Ah, the life of a pop princess. What must it be like to be adored 24/7, have your every whim gratified, commanding an entire major record label to indulge every creative urge, whilst occasionally finding time to meet ones public whether it be a casual wave from a red carpet, or opening the latest branch of Netto somewhere in Milton Keynes. This former girl band diva has it all, smouldering cosmetically damaged looks, a figure that fluctuates across the entire scale of dress sizes, dependent on what Cosmopolitan tells her is acceptable this month and an attitude that can only be described as appalling…….she is the envy of everyone…..or so she thinks

One morning she awakes as the sun streams in through her stately home bedroom window, catching her beautiful Whorish peroxide hair, she rises from her antique four poster bed, careful not to wake her new lover, an ex boy band member with dubious sexuality and frighteningly low IQ. She travels down the stairs and into the kitchen where she feeds her 16 chihuahua’s, all of which have been groomed to her own innovative vulgar taste. Today is a special day. She’s been summoned to her record companies head quarters for a meeting with the head of the label; she’s naturally very excited as she’s brimming with ideas for new projects. She flirts harmlessly with her personal chauffer, Marc, as she does every morning, it’s almost become a playful routine for her, innocent banter such as, “Do me up the shiitter” and “spray my fake breasts with love piss”. It’s interesting to note that Marc is gay, but wasn’t before he was in her employment…….. She arrives at the label shortly before 11am

“Ah take a seat will you”, the besuited record company exec beckons to our pop princess.
“Now you know why I’ve called you here today don’t you” he asks.
“Is it to congratulate me on the success of my last album, ‘wanking a dead horse’, the multi million selling fitness video, ‘Mutton To Lamb In Three Quick Easy Steps’, or perhaps to discuss the promotion for my new album ,‘I’ve shit on everyone to get where I am and will perform a variety of degrading acts to insure I remain there”. Our Pop princess chirps with all the blind self confidence of a delusional David Ike.
“Hmm kind of” he replies cautiously, “Now how do I put this? Do you remember when I said to you the only reason we released that last pile of shit you had the nerve to call music was because of your minor involvement with the previous chart topping act The Jizz Girls?
“Yes” she replies.
“And that your fitness Video was so unsuccessful The Magic Numbers wanted their money back”.
“Yeeeeees”
“And then our Janitor found out you were still signed to us and was so embarrassed to tell people he cleaned toilets for a record company who had you on their roster, he resigned on the spot”
“Yeeeeeeeeeees”
“Well it’s all connected with that really. The thing is no one actually likes you. They never really did. I for one can’t stand the sight of you. You are about as welcome round here as Naomi Campbell on a small charted 11 hour flight high on crack.
“Ooooh no one wants that” she shakes her head.
“Exactly…….hang on a minute” (the office phone rings and the label exec answers it)
“That was your mother, she just rang to say she hates you…….You see peoples complete loathing and distaste for you really does run across the board and it’s for that reason we can’t possibly justify the release of your latest steaming pile of dog shit.

There’s a brief pause before our pop princess says……….

“But didn’t you say all this on the eve of my last albums release”
“I did indeed………and can you remember how the issue was resolved?

Their eyes both rest on the crotch of the record company exec.

“Now this new album means pretty much everything to you doesn’t it. I mean look at you, you can’t even get a part on celebrity bestiality island, Even Titmuss managed a small goat. Your own family have changed their number to prevent you from calling them and the Jizz girls have re-formed without even telling you, so all in all your pretty screwed………..I think you know what to do”.

Our pop princess’s head moves ever closer to his crotch and cut to the sound of distasteful slurping.
 
Approximately 90 seconds later…….

“God you maybe the shitest singer I’ve ever heard, but your possibly the best prostitute I’ve never actually paid money for….so its not all bad news”  grins the exec as he zips his flys back up.
”And what about my new album” she replies through a film of lingering seaman.

He leans over and gently pats her on the head. “I think you’ll find the doors behind you”.

Spring Heeled Jim