An Utterpants reporter was quickly despatched to her London Penthouse suite where Lo-Hoe brazenly revealed more about her sticky close encounter with the cackling Prince of Darkness.
When I arrived at her coke-littered hovel I found Lohan smeared in goats blood dancing naked to the best of Barry Manilow. The 20-year-old Devil worshipper only agreed to the interview on condition that I strip down to my bare arse and let her straddle my whip stick whilst she drizzled black candle wax onto my steely, brown nipples.
Sometimes a reporter has to do what a reporter has to do, so I slipped out of my Crimpelene discount store suit, cracked my knuckles and laid back on the dirty Persian rug ready to pummel this celebrity misfit for all the juice she could muster.
Utterpants: "Lindsay, can I call you Lindsay?"
Lo-Hoe: "Call me Queen Hell you nasty little bitch!"
Utterpants: "Ok, Queen Hell, how exactly did you meet the Prince of Darkness?"
Lo-Hoe: "I was over at Paris Hilton's house around four years ago with Nicole Richie and Kimberley Stewart when we decided to make a Ouija board."
Utterpants: "I see, so what happened exactly?"
Lo-Hoe: "We all sat in the circle and tried to conjure up the spirit of Mae West but instead we ended up with this seedy looking guy with a sloping forehead and exceptionally hairy palms."
Utterpants: "And this was the Devil incarnate?"
Lo-Hoe: "No, he said his name was Fred West and he was a famous discarnate builder but I’d never heard of him."
Utterpants: "Fred West was a British serial killer."
Lo-Hoe: "Was he really? Well, after he finger banged Kimberly and gave Paris the old one-two he disappeared lickety-split."
Utterpants: "Paris Hilton slept with Fred West!?"
Lo-Hoe: "He never slept with her; Fred rode her well-lubed chocolate chimney from behind standing up. Paris has shagged everyone, Adam West, John West—the entire population of the pacific North West. She’s not the picky type."
Utterpants: "Would you mind easing off on the wax a bit, Queen Hell, it’s getting a little uncomfortable."
Lo-Hoe: "Mind your tongue, Mr Bitch or I’ll stop this interview."
Utterpants: "Apologies, my Queen, I forgot myself for a second. So tell our readers about your satanic experience."
Lo-Hoe: "Well after Fred left we drank four bottles of Crystal Champagne and popped a bunch of multi-coloured pills. The other girls passed out while I was rubbing the last of the Charlie into my gums, and lo and behold, the Devil appeared before my very eyes."
Utterpants: "What did he look like?"
Lo-Hoe: "He was 7ft feet tall, black and red with razor sharp teeth, two huge horns and an enormous, hugely-empurpled, uncircumcised member. He told us that if we agreed to let him ravish our bodies we would have unjustified fame and wealth for a thousand years."
Utterpants: "And you agreed to this?"
Lo-Hoe: "Well, I’m a completely talentless slut but not totally stupid. If someone offered you a chance of stardom and all you had to do was let them slosh their meat loaf inside your slop bucket what would you do?
Utterpants: "I’d smear on the hot goats blood and hold my cheeks apart before you could say Salmon Rushdie."
Lo-Hoe: "Exactly, you filthy little bitch boy, now squeeze my knockers and call me your little Slut Monkey."
Utterpants: "Without delay, my little Slut Monkey. So what did it feel like having the Anti-Christ ride his cock horse up your Banbury Cross?"
Lo-Hoe: "It was sensational. He rogered me so hard I was cursing and swearing like Mel Gibson on a drink-driving charge."
Utterpants: "Do you have any plans to see the Prince of Darkness again?"
Lo-Hoe: "I saw him about a month ago, but he’s so busy buggering Victoria Beckham and Cheryl Tweedy these days we just can’t seem to find the time. Anyway— I’ve had enough of this chatter. My chocolate box is empty and Queen Slut Monkey wants Daddy Dog Bitch to fill it with his cream fondant."
Utterpants: "I wouldn’t normally, but hey, what the hell."
And with that, dear readers, we drew the interview to a close.
I awoke the next day in the alleyway adjacent to the hotel covered in suspicious white powder, second-degree wax burns and copious amounts of bottom fluid and I can’t say I’ve ever felt better in all my living life.
I’m now going to interview Helen Mirren and ask her to confirm or deny the rumour that she drinks the blood of Lesbians in order to keep her 60-year-old breasts so deliciously perky.
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Story © 2006. Lorenzo Cassanell.
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