Deep Throat (1972 dir. Gerard Damiano)

Unenthusiastic dialogue scenes and biologically improbable plot-driver interupts harrowing vision of uglies fucking for real.

1/5

The Naked Gun: From The Files Of Police Squad! (1988 dir. David Zucker)

Excessive slapstick leads to the fucking of rock ‘n’ roll icon’s daughter by Norse detective.

3/5

The Worst Albums Ever Made – ‘Olly Murs’ (2010) by Olly Murs

By Slick Nick

There is an Olly Murs in every school, every university and every office in the UK; a tiresome, annoying self-centered twat who you dare not get on the wrong side of for fear of being socially ostracised. By no means evil or unpleasant, they can never the less make life hell in so many other ways.

Despite being average-looking, having nothing of interest to say and wearing unremarkable highstreet clothing, they somehow draw people to them like moths to light. Resisting the light will prove controversial, since every conversation or gathering will revolve around this individual, effectively a conversational blackhole, sucking all matter into it that may be even slightly interesting in favour of what the Murs figure may be doing or not doing.

Thanks to Simon Cowell, one of these cheeky chappies was given a record deal, which meant even escaping into a car and puting the radio on presented a confrontation with the mundanity of their existence. The result is ‘Olly Murs’, an album featuring the best part of an hour’s worth of crap music.

Murs came second to Joe McElderry in 2009’s X Factor, arguably the shittest winner in the show’s history, and that’s saying something. This album is described as his ‘debut’, but that suggests a long discography is to follow. I really think, and hope, that this album alone will span Murs’ entire recording history, for the sake of pop music.

Upon first listen, the one thing that stands out alongside the staggering mediocrity is how tonally uneven the material is. It lurches from anthemy pop, to raggae, to sappy ballads. It’s like if a Leona Lewis song suddenly dropped in a thrashy guitar solo.

Looking at the chart positions of the four singles from this illustrates perfectly how fickle the British single-buying public are, and also what a missfire it was on Cowell’s part for launching Murs as a recording artist. Single one was a UK number one. Single four didn’t even make the top 40.

Cunt: Murs glimpses his net worth as a musician in 2011

Hit single ‘Please Don’t Let Me Go’ begins with an old radio effect, which is quite creative for a SYCO release, before stumbling into very dated-sounding raggae pop. I remember Murs being described by Cowell as ‘unbeleivably current’ at his first audition. True – nothing says 2011 like aping the chart music of 1993. It’s not quite as forgettable as the rest of the album but is no Aswad.

Follow-up ‘Thinking Of Me’ is more of the same, but worse.

Murs has a stab at warbling during the closing moments of ‘Heart On My Sleeve’, where things get a bit more serious. It reminds me of the modern Take That. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the army of song-writers and producers that worked on Murs’ atrocity had also spent time in the studio with Robbie and Gary et al. Speaking of the legendary boyband, there was also some serious bro love going down between Murs and Robbie Williams at the time of the X Factor live finals, which saw the two irritants perform an extremely mediocre duet together. This probably carefully spun PR between the managers of Murs and Williams stopped just short of the two sucking each other off on stage, but I digress.

Lyrically, the album sinks to a new low with ‘Busy’. Reminiscent of Bruno Mars, it uses the Beatles’ ‘Let It Be’ chord progression, as does ‘Don’t Say Goodbye’. Considering the album had 20-30 people contributing to the music, it’s unacceptable to use this riff on two songs from the same album. It really bugs me how often these chords are used, in pop and rock, and is just illustrative of unoriginal, lazy song-writing. Unsurprisingly, both of the efforts on this album are terrible.

Hold onto your sides: This illustrates visually the points made in paragraphs 1 and 2

Surrounding the four singles, which never get better than way below mediocre, is a lot of filler fluff that barely registers. It’s certainly not worth writing about, apart from noting that Murs as a singer leaves a hell of a lot to be desired.

Finally, the whole Murs persona on television and in the media really winds me up. There is an air of undeserved smugness about him, as if he has always been fully aware that he has fuck all to offer the world of popular music and is completely talentless. I hope everyone involved with his album, from Cowell to the song-writers, to the producers, even down to the intern that did the photocopying for marketing, are thoroughly ashamed of themselves.

Brave Peter Andre Emerges 1 Week After Humiliating ‘Deal Or No Deal’ Pub Game Defeat

By Slick Nick

This is the moment ITV2 legend Peter Andre emerged after a week in isolation following a particularly humiliating defeat at the hands of a pub quiz machine.

