Celebrity News:

So Britney may have a sex tape. Big deal. Join the queue of Hollywood casualties who revive their career with a saucy piece of celluloid. Isn’t it time we got over this morbid obsession? Drooling over naked, leaked pics of Disney’s latest starlet circulating on the net, or washed up actors caught with their pants down in an aircraft toilet, is hardly a pursuit of civilised society is it?

We all tut-tut at the scandalous behaviour of popular culture’s idols, but secretly our lust for all things lewd is insatiable. What is it about a celebrity sex tape scandal that titillates us anyway? Is it the idea of being privy to intimate moments between two people? I doubt it. Seeing grainy night vision of an open-mouthed heiress is hardly romantic or intimate. Is it a salacious desire for all things perverted? If that were the case, internet pornography would have those needs covered tenfold. Do we just want to see whether the rumours about Tommy Lee’s assets are true? Maybe. But mostly this is about celebrity and a public fascination that has reached fever pitch in the past few years.

Suddenly, we cannot survive without the latest gossip on what bag Lindsay Lohan took to rehab or breathe out until we see those first precious snaps of Joel and Nicole’s baby, Harlow. Los Angeles is considering passing a law to protect celebrities from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. That is terrible news for the suburban troglodyte who satisfies a burning desire for crotch shots and nipple flashes by salivating over the invasive lens of paparazzi each Monday when glossy magazines hit the stand.

It seems as though your average Joe believes being famous will make all their dreams come true.
And if we can’t be famous, we will suck the life from those who are. We are obsessed by reality TV because we see ourselves in the foolish few who grapple for their 15 minutes of fame by eating cockroaches or dating a transgendered woman. And if we can’t get on Big Brother, we satisfy the desire vicariously.

Society has always worshipped the idealised life of a Hollywood star. But our fascination with the perfect lives of others has turned into a bloodlust for their demise.

I can feel nothing but sadness for Britney. The woman has lost custody of her children and control of her life and yet we keep feeding the fire, baying for more with a malignancy akin to an angry mob. What do we want to see happen here? Why are we so insistent on tearing down people we build up to be Gods?

If being rich and famous means losing your privacy, dignity and in some cases your life, I wouldn’t want it for quids. I am the first to admit that I have struggled to look away from Britney’s meltdown, but it’s time to gather up our decency and scamper home with our tails between our legs, for we should be ashamed of ourselves.

It’s time to say thumbs down to the Colosseum.

The show’s over, folks.