Jet Set Jesus

There’s a whole new religion out there, people. A religion where there are few taboos, restrictions or rules. A religion where there is more than one holy book, updated weekly and sometimes daily to teach the disciples the word of the Lord. In fact there is more than one Lord. Hundreds and hundreds of demi-gods whose images can send followers into a frenzy. Their holy places are not restricted to some dusty Middle Eastern mountainside or some miracle-giving French backwater. No, no, no. The religion of the new Millennium has arrived. Its name? Celebrity worship. Its followers? Just about the entire world.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, burn your bibles and Koran, kill your Popes, vicars, Dalai Lamas and gurus, forget your festive season, wank on your weddings and bugger your barmitzvahs. Real religion? Just starts a war doesn’t it? Why be a Catholic when you can be a starfucker and get your kicks without guilt. Here’s how…

Substitute your God for…

An All Saint, Posh, Becks, Guy Ritchie, Madonna, Jennifer Lopez, Catherine Zeta Jones or any other minor/ major/ whatever celebrity who takes your fancy. Dress like them, talk like them, abandon all your own thoughts/ opinions and think like them. They are your idols. Heaven? Arsewipe. Nirvana? Bullshit. If you want the ultimate in religious ecstasy… well, it has to be fame, doesn’t it?

Bin you bible in favour of…

Heat, OK!, Hello! Or any other arse-licking, celebrity wank mag that takes your fancy. Your key to finding the right one is simply this… on the cover there will be a rather pretty young lady/ man who you sort of recognise from some obscure BBC2 drama but aren’t sure what it was. These are the stars of the future. Buy this magazine…for it is now your holy book. See what they get up to. My! Celeb A is screwing Celeb B after leaving Celeb C in a coke-fuelled drama. If only you were a better person. If only you’d done fuck all at school and given the right oral sex to the right people…maybe then you’d be strewn over the cover of Heat magazine with every person you’d ever fucked described in bright green tabloid detail with glossy pictures and a shaggability rating out of ten.

Ah yes, follower, it could have been you. But it wasn’t. It was them. So, back, BACK to your semi or your basement flat to pore over your holy books for your furtive masturbation over Nicole Appleton. Achieving religious ecstasy is a painful process, children, but there is no pain without gain. Only after you have recited all of Robbie Williams’ former shags can you achieve real inner peace.

Mecca? Jerusalem? Bollocks. The new Holy Land is….

Met Bar, Browns, China White…wherever, whatever. The venue changes weekly so check your holy books for the latest decree on where is or is not holy. Basically any shimmery bright or fashionably dull bar in London, NY, LA or dank European city will do. As long as there is a member of a boy/ girl band present along with some supposed big shot movie director…then that is your temple. On your knees, child, and pray, pray that one day you get to live in a house constantly monitored by cameras so that you too can appear on ‘Ready Steady Cook’ or some inane chat show. It can be yours.

Songs of Praise? Bite me.

The new religious programmes fill your schedules like rats in a sewer. ‘Celebrity’, fronted by two religious fanatics, will feed your faith, ensuring you know the exact whereabouts of your gods at any given time.

So there you have it. Who wants to read about wars, disasters, or- heaven forbid- NORMAL people? Good heavens, no. We want to know what the Beckhams are wearing, who Westlife are screwing (do they actually HAVE sex?), whether Caroline Aherne is still boozing and how many blondes George Best has passed out on top of this week. So go on, people pick your own personal jet set Jesus right now! Follow their every move in the red tops! Buy their new single/ album/ video. And then pick another one next week! And do it all over again. Religion, eh? Does it get any better than this?

So roll up, roll up, people. Abandon your principles, morals and freedom of thought. Sell your soul to Hello! Magazine and lavish your love and attention not on those around you but on a two-bit singer/ model/ footballer/ socialite. Join us…be socially accepted. Oh come, let us adore them….