The device, which has the option of twelve different gaming franchises, was used in a Croydon branch of Yate’s on a  Thursday night in June.

Andre, 37, was out for a quiet night with an accomplice, who witnessed the events first hand.

The unnamed Swede, who did not wish to be named, advised Andre against choosing the ‘Deal O No Deal’ game in particular due to its reputation for having a particularly unforgiving difficulty level. However, the star, whose ‘Next Chapter’ TV series regularly pulls in dozens of viewers each week, remained defiant, apparently smirking as he touched Noel Edmonds’ pixelated image before him to select the game.

What followed next was a three minute ordeal, as Andre struggled to answer several questions correctly in order to make the most of the 50p price of the game itself.

Where everybody knows your name: Yate's pub where the incident took place

Witness accounts differ in how the game came to its tragic conclusion. One source claimed the question that finished Andre off was on King Henry VIII, whilst another suggested that the singer had given up by this point, hanging his head in shame and not even looking at the screen itself. He then ran towards the pub exit screaming ‘why is my life falling apart before my eyes’ and disappeared into the night, stunning onlookers.

Emerging after a week from a mystery location, Andre looked dishevelled and withdrawn, but otherwise normal, as he made his way to ITV2 HQ to enter talks on making a four part mini series dramatising the night’s events in their entirity.

Through a spokesperson, Andre has declared that he will never again enter the pub or any other in the Yate’s chain for fear of encountering similar gaming devices again. He intends to put the incident behind him and move on with his life.

Bowling For Columbine (2002 dir. Michael Moore)

Hairy pile of flesh seeks to cause trouble for American tourist industry whilst promoting Canada.

4/5

Cold Mountain (2003 dir. Anthony Minghella)

To appease Academy Award judging panel, southern drawls adopted and civil war clobber adorned by cast of various nationalities.

3/5

Wall Street (1987 dir. Oliver Stone)

Underpinned by stock-trading gobbledygook, ruler of 80s yuppie shitheads commits common assault on apprentice yuppie shithead in the rain.

4/5

Barry Lyndon (1975 dir. Stanley Kubrick)

Surrounded by near motionless extras, Irish slugger improves wardrobe over several years.

4/5

Fahrenheit 451 (1966 dir. Francois Truffaut)

French auteur makes colour debut by presenting harrowing dystopian future where oppressed citizens are forced to live in world without WH Smith.

3/5

The Worst Albums Ever Made – ‘Brain Drain’ (1989) by The Ramones

By Slick Nick

It was the year 2000, Christmas day. The world would soon be partying. He had more important things on his mind.

The last few months had been a journey, a musical one. The days of only listening to Oasis and Prodigy albums seemed long gone. It was a thirst for loud, fast guitars and catchy melodies that drove him towards the burgeoning CD rack now.

He’d been studying hard as had his college friends – the A Levels would not pass themselves, after all.

Gotta have the A Levels so you can go to University, get a good job, nice home in the suburbs, Ford Mondeo, two kids…

It was a future within arms reach, and he’d be taking punk music along for the ride as well. Bands like Greenday, Offspring, Rancid and most treasured of all, The Ramones. These bands would never make crap music, would they?

He sat in his bedroom, Nesquik in hand, surverying this year’s payload from good ol’ Kris Kringle. Bad Religion’s ‘Suffer’ and ‘Generator’ albums lay at the side of the desk; they could wait. ‘We’re Outta Here’, the final Ramones show, sat close by in compact disc format; he’d bide his time, savour the rest of their discography, before enjoying that one. What he really wanted to do was play ‘Brain Drain’, their 1989 studio album he’d just recieved. The disturbing cover was alluring, and suggested an unforgettable listening experience. He couldn’t wait.

Merry Christmas.

He knew little of the band’s story but took simple pleasure in their early work. These short, catchy punk songs struck a bar chord with him. He’d always have the Ramones on when writing psychology essays.

He removed the seal of ‘Brain Drain’ and placed the CD in the stereo, a cheap device that would surely struggle to cope with the power of what would be unleashed. If the Ramones were close to the bone in the seventies, how extreme would they have become by the late eighties?

He pressed ‘play’.

A strange sensation washed over him, strange because he’d never felt it before whilst playing a Ramones album. It was a feeling he only got whilst listening to extremely shit music.

