Here at Scaryduck Towers, we never dodge the big questions and are never afraid to tackle the issues that affect society head-on. In matters of war, politics or the arts, we will never shirk our responsibility to you, our readers, in facing down the demons that haunt the world we live in today. That is why today we have steeled ourselves to find a solution to the quandary that is facing our freedom-loving western ideals as we speak, a question that our governments dare not face, the problem that dare not say its name. Until now. Today, we ask: Who would win a cat fight between Tatu and The Cheeky Girls?
To resolve this controversy, we spent literally minutes feeding data into Metatron, the Scaryduck Labs supercomputer, and with hands trembling and after a short ceremony, we hit the Enter key. The results, as they say, were Earth shattering.
Round One: “Touch my bum!” sang the Cheeky Girls, and right from the start there was some veritable ass-kicking. In our analysis of this mighty rumble, the Russian girls come out kicking, scratching and hissing, gouging at the eyes of the sylph-like Romanian twins. But it’s the ballerina training of the Cheekies that pays off with their disicpline, strength and coordination picking of the Tatu girls almost at will. Lena and Yulia fight back, pulling hair and screaming obscenities, but its to no avail as Monica and Gabriela have the upper hand, leaving the Russians a bleeding and broken heap on the floor. Round one to the Cheeky Girls, and a nation of Loaded readers weep into their pints.
Round Two: Despite their pummelling, Tatu are not to be defeated. The filthy teen lesbian chic slappers didn’t get where they are today without treading on a few toes, and this battle royal is no exception. Through a network of underworld contacts, hushed acquaintances and a man called Sergei, a Russian Mafia hit is arranged on Cheeky Girl World Headquarters in downtown Cluj. No mercy is shown, no quarter is spared. Even hardened crime scene officers turn away in disgust at this flagrant misuse of marital aids.
Round Three: Tatu's victory can only be short-lived. As night falls and a full moon rises over the sordid Tatu love-nest (copyright The Sun 2003), the Transylvanian double act rise from their icy graves to wreak their awful revenge on their pop rivals. At the head of an army of zombies, werewolves and vampires, chanting the dread incantation “Cheeky cheeky!”, awful and bloody revenge is meted out on Lena and Yulia, their skulls smashed like so many egg-shells and their spicy brains devoured in a sickening, cathartic feeding frenzy. Tatu are cursed to walk the Earth as undead ghouls, their shattered bodies knowing nothing but unending pain, decay and the Eurovision Song Contest. Cruelty knows no bounds. Final victory goes to the Cheekies, but at a price.
So, there you have it and a vital lesson is learned. In war there are no winners, only undead brain-guzzling novelty pop acts that even Pete Waterman wouldn't touch with a shitty stick.
Next week, we shall be asking another burning question: Which of the “I’m a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here!” contestants would be the first to commit cannibalism, and what exactly would Ant & Dec’s spicy brains taste like? And thrown from a great height, what would be the first to hit the ground - Ronan Keating or a large over-ripened watermelon?
"Meanwhile, back in reality..."
It's no good. I'm still in denial about the football.