TBS Newsbot

While you were asleep: Allegations against Franco, outlawed Pop-culture, Queen’s parts exposed

Hooray for small calendar mercies. Sadly, James Franco, the memories of your parents or the Queen’s bra-fitter were not afforded the same. Chin-chin.


More allegations against James Franco emerge in the LA Times.

For those of you who had James Franco in your office sweep of outed Hollywood sexual predators, why are you running such an awful thing? Have you no soul? Overnight, yet more allegations knocked on the door of Franco, particularly while running his actor’s studio, suggesting that the Golden Globe winner possesses that awful attribute of being “someone you can not say no to.”



Franco strenuously denied all allegations, with his legal representatives directing our attention to comments that the actor made in discussion with Stephen Colbert:



Kidadults take to Twitter to rehash parental complaint, talk about the 1990s (again).

The true thrill of pop-culture is not enjoying it. It’s only important if you’re deprived of it. As all of us who have been burned by love would be well aware, having something is not nearly as good as wanting it. Reality is a cruel mistress who doesn’t really care about you. Pop-culture objects are exactly the same. The ostracisation of the playground set is part of the thrill. No, Travis, I don’t have a yo-ho-Diablo, but I want one. May I use yours? Please stop flicking bird shit at me, I just want to be your friend.

Overnight, Twitter independently came to this conclusion, as they decided to share those once-trendy morsels of no-longer cool that they were cruelly deprived of in their formative years.



The Queen's bra-fitter cut adrift after book confirms that Elizabeth II has skin.

That cresting sound you hear is the thousandfold monocles meeting marble floors in shock. Over in England, the land of teenage pregnancy, illiteracy and vestigial colonialism, there has been a rather frightful scandal, old bean. The Queen's bra-fitter, Rigby & Peller have lost their royal right to lift Liz's jewels due to another standing Brit tradition, gossip.

The shape of the metaphorical corgi shit on the metaphorical floor is a tell-all book, which, apparently, describes fitting the Queen in front of her dogs, and I personally hope you place your teacup on the table to save yourself from dropping it in abject shock, but this may have occurred when the monarch might not have been fully clothed all the way properly. I know.

But, for those who have decided to load up their wheelbarrows with fertiliser, having completely lost faith in the system of government, I'd probably pause on offering a penny for that particular guy, but I'd ask you to examine that Britain is still Britain, as long as this fetid trash news still makes waves.



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