It’s punk, Jim, but not as we know it.

He laughed out loud at the thought. The eighties drum sound was unavoidable, but the problems ran far deeper into the heart of the album. It was fundamentally bad song-writing.

Opener ‘I Believe In Miracles’ was far too slow to begin a Ramones album, sounding tired and old compared to the likes of ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ years earlier. ‘Don’t Bust My Chops’ suffered from a distinct lack of melody. Years of alcoholism had taken its toll on Joey Ramone’s vocal chords; his singing was barely acceptable on this recording.

He continued to listen, hoping no family members would overhear. If Dad caught him mid way through ‘All Screwed Up’, he’d never live it down, especially after he always gave the old man such a hard time over his ‘shit’ music collection.

Would kill for some Mark Knopfler or Fairport Convention about now though, wouldn’t you?

He hit the ‘stop’ button and snatched the CD out of the stereo, recoiling as the cold, lifeless plastic touched his trembling hand. Yes, this was definitely a Ramones album. There had no been a mistake at the packaging plant. He longed to cast this monstrosity aside and never think about it again, but that was never an option.

‘I must finish what is begun.’

The second half began with ‘Pet Semetary’; disappointing book, terrible film, underwhelming song.

‘Learn To Listen’, despite its crappiness, reminded him of the early Ramones material. At a merciful length of 1.51, it was too little, too late.

He took a sip of Nesquik, wincing at the sweetness. He’d earned it.

‘Comeback Baby, Comeback’ was the album’s absolute low point. He’d only read about songs like these in Stephen King books. He never thought one would cross hs path for real.

Why are they being sexy? They’re not a sexy band, they’re not a…

Silence.

‘Merry Christmas I Don’t Want To Fight Tonight’ had faded out, closing the album, reminding him of Cliff Richard, making him realise what the season was all about. Family. Eastenders. The birth of Christ. It was not about bad music, at least not in unlicensed residential premises.

He returned the CD to its case. He stared one last time at the cover, the cover that promised so much.

He placed it in the CD rack, a giant plastic prison from which it would never escape. Many layers of dust would cover it in the years to come.

Lunch was ready. Time to join the family. They’d ask him what he’d been doing for the last 35.01 minutes. He wouldn’t say. The memories of the morning would only linger in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind.

He had hoped the events of that morning, where he sat through one of the worst albums ever made, would never be re-lived. Then a blog was created, one with barely any readers, that had a category covering terrible music. He knew what he had to do.

Merry fucking Christmas.

END

Fears grow as Cher Lloyd now barely visible to human eye

By Slick Nick

Doctors and Syco shareholders are said to be deeply concerned for singer Cher Lloyd’s physical and mental health as months of under-eating and early mornings have caused such drastic weight loss that she is now barely visible to the human eye.

It is thought that Ms Lloyd, 29, may have lost up to 95% of her 70lb. body weight since not even making the top 3 in last year’s gripping X Factor finals. Soon after failing to win over even ITV’s Saturday night audience, she was offered a lucrative 6 1/2 album recording contract by Simon Cowell.

Label executives are now desperately looking to close a sponsorship deal with any food organisation willing to provide vast amounts of high-calorie products packed with the refined carbohydrates, E numbers and trans fats that Ms Lloyd requires to gain sustainable weight.

Worry: An emotional Ms Lloyd is seen here in an image enlarged 100 times.

Syco management are less concerned with her ability to record music, though producers admit that seeing a floating wig underneath headphones is sometimes distracting in the studio. But when it comes to satisfying a live audience of people who enjoy completely manufactured pop music, it is certainly not simple.

Richard Wilkes, Executive Director of Live Stuff at Syco, welcomes the challenge.

He said: ‘When I first heard out about Cher’s malnutrition rendering the carbon molecules comprising her bodymass unable to reflect light anymore, we were thinking of cancelling all live appearances.’

‘However, my team eventually came up with the ideal solution, that being to project old video clips of Cher’s time on X Factor onto a small screen on stage whilst she sings over it. It’s a long shot but hopefully the audience won’t notice. If people do complain, we’ll just dim the lights a bit more.’

‘Oh, I hope no one uncover my plans by reading your website! Haha!’

We can assure you Richard, that isn’t likely to happen.

–

Cher Lloyd’s album ‘You Didn’t Vote For Me But Tough Shit’ is out later this summer and will be available from all participating midlands car boot sales.

