Former Towie star Maria Fowler says she’s being stalked by an internet troll who has threatened to blow up her house and then rape her. Detectives with the Derbyshire police force are investigating after Maria told them that a rape-threatening troller messaged her on Twitter about a week ago.
Before this story made it to the Sun or any other tabloid, Maria’s local paper, The Derby Telegraph reported how Maria had received sick threats from an anonymous Twitter-user who has since deleted their account.
“There are people who are capable of doing things like this.
It’s an absolute nightmare. I was sent a message which said there is a bomb outside your house and that I should watch out because I will be raped.
I live on my own so to be threatened with rape is terrible.”
When I read about this last night a look of shock didn’t exactly cover my face. For ages now Twitter has suffered from a huge number of toxic little queens who, after consuming a bottle of 100% proof bitterness, tweet out all kinds of nasties to young women.
It’s funny how (it’s really not) these trololololos never tweet their own names, phone numbers, addresses or pictures. I mean what’s the matter with these people, do they live in a field of vaginas? They need to scratch at a fetish they didn’t know they had? Feed their souls with some truly entertaining fuckery?
And how do you respond to it? How do you troll a troll?
I’m sure I don’t know the answer so I guess for now we’ll just have to shrug our shoulders and hope that Maria can continue to use her Twitter, where she has 445,000 followers, in peace. Poor girl.
For the past month or so the paparazzi on the island of Ibiza have been wandering the beaches wondering what to do with themselves. Every so often they’d come across a dead seahorse lying in the sand and they’d burst into tears as they remembered all the beautiful staged bikini moments they’d had with Myleene Klass.
Well, the dark times are over for those paps because Myleene is out of therapy/clinic/rehab/whatever and is texting them with the exact GPS coordinates of where to find her posing up in a two piece.
Yes, once again you can sleep at night safe in the knowledge that Myleene has been reunited with two of her most beautiful things: paps and bikinis!
Seriously tho, if Anne Summers were ever to stage a fashion show in the car park of a shut down Woolworths then this bikini is what would come frolicking down the catwalk at the finale of their show.
It’s true, just when I started to believe that a human rainbow would never make the cover of Hello’s Cherynobyl edition Myleene pulls this out of the bag. She looks like a cross between the sexiest float at the Notting Hill carnival and the recession-era model that was featured in last year’s Matalan catalogue. In other words, this look redefines Klass.
Seriously, this really is class from Klass and I can’t wait until next month when she’ gets pictured on an organic farm because this woman really is creating her own calendar.
Welcome to the ‘made-up news’, a post where most of the content has been exaggerated in order to fill the white spaces left between the facts and the truth.
After eating at London’s Firehouse restaurant on Saturday night the queen of pension-pop, Madonna returned to her car only to find a parking ticket tucked under her windscreen wiper.
The thing, Madonna wasn’t even driving, but that didn’t stop her from throwing a spoiled ‘don’t you know who I am’ tantrum (it’s the meds) by yanking the ticket off of her windscreen and then handing it back to the warden saying: “Thank you bitch, but no thank you.”
As much as I’m a fan of diva bitch tantrums, there’s really no need for Madge to behave like an asshole towards an innocent traffic-warden who frankly couldn’t care less how mad she got. It’s unnecessary, it makes her look like a dick and its a dumb thing to do in front of the paps.
Think about it. Madonna should’ve just cracked that manufactured smile of hers then taken the ticket and slipped it into her handbag. The next time she needs to park illegally in London, she can put it under her windscreen wiper so that all the traffic wardens just walk on by thinking their job is already done.
Sometimes you need to use your brain cells instead of your twat genes.
And yes, this post is only funny since most of it is made up but I’m sure, like anyone who sees a warden ticketing a diva, you’ll smile just a bit. I mean, check out the guy in the background.
source: Daily Mirror
Forget all about the other workouts because ‘Chutercise’ is the only workout you’ll ever need. One of our nation’s finest blooms, Helen Flanagan, is here to show us how to burn the fat with parachutes.
Yes, chute chute chute, chute like you’re Jane Fonda galloping through a field of daisies while being chased by a swarm of bees.
Nobody in the park will bother you because you’ll hypnotize them with your graceful chuting thing.
In Birmingham the other day Helen chuted so hard that at the end of her workout even her camel toe was a huffing and a puffing.
I don’t know this world anymore. Chute on, Helen, chute on!