Scrape the Barrel for your own Sake

So lets see if anyone reads this…

I don’t need a prompt sometimes. Sometimes I’l just write what I want to say without including a word decided by “the man”. As it happens today I don’t have a great deal to say apart form watching the telly tonight, 2 game shows, one with a cockney spare’ and one with 4 judgemental judges who decide who should go home after singing their guts out for the people on the sofas who aren’t too drunk to call up and save these people before they’re thrown off the edge of the volcano never to be seen again unless you happen to go to Tramps nightclub in Worcester which specialises in mediocre nights out with quarter finalist losers from the “Voice Factor X Rated Love Island you must marry me or I’ll pinch your boils in front of your dying Grandmother” and drowns you in exotic sounding low grade Netto lager before you go home in a Wooba taxi before waking up in a puddle of your own piss.

The Cockney Sparra, is I was surprised to notice quite good at creating excitement when the contestants lose all their money with the drop of a ball just as they won all their money just 5 minutes before at the drop of a ball. Its not anything until they walk out with it and spend it on a holiday, maybe to Dubai, where you are constantly surrounded by a lack of real culture and people who work for very rich people for very little money, and unfortunately end up having a snog on the artificial beach, getting arrested and thrown in jail for 15 years for crimes against religion. The singing competition ends when theres a tremendously exciting fight of voice, like duelling banjos, and the pensioner singing coach who has to chose the 1 winner from 2 gets so worked up and has a cardiac arrest on live telly.

Mrs T would know exactly what to do by virtue of watching far too much Holby City and I could shout “He’s Tachicardic”at the telly, whilst pouring myself another glass of Kylie’s Blood.

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