Wag The Dog (1997 dir. Barry Levinson)

Two Hollywood legends interupt each other and supporting cast members constantly whilst overseeing news/country music production.

3/5

E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial (1982 dir. Steven Spielberg)

Despised all-American gets possessed by ungrateful alien botanist in lengthy Coca Cola promotional video.

4/5

Sabrina (1954 dir. Billy Wilder)

Female lead risks losing audience sympathy in second act after offering her reproductive organs to two preposterously wealthy brothers.

3/5

Before Sunrise (1995 dir. Richard Linklater)

Boy meets girl, boy disrupts girl’s travel plans, girl plays boy a shit song, boy pilfers wine using deception, girl gives up sex hole for boy.

4/5

Scenes From A Marriage (1973 dir. Ingmar Bergman)

Scandinavians, and audience, endure extremely fucking long marriage implosion.

3/5

JOB AD: Robocop

Cyborg Crime Fighter – Old Detroit – Permanent – $competitive + bens + subsidised babyfood

Due to an unexpected surge in violent organised crime, Omni Consumer Products, working on behalf of the Detroit Police Force, now has an urgent requirement for a permanent Cyborg Police Constable on both day and night shifts ie. to work 24 hours a day, with one day off in ten to recharge battery cell, allow scientific leads to extract digital data and to consume one significant dose of protein-based high energy paste.

This role operates within a very fast-paced dystopian future and as such requires a highly organised individual capable of juggling many arrest projects at once. These will vary between detaining lone street muggers, to the full design and execution of drug cartel ‘busts’ in order to stamp out the city’s narcotics supply at its heavily-armed source.

With very little administration involved, the Cyborg Police Constable will enjoy the practical delivery of ballistic-based crime fighting solutions, though candidates should be comfortable meeting and exceeding challenging targets related to number and status of henchmen dispatched using a range of ultra-violent methodologies.

Conflict management: The employee will be provided with complimentary stabbing apparatus if required (by our preferred supplier IGN Inc.)

Candidates should be willing to sacrifice a significant portion of their organic matter in return for a contemporary Kevlar-based exoskeleton and an excellent salary & benefits package, including company car. Those that have recently been executed in a Biblical allegory will be looked upon favourably.

Knowledge of current federal laws is not necessary as all fifty titles in the United States Code will be uploaded into the successful candidate’s Intel-modified cerebral cortex during induction week.

This is a unique opportunity for a career-minded law enforcement professional to forget about friends and family for all eternity, and take the next step up in their career.

–

Please send a self-addressed envelope to the following address in order for us to send out an application form: Bob Morton, Office of Corporate Bad Guys, Research & Development, Omni Consumer Products, Old Detroit, Detroit, Michigan, USA.

Adrian Chiles WILL legally change name to ‘Unnamed Premiership Footballer’ to improve chances with women

By Slick Nick

When a man and woman come together in the act of love, it can be a beautiful thing, however some of us appear to have been dealt differing hands when it comes to the ability to attract the opposite sex. Perhaps this is why veteran television presenter Adrian Chiles has finally decided, after days of speculation, to go ‘all in’ with a complete overhaul of his name.

The unfortunately-faced caucasian, 56, will from the 23rd June this year be known legally as Mr Unnamed Premiership Footballer Chiles, relenquishing his maiden name in the hope of enjoying easier access to female reproductive organs.

Forsaken: Even a mother would struggle to love this face

He said: ‘I am fed up of never having any luck with women.’

‘Having read the papers lately, it seems all these chaps that are always ball-deep in skirt have one thing in common – their name.’

Mr Chiles also attributes much of his career failings, as well as an unhealthy addiction to strawberry Yop, on the seemingly inhuman features he was bestowed upon at birth. Having once been tipped to win the much lauded ‘presenter of the year’ award at now-defunct TV Quick magazine, he now scrapes a living by hosting virtually pointless shows that very few people watch or have even heard of.

One of Mr Chiles’s very few friends, weapons dealer Richard Wilkes, has witnessed the rise and fall first hand.

He commented: ‘I’ve seen Adrian clear entire rooms of humanity. People would do well to remember that he is also thoroughly unlikable on a personal level, as well as having a frankly nightmarish face.’

Glory days: A young Chiles anchors ITV's coverage of the 1990 World Cup

So is Mr Chiles counting down the days until the big day?

