Blind panic swept the British light entertainment circuit yesterday, when it emerged that bouffant-haired harpy Sharon Osbourne is, quite literally, the devil made flesh.
Osbourne's human form has been occupied by Lucifer since the late 1990s when she was a plump housewife and mother to brattish, celebrity-wannabe offspring. But soon wickedness was seeping through every pore. The weight fell off and she developed the skinny frame, mean curl to her lip and overuse of the word "fabulous" that only the truly evil can muster.
"Looking back, it all makes sense now," said Osbourne's husband Ozzy, himself ironically nicknamed the "Prince of Darkness". "It must have happened when I bit the head off that bat, twirled round three times and started screaming in tongues - begging for Beelzebub to make the Missus a bit less mumsy and more of a sex bomb. Needless to say, I haven't been invited back to Whipsnade since."
Once controlled by the cloven-hoofed Diablo, Osbourne's rise to fame and notoriety was meteoric. To begin with, Old Horny eased his mortal vessel into the spotlight with some gentle (if nauseating) verbal sparring with Simon Cowell on X Factor, but soon Osbourne's ubiquitous, smug features were littering the front pages of glossy magazines and her crass, faux-friendly gob was bleating away on every daytime chat-show known to man.
By the time Satan had secured a commission for "The Sharon Osbourne Show", his plan for world domination was in place. Through a clever cover of asinine human interest stories and D-list celebrity interviews, he started beaming subliminal messages to a dormant army of dribbling, zombified ITV1 viewers in a bid to whip them into a frenzied, undead mob.
Luckily the great British public responded in triumphant style by all switching over to Richard and Judy, and an eternity of damnation and servitude to an amoral and Hellish overlord was narrowly averted.
It remains the closest the devil has come to infiltrating humanity since his previous incarnations as Adolf Hitler and Robert Maxwell, but, despite the setback, he remains happy with his current fleshy vehicle. "I'm sticking with Shazza," he boomed from deep within her rotten soul. "I tried Garth Crooks for a while, but despite the cold, dead eyes, he simply wasn't malevolent enough. Frankly I think this spiteful cow is my best bet for world domination since I inhabited Ghengis Khan back in the 12th Century. Those were the days."