exchange perplexed looks. "Yeah,
we're the band," they nervously reply

"You're LATE! Get your asses in here!" the director
yells. Obediently, they troop inside, to find what
looks like the set for a music video, complete with
cameras, and a stage with walls of Marshall amps.

"Well, alright, this is more like it," whistles Nick
Moog, picking up a Gibson.

Farf plops himself down behind the drumkit and starts
to play. "Sweet!"

"Is this the best casting could do?" grumbles the
director, looking them over as make-up people powder
their acne away and costume designers slip leather
jackets on over their clothes. "We ask for a ROCK
band, you know, like The Strokes, and they send over
these clowns. Look, I mean, their drummer's even got a
freaking crew cut. That's not very Strokes!"

"Hey!" protests Farf, touching his shaved head with a
hurt expression.

"Right, let's do a run-through to the music. Cue
lights... music... action!"

Music blasts through the stage-set. "I love
rock'n'roll, so put another dime in the juke box,
baby..."

"Cut!" screams the director. "Come on, you lot, look
alive! You're supposed to be a ROCK BAND! Rock out or
something, will you?"

Hammond Jr and Moog exchange confused glances. "We
WERE rocking out. Damn, we need Julian. It's just not
the same without him..."

"We want windmills! And rock poses! And synchronised
headbanging!" insists the director. "Get the
choreographer to teach them some moves... You!
Bass-boy!" Nick Theremin looks scared and hides behind
an amp. "Come here! What's the matter with him, can't
he talk?"

"Nick Theremin *doesn't* talk," Nick Moog explains,
rolling his eyes.

"Come on, action! Roll the music again..." As the boys
are attempting to learn synchronised dance moves,
there is a buzz through the set. "She's coming, she's
coming... she's here, she's here...!" A giant black
motorcycle pulls up, and a tiny blonde figure in
leather trousers and a fur bustier with a snake around
her neck gets off, heading for the nearest structural
pole and busting some stripper moves. There are
shocked expressions all around as the lads realise
what they've been roped into.

"Oh my god, out of the frying pan and into the fire!"
gasps Nick Hammond Jr, tearing out chunks of his white
boy 'fro in worry. "We've been press-ganged into being
the backing band in a... BRITNEY SPEARS VIDEO!!!"

"AAARRRGGGHHH!!!" Nick Theremin dives behind the
Marshall stack again.

"Hey, it could be worse," shrugs Nick Moog. "They made
French Kicks be the backing band in a Fischerspooner
video."

"I dunno," muses Farf, twirling his drumsticks and
busting some dance moves. "I could kinda get into
it..."

Meanwhile, Julian and Robbie are combing the streets
of Hollywood. "Nick, Nick!" they cry, looking in
dustbins and down alleys.

"It's no good, we'll never find them," wails Julian.

"Hey, Jules, don't take it bad.You know, you could
always go solo," suggests Robbie. "I know a really
good co-writer who is out of work now..." Julian
bursts into tears, so Robbie hugs him and looks around
for something to divert him. "I know what'll cheer you
up, we're in Hollywood, let's take a studio tour,
pretend to be movie stars!"

Scarfing down popcorn and sno-caps, they join a tour.
"On your left is the Roman coliseum from Ben Hur,
while on your right is theCorral featured in the
infamous Gun Fight At High Noon.." drones on the
tourguide. "Now please be very quiet as we pass
through the next soundstage, as you'll be witness to
the filming of a genuine MUSIC VIDEO!"

"Har har har har har har har," laugh Julian and
Robbie, throwing popcorn at the set. "Look, it's
Britney Spears."

"Yeah, she's gone all rock chick now," cackles Julian.

"What, they couldn't find a REAL rock chick - like
PINK or something?" sniggers Robbie.

"Look at those poor losers playing her backing band.
Who do they think they are, Black Rebel Motorcycle
Club or something? GET A HAIRCUT!!!" yells Julian,
throwing popcorn at them until several pieces lodge in
Nick Hammond Jr's hair.

As the tour passes through the soundstage, and they
are about to exit the building, suddenly a lone figure
emerges from behind the amps and goes running after
Julian, waving his arms and bobbing and trying to get
Julian's attention. "Fuck off," snarls Julian as the
madman tugs at his jeans jacket. "No autographs, man,
it's my day off."

