The final extract from Frankie Boyle's new book

I agree with Michael Douglas. The only way to promote your biopic of a gay icon is to say ‘I ate so much pussy I got cancer.’ Turns out Douglas only smoked to get the taste of pussy out of his mouth. I’m worried that these revelations mean they’re going to ban cunnilingus in pubs. Thing is, if we found out that all cancer was caused by oral sex we’d still have to find a cure for cancer.

We mustn’t overreact. I’d suggest compulsory testing, and anyone who comes up positive just gets their pubes shaved into a skull and crossbones. Michael does less of that sort of thing now as he often finds himself coming up again unsure what he went down for in the first place. His cunnilingus habit was actually a side effect of his excessive sex drive – his penis had become so exhausted that at the mere hint of an available woman it would bury its head in his scrotum in the manner of a sleeping swan.

Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones are taking ‘time apart to work on their marriage’. That’s like saying they’re ‘staying together to explore themselves as individuals’. It’s not easy making relationships with a 25-year age gap work. It must be hard for a couple to grow old together when one has such a big head start.

Keith Richards simply can’t die. He’s a genuine, living, pickled-and-preserved icon, talking and walking around like a sun-scorched, partially concussed half-man, with the ubiquitous Marlboro Light held in a claw-like, static, paralysed hand. A truly terrible hand. A hand that resembles an ancient, leathery, malformed foetus dry-cured in sea salt and malt vinegar.

Keith says he intimidates his daughter’s boyfriends by showing them tricks with knives. Bear in mind this is a man so off his face I’d feel intimidated standing near him while he held a hot cup of tea. His best knife trick is when he drinks a litre of Southern Comfort, and then falls face first into the cutlery drawer and manages to come up with just a teaspoon jammed into his eye socket.

Brave Angelina Jolie says her double mastectomy has brought her closer to husband Brad Pitt. By my calculations, 3.86 inches closer (granted, my model’s not 100 per cent accurate – there’s only so much data you can retrieve from mattress plaster casts taken after sneaking into recently vacated hotel rooms). Angelina added she doesn’t want more kids. Causing jubilation across rural Cambodia, where many parents guard their huts by hanging a carving of Jennifer Aniston above the door. An impossibly sexy woman – who campaigns against war, between playing gun-toting assassins – had her breasts cut off and re-sculpted to save her own life from cancer. If her next press release could be instructions on exactly what we’re allowed to masturbate about from now on, that would be very helpful, ta.

Chris Brown said in an interview that after 52 weeks of counselling he learned that punching a woman in the face ‘is absolutely wrong’. Well done, Chris. Give yourself a peanut. Chris got a tattoo of a beaten-up woman on his neck. Contrary to what people think, it isn’t a tattoo from when he beat up Rihanna – it’s a flash-forward to when he kills her. What better place for your ‘To do’ list than on your neck. He doesn’t need a tattoo to remind himself of what he did. That’s what Twitter’s for.

Rihanna said she can turn straight women bisexual, which I’m pretty sure was also an early advertising slogan for Lambrini. Megan Fox says her first love was a teenage lesbian stripper who broke her heart. I think she broke mine, too. Either that, or it turned me on so much I tried to grow a breast. She’s having her tattoo of Marilyn Monroe removed as she says it draws negative comments. No, Megan. You misunderstand. It’s your whole being that reminds people of the death of Hollywood.

Lady Gaga has given her boyfriend a scrapbook to remind him of her whenever they’re apart. Surely he’s reminded of her every time he looks at some raw meat, a pile of bandages or his own dick. Meanwhile, Jennifer Lopez’s new lover says she has the body of a woman half her age. Though it seems that so far she’s only harvested its hair and buttocks.

Why is there so much coverage of the United States over here? Most Americans struggle to recognise us on a map. Or a battlefield. Of course, the real reason that the United States is such a horror story is that they built it on top of an Indian graveyard.

Naomi Campbell advertised for a new personal assistant. Responsibilities included dry cleaning, managing her diary and dressing as a giant sycophantic talking mirror. Supermodels can be so contrary to their assistants. One minute it’s ‘You make me sick!’; the next it’s ‘You! Make me sick!’

Kelly Brook is stunned that women have sent her boyfriend Danny Cipriani sexy pictures and dirty messages. Danny is now in therapy trying to work out why he’d think looking at scantily clad women was OK while he was going out with an underwear model. I hope Sigmund Freud is available, as this one’s going to take minutes.

Kelly assumed that Danny had been shagging all the women he texted, showing the quaint understanding of modern life that your mum shows when she asks if you can hear her talking into her email. Kelly’s a loyal girlfriend – she managed to stay with Jason Statham for seven years. I can’t get through a title sequence of his films without wanting to walk out on the whole of humanity. Danny’s friends claim he was bored with the relationship. Well, she would keep banging on about Syria. Why would a rugby player be so promiscuous? It’s probably the inevitable subliminal effect of spending your working day chasing a giant egg.

© Frankie Boyle

From Scotland's Jesus, published by HarperCollins. Click here to buy the book.

Yesterday's extract.

Published: 12 Dec 2013