I’m A Publicity Seeking Tosser, Bury Me Alive….

Although original achieving fame as a topless model and professor of Advanced mathematical Modelling at Nuneaton University, Perambulator Amplitude is these days perhaps better know as the co-host (alongside cheeky East Grimsby’s leading stand-up Accountant, Brainspurt Gobshite) of ITV’s hit TV show I’m A Publicity Seeking Tosser, Bury Me Alive in Killer Death Wasps!.

I’m sure most, if not all, readers here would regard themselves as above such tacky brain-murdering telly wank as this programme. Therefore, for those unaware of the nature of this programme, I’m A Tosser (as it is known amongst the cognoscenti) is a programme that – seemingly - every few weeks trawls the fetid bottom of the celebrity swamp. There it brings together a bunch of otherwise no-hopers vacuous enough to believe that by appearing on TV their desire for fame without any discernable talent to achieve it will be legitimised. At least, enough for them to rise up the ranks of those famous for being famous, and in the rather odd belief that somehow a famous talentless imbecile is somehow more worthy of admiration by the hoi polloi than a non-famous talentless imbecile.

These hapless fools are then deposited together on a small island to explore the more vindictive side of the programme researcher’s imagination. This – it seems - mainly involves the ‘celebrity’ losers getting as close as possible to many different forms of insect life, and/or the entrails of some other unfortunate beast, with a substantial ickiness rating. All this is done in the holy name of entertainment to mollify an audience of extremely jaded, and totally mashed, couch potatoes just long enough for them to sit through the advertising breaks that are spread throughout each night’s two hour ‘special’ like acne on a teenager.

Perambulator Amplitude always appears stimulated to the verge of orgasm by the antics of the programme’s contestants as they get on each other’s tits in increasingly petty and vindictive ways. All this occurs whilst the ‘celebrity contestants’ unwittingly reveal that the lives of modern-day celebrities are lived on such a superficial plane that even an educationally-challenged earthworm would be led to terminal existential despair within less than a week of living such a ‘lifestyle’.

While this ‘entertainment’ is unfolding on the TV screens of those too-stultified to find the off switch, or even recall how to change channels to discover something not so brain-leakingly egregious, the nation’s tabloids are all engaged in a symbiotic feeding frenzy around the detritus of the programme like sharks around a semi-masticated carcass. In order to boost their own ever-flagging sales they fill page after page with easily-procured - and even easier assimilated - dross and filler they leech off these programmes.

Finally, at the end of this series of supreme pointlessness the ‘winner’ of this non-contest is announced by Brainspurt Gobshite in a manner so portentous as to make any announcement of an immanent Earth-Asteroid collision seem more akin to the reading of Wednesday evening non-league football results.

A few days later, it is all forgotten about, until it is time for it to all begin again.