Celebrity predictions for 2012

I wrote this in January 2012 – how many did I get right?


Ah, the future. Remember when we all imagined the future was going to be this way-cool wonderland of gleaming spaceships, million-metre-high skyscrapers made out of chrome, and asexual humanoids wandering around in silver jumpsuits and changing their eye colour more often than they had hot dinners, which wasn’t that often actually because they didn’t have hot dinners anymore but instead consumed nutritional pills in their bubble-domes on the moon?

No? Oh, okay. Must have just been me.

Anyway, as it turns out, the future blows. As in, the present blows. Which is the future of my past. Does that make sense? I think it makes sense. You know what I mean, anyway.

No spaceships, no chrome skyscrapers, no weirdoes in silver jumpsuits. Blah. Go away, future. Leave me alone.

But no, the feckin’ thing insists on rolling around, forever and ever, until all time ceases to exist. A bit like reruns of Friends on cable. So there’s nothing left for us to do but make – oh yes – some more predictions about the future.

Specifically, what will happen in sleb-land, both here and abroad, over the next 12 months. Silver jumpsuits on, everyone:

  • Simon Cowell’s hair will become self-aware and take command of his brain, by sending messages through the skull via hair follicles. Like what Snake did to Homer on The Simpsons one time. The hair will then abolish all Cowell’s current programming and replace it with a number of cross-platform, multi-media, mega-budget, infotainment craptaculars…all of them with Simon Cowell’s hair at their centre. As opposed to all of Simon Cowell.
  • Jamie Oliver will tearfully confess on Ellen’s show: “I’ve always hated cooking.” Then Ellen will tearfully confess on Jamie Oliver’s new show: “I’ve always hated you.”
  • Kate and Wills will announce the impending arrival of Heir to the Throne #1. If a boy, it will be called Ponsonby Foofarah Reductia. If a girl, it will be called Polidori Macadam Exquisitation. If neither, it will be called something gender-neutral like Bobby.
  • Ryan Tubridy will, by July 5th, have taken full and absolute control of all RTE programming on TV and radio. The last bastion of resistance – the Angelus bells – will be broken and destroyed, the bells replaced by the sound of Tubbers’ voice going “Bong…bong…bong…” for sixty seconds. All RTE services will now broadcast wall-to-wall, 24-7 Ryan Tubridy. This date will become known as Judgement Day to the guerrilla movement that later rises to oppose him/it/them.
  • Kim Kardashian will marry Eminem. For five minutes. Then he’ll spend the next ten years abusing her in rap form, with added comical visuals for your pleasure.
  • Ireland will win the Euros 2012 tournament World Series soccerball thingie, thus making all the WAGs into instant slebs. If they’re not already. They’ll record a charity single for an anti-smoking lobby group – “WAGs against fags” – which stays at Number 1 for exactly 14 seconds. And Robbie Keane will supplant David Beckham as the most saleable footballer on the planet, signing big-money advertising deals with Tag Heuer, Sony and Bargaintown.
  • In computer games – they are still called that, right? – the PSX-PlayerBox3 will bring out ++Nolife++, an incredibly realistic simulation type thing in which your virtual other self interacts with others, goes to work, has a milkshake, de-clogs the drains etc. etc. Swiftly followed by your non-virtual actual self doing things like wondering why you just paid seventy bucks to act exactly like you always do.
  • Lindsay Lohan will tear the last remaining scraps of dignity and professional credibility into minute shreds by posing naked in Playboy. Tragically, this one isn’t made up.
  • The new Transformers movie – provisionally entitled Transformers: The Deafening – will last for eighteen hours, and consist of nothing but stuff blowing up INCREDIBLY LOUDLY, rendered in glorious CGI, while a few human actors run around and pretend to be escaping from the stuff blowing up INCREDIBLY LOUDLY. It will all be INCREDIBLY LOUD. In quieter movie news, the new James Bond will follow the suave superspy as he spends six months working on a new board game which he describes as “a cross between Snakes & Ladders and shuffleboard”.
  • Beyoncé and Jay-Z will release a new single called Naz-teee Freek Move Ya Boddy Uh Uh. This will be a distressingly illiterate slice of so-called R ‘n’ B, which used to mean Muddy Waters and people like that, but now seemingly refers to overly sexualised, horribly cynical pop music centred around heavy bass lines, eight-octave wailing from the semi-nude female singer, and lower-order primate grunting from her male counterpart. Said to be at least seventy per cent more “real” than comparable chart filler.
  • This column will win the Nobel Prize for Everything, but I will regretfully turn it down to protest about Wall Street/the rainforests/Gaza/whatever.

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