Come Dine With Me

Come Dine with Me

This is how Come Dine with Me should be:

“So our first contestant is Jordan, from Barnsley. Tell us what you’ll be cooking Jordan.”

“My guest with be eating a bruised banana for starters, my main is guuna be beans on toast, and for desert I’ve managed to get my hands on some treacle sponge.”

“That’s sounds great Jordan, but I think your guests might be expecting a more cultured menu.”

“Ahh, no worries, I’ve figured it out. Obviously I’m gunna put a cheese slice on the beans and there is some custard in the fridge for the desert.

Now that would be much more entertaining than some middle aged wierdos letting randomers look through their cupboards before serving food with names like spells in Harry Potter.

          There’s always a token gay guy, a gobby woman, an arsehole and somebody who thinks he’s Tom Cruise. The gay guy can never cook, Tom cruise thinks he can, all the arsehole wants to talk about is politics and the mouthy bitch always takes massive offence at some comment that means nothing. What is this shit? How did it ever get on TV?

          Another thing, the winner (if you can call a massive loser a winner) gets £1,000. That’s it. Not that I am saying they’ve earned more than that, but a grand? Really? I mean I wouldn’t turn my nose up at 4 free dinners and a thousand pounds, but it just seems like such a pointless show to enter. Why wouldn’t they enter deal or no deal or something?

          I’ll tell you why, because on deal or no deal they don’t get to show off. And that’s what they want, just to show off. Because for some reason they think that being able to cook a mediocre grilled sea bass makes them the Queen of England.

          And they’re all bull shitters. They could have the most amazing night ever and they will never give higher than an 8. They will only ever give a 6,7,8 or in exceptional circumstances a 9. I would love to see my mates on that show. All these twats expecting a mushroom ravioli and chocolate fondant and they’d just get them a McDonalds.

“You WILL eat your big mac, and you’ll enjoy it. Cost me £4.99 that. Cheeky shit.”

The Apprentice

The Apprentice

On level with Big Brother in the list of worst shows on TV. Substitute Davina McCall for Sir Alan Sugar and those crazy tasks for selling bits of shit and it is really the same thing. They are both just popularity contests, with either the public or the suit wearing Del Boy.

          That is reason enough to despise the thing. But there is more. The way that the contestants brown nose Sugar is just revolting. After he tells them why there were shite on this week’s task, there’s always one stupid little toss pot that pipes up and tries to explain why he’s better than everybody else. They’re always trying to set themselves apart but really they just look like massive sycophantic wanker.

          And seen as “Sir Alan” is always trying to make himself seem like a “down to earth person”, I don’t see why he doesn’t just tell them straight.

Business Twat: “I believe I am the next big thing, Lord Sir Alan Sugar Daddy, Mwah.”

Sugar: “OH shut it you plonker! Sling your hook you tart!

Tell me that doesn’t sound like the best boardroom meeting ever?

          That’s the other thing: why does Sugar feel the need to act like Barry Big Arms every time the camera is on him? Always shouting and using cockney rhyming slang, as if we’re meant to believe he actually acts like that in his every-day life. He’s just a cockney that found a suit and thought that made him a millionaire. He’s mentally unstable, rare form of schizophrenia where he thinks he’s living another laugh.

          I have a theory on the Apprentice. I think that when it gets to about week 5 or 6 and the viewers are getting bored, they just slip more people in and pretend they’ve been there since the beginning. I cannot be the only one that has no idea who half of them are by the middle of the series?

          That’s the point really, we don’t care who they are. They’re all the same, we are all just waiting for the point when Nick jumps on the table, strips off and wings his cock around in Lord Sugar’s face before running through the glass doors behind. Meanwhile, Sugar is telling the project manager why he’s being fired, and as he points his finger at him, he has a heart attack. Sugar dies, and London taxi drivers everywhere weep.