What’s in the box? Is lady luck on your side? What’s your strategy? There is no fucking strategy Noel, it’s all fucking chance pal. Are you allowed in casinos you annoying scrotum faced fuck? Creeping up behind people at the roulette table, whispering “have you brought your lucky mascot and asked the Lord of nature for number 28?”. You’d get sparked out by the guy who’s just lost his house, you fucking curtain clad satyr. You look like an adopted fourth Bee Gee, you wrinkly arsed twat. How are you doing these days anyway without your long drawn out chats with the fictitious banker or Mr. Blobby? You don’t have any actual friends do you Noel? You fucking bearded chance denying luck lobbier, you floral shirted cunt mannequin. Are you sad since you released the last of the Deal or No Deal cult members from your dungeon to go back to their jobs and families, to readjust to society with crushed dreams and 50p in their pockets? You asked the universe for that show didn’t you Noel? Next time ask for a decent one you fucking tiny deranged misery wizard.