He went on: ‘I cannot fucking wait to get out there and start sowing my seed. You can never have too many Adrian Chiles in the world.’

‘Plus in 1996 Gary Lineker bet me I’d never get to use the packet of Durex Extra Tingly condoms I’ve had in my bedside drawer all these years.’

‘Well big ears, if you’re reading, the joke’s on you now!’

–

Adrian Chiles as we know him can be seen struggling to capture viewers’ attention on ITV’s rivetting Daybreak program on weekday mornings.

GUEST ARTICLE: Gender And Society Within Early Craig David

Guest article by Professor Montgommery Sloan Barnicoat-Fucknozzle III Phd. MA. OBE – esteemed fellow of the arts at London South Bank University. This is the 37th chapter of 145 from his world-renowned thesis.

Class dismissed: Another legendary lecture by Barnicoat-Fucknozzle III leaves the students in awe

Craig David, arguably the driving force behind the UK neo-disco movement of the latter twentieth century, left behind a body of work that many well-known academics have assessed and written quite furiously about.

The spectacle of David’s work on a purely aesthetic level is never less than compelling, with soulful vocal melodies underpinned by a raw, tribal percussion that evokes memories of a mid-career Grandmaster Flash. His sexually-charged canticles of urban adolescent ambition resonate, and resonate hard; even my most gifted students, as well as fellow academics, remember exactly where they were the first time they heard ‘7 Days‘.

What makes David’s art such a rich tapestry for intellectual inspection are the generous subtexts that accompany much of his more abstract work. He presents us with an ambiguous picture of sexuality, literally depicting himself in photographs as something that screams ‘male’, yet at the same time utilizing a pleasant falsetto vocal that is anything but masculine.

Arguably David’s most discussed and dissected recording is 2000’s debut ‘Born To Do It‘, whose very title encourages the listener to think subtly about sex right from even before their gramophone’s stylus makes contact with the record itself.

Inspired: The album that ushered in the age of UK neo-disco

Opening lead single ‘Fill Me In‘ is structured around a garbled, chaotic narrative recounting an experience David appears to have had with an unfaithful girlfriend in which he challenges her fidelity. The chorus is beseiged by a request from David to an unknown individual to ‘fill him in’, thus dividing critical thought as to whether he is simply looking for an answer, or longing subconsciously to take part in the physical act of love with a willing male counterpart.

Gender and sexuality permeate all of David’s work relentlessly, encouraging the listener to question what the singer’s real feelings are towards women. In David’s world, women are merely playthings, objects whose use is purely for sexual gratification. These misogynistic leanings stem from the mind of someone who does not understand women, really has little interest in them and arguably fears them.

Confused: Physically distant from and emotionally cold towards quality skirt?

Though much of David’s commercial success is built on intense pressure from fans and peers to be seen as something of a ‘ladies man‘, there is a deep-rooted sexual conflict here which manifests itself beneath the surface of his compositions. Single ‘7 Days’ presents an almost dystopian view of femininity whereby a female will give up her mating resources within 48 hours of meeting a suitor, with virtually no challenge. She does not appear to be in paid employment and is undoubtedly not attending a recommended academic institute; the justification for her whole existence is merely to satisfy men sexually after bintercourse. This is not a song written by someone with a respect of, or admiration for, feminist issues or gender equality.

Evidence of a lengthy battle between heart and mind is apparent in the heart-warming ‘Bootyman‘, melodically a pastiche of a song from children’s psychological horror film Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory. This innocent facade juxtaposes heavily with David’s apparent thoughts of anal sex, and thus traces it back to the time in David’s childhood or very early adolescence where he first began to view male friends as more than simply academic counterparts. Floor-fillers they may be, however David’s material is fraught with the guilt and needless shame of a strapping young man wrestling with a sexual identity crisis.

David in 2011: The workload of the last decade has obviously taken its physical toll

On a later single, David appears to reach some sort of catharsis. ‘Walking Away‘ defiantly casts aside the vehement heterosexuality forced upon him by society and demotes women and sexual relationships with females to mere trifling matters that can be escaped quite easily. Finally, the words of a truly proud homosexual, spoken from a prime male specimen.

–

This article has been re-printed with kind permission from the Southbank University coffee shop toilet attendant.

The Thin Red Line (1998 dir. Terrence Malick)

Virtually every male actor active in the 90s gets shot at on beautiful nature trail.

