Please, go away. Please?

This woman is bugging the shit out of me. She's the (formerly) non-famous(ish) person who won Celebrity Big Brother, which I didn't watch, and was only vaguely aware was happening at the time. I do not watch a lot of television, not because I'm all culture nazi or anything, but because I just don't. I do manage to absorb a fair amount of television-related pop culture simply by walking around and existing and stuff, though, because hardly a day goes by without me seeing the covers of many, many lurid tabloids and interchangeable gossip magazines. Those things are everywhere. Even Marks & Spencer has a magazine and newspaper rack now, for heaven's sake. So I am following this woman's fifteen minutes of fame via headlines and tacky cover photos.

Apparently, this (formerly) non-famous(ish) person was planted in the house by the producers to fool the C-listers into thinking she, too, was marginally famous. And she did. And she won. And now she's a C-lister in her own right, hooray for her. I am so goddamn sick of looking at her, though. She seems to have a beau named Preston, or something like that, and every twist and turn of their ginned-up attention whore relationship is being communicated to me through the covers of such fine publications as Heat and OK! and oh, whatever the hell the rest of them are. Who the fuck is Preston? What does he do? Why should I care that, as Chantelle assures us, "YES, we're sleeping together!" Never mind, don't tell me, I don't care. Glad you're getting some, Chantelle, now please shut up and go away.

I'm perfectly happy to hear lurid celebrity gossip, but, you know, I prefer it to be about real celebrities. I don't think Britney Spears is exactly loaded with talent, but she's legitimately famous for actually doing something, so I'm OK with reading all about her trainwreck marriage. Go, Britney. Chantelle...eh. What can she do, other than look cheap and tacky? Unless you count standing still long enough to be photographed as a talent, in which case, she is slightly more talented than my cats, she really doesn't seem to do anything. God, please, let it be 14.5 minutes and counting, because while I don't really need a new chav celebrity to despise, it would at least be a change.