So Owen Wilson has tried to commit suicide. Allegedly.

I realise that ‘You, Me and Dupree’ set a new all-time low for the cinematic genre we call ‘comedy’, but I am surprised by his actions. I thought he was made of sterner stuff. You can not spend 38 years on this earth, with a nose shaped like a human penis, without developing some sort of coping mechanism in the face of adversity. As coping mechanisms go, I will admit that have sex with Kate Hudson is a pretty good one (it is a bit better than my own favourite, Back to The Future DVD marathons and booze).

Apparently they split up recently, and I imagine that if I could not have sex with Kate Hudson (it is only a matter of time people) ever again, and had a nose like a human penis, then I too, would feel a little blue. But if I wanted to kill myself, I am sure I could do it properly, with none of this ‘failed attempt’ and ‘cry for help’ rubbish.

A gun in the mouth, a poorly timed walk along the train tracks, or wearing an “I prefer East 17″ sandwich board at a Take That reunion concert are all ways to guarantee your death.

Of course, maybe he was not actually trying to shuffle off this mortal coil at all, and in reality he is just looking for a sympathy shag from Ms Hudson? If this is true, then I suppose it is possible he is actually a sexually-deviant evil genius. In which case I take my hat off to old penis nose.

I can assure you that if this leads to some form of reconciliation between him and Kate Hudson (i.e. he gets a shag out of it) you can expect to see the headline in the Windsor & Maidenhead Advertiser, “Top Blogger in death bid!”

Only really fit and morally questionable well-wishers will be welcome at the hospital though, just to be clear.

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