Heat Magazine

Ever wondered what the personification of Heat magazine would be like? A twat. Just an absolute shitting fuck. It'd be like somebody turning up with some brand new bag and making a big song and dance about it, making sure it's in plain view at all times, shifting it towards you and making eyes, until you eventually ask: "What are you doing?"
"New bag. You should get one. Everybody should."
"Why?"
"Because it's fashionable. So you should get it."
"Who decided it was fashionable?"
"Fashion guys. Look at it, it's great. Incidentally, have you heard about Jordan's kids?"
"Who?"
"Jordan, you know, Katie Price."
"Well I know who she is, but I don't know her. Why would I want to know about her kids?"
"Okay well in that case, guess who was looking slightly rough the other day? Victoria Beckham. She didn't have make up on and she was wearing trackies and shit. I took a photo and drew a ring around it, look," it'd say, producing a fuzzy photograph which must surely be an intrusion on basic human rights.
"Why are you showing me this?"
See, Heat Magazine would be a fucking irritating and boring person to have around, so why do people read the magazine? Also, if you started eating ice cream they'd say:
"Urm....you sure? The skinny rock-chick look is in at the moment."
Then you'd put it away and they'd go:
"Oh wait....wait.....no, sorry. Curvy, curvy's in. Eat away. Beyonce's curvy, are you trying to tell me she's ugly? You should try and be exactly like her. Go on."
Girls, don't read Heat magazine, do whatever the fuck you want.
"Oh yeah and you'll be glad to know I've taken note of what dress loads of actresses were wearing on the red carpet at some premiere and said whether I thought they were any good or not, do you want to look?"
"Actually Heat, I've gotta shoot off...."
"You sure?"
"Yeaaahhh best be off."
"Hang on hang on, what about this article about some stupid chav cunt who's had about fifty kids?"
"Naaahhh got things to do, Heat."
And then Heat would sit there, alone, and cry. And cry.