You’re better than your guests aren’t you? You tell them so everyday. You’re a regular moral Mickey aren’t you, you condescending cunt. Well fucking done, you must be really special to be better than an obese unemployed sister shagging toothless smack head, you smarm oozing fuck trudger.
You’re a modern day circus Ring Master, a shouty patronising misery exploiter. You fucking wide eyed bewilderment gurner.
You’ve never seen anything as bad as this in your life have you? A man freshly out of prison, who’s robbed his disabled mother’s silver pendant and is now on trial in front of a jury comprised of millions of unemployed, half witted ITV watching mongs.
Nothing as bad as this, apart from three times a day on your own fucking show. Yet you’re still shocked to core aren’t you? You’re fucking outraged. Even though your producers regularly go on scum expeditions around the roughest council estates in the UK, harvesting beyond help down and outs, the vulnerable and the mentally fucking ill, so that you can put them up in a hotel, before mercilessly ripping the shit out of them and lecturing them about what sub human scum they are. It’s a fair trade isn’t it?
You’re a one man clap clinic, a walking fucking Job Centre, a skewed faced fuck eyed vitriol spitter, you cunt.
You give up don’t you? About three times an episode whilst shrugging you’re shoulders and dropping your dick dead cards. Then you get angry and shout “Be quiet!” to the people you’ve just watched arguing for five solid minutes, whilst pouring petrol on the flames. Then you remind everyone that your name is in big on the wall and that it’s your show and that you’re the best.
You’re a pain compiling cunt enabling wry smiler, a fuck headed bile bellower, you fucking twat faced pity eschewing compassion denier.
Fuck the fuck off you pointless prick.