Aww. Bless. I wonder if he still has Preparation H round his rim?
The recent online campaign by Ms. Sinead O'Connor to reignite her moribund public image find herself a loving partner willing to indulge her in her preference for anal penetraton reached its logical conclusion recently, with her betrothal for the fourth time to a Mr. Barry Herridge, who was often described using the prefix "therapist".
Sadly, it seems, for Ms. O'Connor, this referred to his profession, and not to his proclivities; had he, indeed, been "the rapist" he may well have had his evil, wicked way, slapped her about a bit, popped her into the boot of his car and dumped her into a lake, tied up in a roll of carpet.
I am aware that this premise may seem unnecessarily harsh to the more sensitive readers of this strand; but at least it would have spared all and sundry the fuss surrounding the inevitable conclusion to their relationship, a split after just seven days, and lots and lots of media attention garnered just in time for pre-release publicity for her forthcoming album. Which, I am sure, will be great. Or will grate. One of the two.
Do others wish she would just fuck off, leave us all alone, and go and play with her Lambretta-powered vibrator?
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