4/5

The Outsiders (1983 dir. Francis Ford Coppola)

Despite absence of Karate Kid, oiled street toughs defeat Republican types in much-hyped fist fight.

3/5

JFK (1991 dir. Oliver Stone)

By watching non-widescreen footage, ensemble cast attempt to work out exactly who blew Irish-American president’s brains the fuck out of his skull in luxury vehicle.

5/5

Flesh+Blood (1985 dir. Paul Verhoeven)

Mercenary team leader takes ‘treat them mean, keep them keen’ seduction theory to extremes by raping and attempting to murder desired lady.

3/5

JOB AD: Head of Corleone Family

Chief Executive – Global Export Company – Temp – $negotiable + Car + Cat

Have you ever wanted to be fully accountable for a global P&L worth circa $500 million? Due to a near fatal shooting, we now have an interim requirement (6-24 mnths) for an experienced crime manager to control the strategic and operational projects of the Corleone Family. Based in New York and reporting in to absolutely no one, you will head up all business units specialising in extortion, gambling, racketeering, loan-sharking, bribery, murder and the exporting of kitchen-based commodities (knowledge of the olive oil market particularly desirable).

This is a very hands-off role and candidates should feel comfortable deligating significant amounts of work to management working within an organisational structure built around the Roman army. Knowledge of opening up new markets for horizontal and verticle revenue streams, for example in Nevada, will be looked upon with considerable favour.

Don Vito Corleone, CEO, addresses shareholders in 2009

The Corleone Family is an organisation that prides itself on internal promotions, particularly among blood relatives, so a critical component of this role will be in talent management and succession planning, both strategically and operationally.

The post of Corleone Family CEO is one of the most rewarding and challenging in the whole of organised crime, and requires a strong influencer of senior stakeholders eg. statesmen, judges, film producers etc. as well as a high degree of resiliance (candidates should be comfortable with at least one attempt on their lives during the duration of this FTC).

Italian-American elder preferred, though individuals with relevant experience will still be considered.

* PLEASE NOTE – THE SUCCESSFUL APPLICANT WILL BE REQUIRED TO PASS A PRE-EMPLOYMENT MEDICAL ASSESSMENT; ABSOLUTELY NO RECREATIONAL DRUG USERS TO APPLY. *

–

Candidates should send a current CV and letter of interest to Tom O’Hagen (GermanIrish863@lycos.com), who will conduct initial telephone screenings at the end of July.

Gordon Ramsey Set To Visit ALL Berkshire KFC Outlets In New TV Show

By Slick Nick

Can it be that the most aggressive apron-wearing alpha male on our TV screens is getting a little homesick? With Gordon Ramsey’s latest planned vehicle set to encompass the finest local cuisines in the UK, it would certainly appear so.

Having seen the cook travel to the furthest corners of the world to eat some of the most mindfuckingly disgusting things imaginable, it will come as a surprise to see him take on the menus in every KFC restaurant located in the Berkshire area of southern England as part of a brand new television show.

'Bitch be cool!': Ramsey displays his exemplary managerial techniques under pressure

The ambitious 10-part series will see Ramsey, 67, visit the fast-food outlets in such obscure locations as Slough, Datchet and Maidenhead, with one particularly tense episode showing the production team struggling to find a parking space in Reading town center.

The wrinkled chef will take part in preparing the contents of Bargain Buckets before giving his expert opinion on the food. The highest mark available is the patented ‘fucking delicious’ grade; as close to perfection as steroid-heavy meat and connective tissue can get. The star has also volunteered to live in similarly sparse conditions to his recent globe-trotting experiences. These ‘Holiday Inn hotels‘ as natives refer to them do not, in many cases, even provide power showers or widescreen televisions for guests.

Moderation: A Bracknell chicken enthusiast finishes another life-threatening meal

Producers at Channel 4 are hoping the show, yet to be titled, will be as popular as Ramsey’s other vehicles.

Richard Wilkes, Senior Vice President of Programming at the station, said: ‘There are only so many times you can show a failed footballer eating dogshit sandwiches in extremely hot countries before audiences quite literally switch off. We think bringing the concept back to the UK will be of great interest to the public.’

‘Don’t assume all recipes are the same in each restaurant either. The difference in salt and hair found in some of the western Berkshire outlets gives their meals a quaint, charming local flavour.’

–

Gordon Ramsey’s latest book, ‘How To Fucking Cook A Fucking Good Meal’, is out now and available from all good bed & breakfast reception areas.