Written by Nick Hobbs
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Monday, 17 January 2011

image for Katie Price Tired Of Alex Reid Stealing Her Limelight
Left and Right, Price's boobs on holiday in Crete, yesterday.

Vacuous marriage hound, Katie Price, has sensationally accused her current husband Alex Reid of trying to edge in on her fame.

As the 'Reidinator', or 'dipshit' as most people know him as, clung tightly to her coattails, Price accused Reid of various attempts to steal her limelight.

"I do modelling and stuff," she said, whilst chewing gum, "and he started wanting to do it. I have a perfume out, and Alex started talking to a manufacturer about his own scent. Who wants to smell of sweat? I have wrote a book, now he wants to wrote one too, as well."

Reid confirmed his wish to write a book last week. Talking to reporters the chiselled, cross-dressing caveman let slip that he had been taking writing lessons at night school.

He was currently up to 'E' in the alphabet.

We figured that it was a little two-faced for Price to accuse Reid of cashing in on her success, when Price herself has only found fame, literally, on the back of her breasts. Which themselves were made by doctors in a surgical procedure.

We caught up with the famous funbags, on a well deserved break in their work schedule, sunning themselves in Crete.

"Katie is a moron," said Left "she is a fool to herself. We told her not to get involved with Reid, and Andre for that matter, but she wouldn't listen."

"That's right," interjected Right, "she never listens to us, but she'd be nothing without us! Who was there for her in the calendar years? Who was there for her during the magazine shoots? Always standing out front, being gawped at by photographers, directors and pre-pubescent teenagers? Me and him! That's who. She would be nothing without us!"

"We feel let down," continued Left, " after the good times, she had reduction surgery, thinking that she could go it alone. Well she was wrong."

"I would say her looks won't last forever," said Right "but lets face it, she never really had any. People remember her lady-lumps, not her trowled-on, make-up smeared mug. She is nothing without us, and it's time she remembered that, before we find someone else to work with!"

"Ditch Reid, and remember your roots," finished Left, "that's what she needs to do. Take some time to sort her head out, and get back to what she's good at. Taking off her top and keeping her trap shut."

"And her legs...," joked Right.

And they giggled all the way to the bar.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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