Finally, the boy opens his mouth, and with a thin,
reedy voice, his vocal chords emaciated from years of
disuse, Nick Theremin manages to croak out "Eiffel
Tower! Soup Du Jour! Creme Brulee!"

"Oh my god!" gasps Julian. "Nick Theremin! You talked!
This must be a terrible emergency..." Nick Theremin
pulls at his sleeve and gestures with his hair back
towards the soundstage. "Oh my god, those aren't
losers... that's my BAND!" Julian runs down onto the
stage, rushes up to Nick Hammond Jr, Nick Moog and
Nick Farfisa, and there are tearful embraces and
reunions all around. "Oh my god, I never thought I'd
see you guys again!"

"Hey!" squeaks Britney. "Who is this guy? Get him off
my set, and get him to stop snogging my band!"

"They are MY BAND!" insists Julian. "Don't make me
challenge you to an ASSMATCH!"

"Assmatch?" sneers Britney, turning aroun to reveal
her non-existent rump. "Don't be stupid. I do two
thousand sit-ups a day!"

Julian staggers back, clutching his heart. Even the
thought of ONE sit-up a day is enough to nearly give
him a stroke. "Let me handle this," Robbie volunteers,
moving between the two of them. "It takes a former
child star to right a child star."

"You don't have to do this, buddy," Julian gasps.

Robbie grins and embraces his new best friend
heartily. "I'd take a bullet for you, mate. Just
remember that, and when the shit hits the fan, you get
your band out of here."

"I love you, man!" they both cry, slapping each other
on the ass affectionately (but in a manly sort of
affectionate way, mind you) before Robbie heads into
battle.

"M - I - C... see you real soon!" sings Robbie,
advancing towards the stage.

"What?" Argh, no stop it!" squeals Britney, clasping
her hands over her ears.

"K - E - Y... why? Because we like you!" continues
Robbie, undeterred.

"NO! STOP IT!" screams Britney, but it's too late,
she's starting to twitch.

"M - O - U - S - E..." sings Robbie at the top of his
lungs, and bursts into synchronised Take That dance
moves.

"AAARRRGGGHHH!!!" wails Britney as her limbs move
uncontrollably, echoing Robbie's steps. "What's
happening to me?"

"You're a former child star, just like me," Robbie
cackles. "It's just like the Jesuits. If they get you
for the first seven years of your life, they have you
FOREVER!" He dances harder, faster, and Britney starts
to jerk about like a puppet whose strings have been
cut, unable to control her limbs as she dances along
with him. "Julian, RUN! This could get ugly..."

Julian and the other Strokes run as fast as they can,
barely glancing back except to see two mad spinning
dervishes dancing themselves to death. They don't stop
running until they're outside, when they dash into the
nearest taxi, and speed off in a cloud of dust.

"I can't believe it! He gave his ass for me..." sighs
Julian as a vast fireball of flab explodes across the
Hollywood skyline. "That's friendship for you. I'll
never forget you, Williams!"

"Hey, at least we still have each other," reminds Nick
Hammond Jr, giving Julian a friendly noogie. "Let's
get the next plane back to New York. If we hurry, we
can still get to the Lakeside Lounge before closing,
and challenge the White Stripes to a game of pool...
maybe we'll even have time for a pizza!"

"Mmmm, pizza," drools Jules.

THE END?!?!

Not if Suzy and I have anything to do with it... who is next? Simon LeBon? Shakira? Find out soon in the next episode of CELEBRITY ASSMATCH!!!

Kate, that was funny and brilliant. You should compile all of the stories and sell them as "The Ass Chronicles".

We all know that the REAL JC would say "patootie."

"Julian staggers back, clutching his heart. Even the
thought of ONE sit-up a day is enough to nearly give
him a stroke." This is too ridiculous of a pun, fantastic.

though i'm scared. one of the kids from the JulesMyButtCookie list says she's posted it to their official site... AAARRRGGGHHH!!!

just what i need... the *real* Strokes suing me... i just hope that everett doesn't read it, or i'm sacked for real this time...

it was a free 'gig' and we sneaked in and I phoned my friend during 'colour blind' and then darius drove off without signing autographs for his fans and we went to blackfriars and I expected to see david h but I'd had a few drinks.