Sting turns up at the Golden Globes with newly dyed black hair and beard. What a div. The tantric sex god is a lot like my postman in that he gets down to business at the crack of down but rarely comes before lunchtime. For some reason Sting was introduced at the Globes as "singer, composer and social activist." Hanging around with some block from the Amazon with a Wagon Wheel stuck in his gob at least ten years ago doesn't make you a social activist. It makes you a cunt.
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