Wednesday, 18 May 2011
The Apprentice: You Mugs.
I've just watched The Apprentice for the first time in a long time. I know why I left it for such a long time. Do they actually pick people by how smack-me-upside-the-fucking-head-stupid they actually are?? One team, lead by the carnivorous and piranha faced Susan Ma, head into town to buy a Cloche. They don't know what it is. GOOGLE it. Jesus wept. How many primates are walking around with high powered smart phones clever enough to use Google, Bing, Bang or Ask Jeeves. Jeeves would laugh in your face and call you a mug. He's a butler and there to serve - but he's not a mong. That's right, go and buy a greenhouse you brigade of champion muppets.
The Grand Wizard Sir Rabbi Lord Aspartame OBE MBE QVC BBC ITV SKY1 LWT BHS C&A LandOfLeather Hons should have at least picked someone better than Super Hans in that rag tag bunch of High Street pirates. I turned over and literally thought I was watching Channel 4. Had PeepShow's Super Hans cleaned up his act, finally kicked the rocks, applied for The Apprentice and made good his buzzing existence? My survey said: Not fucking quite. No, it was some chump called Vincent. He could have been buzzing given the fact that he was leading his harem of pin-striped wearing business brasses around with about as much coordination as the Right Honourable Charlie Sheen MP, on a Bolivian day trip with an after party in Professor Burp's Bubble Works. Baffled. Useless.
I miss Margaret - and have a fairly educated idea as to what's happened to her:
Late at night, in his opulent offices in Canary Wharf (actually a shanty commercial park in Brentwood, Essex) Lord Aspartame asks loyal, hard working Maggie into his office.
"Send her in Tracy" (or whatever the bint on the fake front desk is called).
"Margaret, I need your help".
Margaret, shuddering at the memory of Lord Aspartame's last request of help with an office enema and the Nescafe Brown Blend farts he stalked her with for a week, replies sheepishly:
"Yes, Your Holiness, how can I help?"
Stepping down from his eleven shoebox tall high chair, Aspartame gestures Margaret nearer.
"Margaret, take a quick look at these figures, in this spreadsheet, this one here, right on my desk."
As Margaret approached, shaking like a shitting spaniel, Lord Aspartame snapped closed his eagle like claws, dragging Margaret's alarmed face to his crotch.
"Now suck me like a bloody overzealous Dyson or you're FIRED! FIRED I SAY! FIRED!"
The rest is tragic history. Needless to say, the vivid, haunting, vision of fellating Aspartame's salty acorn was enough to drive poor Margaret away, forever. Forever in shame and denial. Lord Aspartame has now employed a seasoned cocksucker in the form of Karen Brady (used to noshing two old men at her day job with West Ham) and this task is part of every episode's team debriefing. He's never been happier and the series continues...
(For the record: The Vince/Super Hans comparison is fucking mine, not Dara O'Briain's: reference titter/FB at least 30 mins before the aftershow)
Posted by F-DAAT! at 22:22