why bother 7.

So here it is the modern day freak show is back. No longer do you have to go to a gypsy circus to see crab boy or bearded lady, just switch on your television any night of the week and revel in the antics of big brother 7. Where do they find these people? The amateur porn star with the biggest tits in Britain, the gay tourettes sufferer, the naturist and all the other gimmick-laden reprobates. The thing I love most about the whole shambles is that what everyone wants, from the shows makers to the viewers at home, is something that you will never see. Let me run that by you one more time, YOU will not see what you want to no matter how much of it you watch. Because lets face it everyone wants them to cop off with each other. But let me be the first to tell you that as soon as the blokes line up cock to arse for a spot of daisy chaining, the one at the back providing the rhythm for them all, in and out, back and forth like the shiny silver balls of a pendulum toy on a businessman’s desk. They will be getting some seriously sweaty bottom action, all the girls will get so horny that they will start frigging each other stupid and having the most amazing orgasms and you will get……wait for it……… a shot of the garden and some bird noises! Yep you will see jack shit, the only way that you will ever see all sixteen contestants in a freakish nightmare orgy of gargantuan proportions is if someone at the daily sport gets hold of the footage and they give it away on a DVD. It is not going to happen, not only are we too prudish in this country there are still laws governing TVs output, sorry to burst your bubble but I suggest you rent some porn. So at best people you might glimpse a little bit of tit, maybe some ass, a flaccid winky at best but that will be your lot. So get used to it and get over it. That said if you like it then you’re probably in for many more years of bland people watching from the comfort of your own lounge. Because the only way that it will ever stop is when one of the contestants goes ape-shit crazy over something really petty and snaps. Beating a fellow housemate repeatedly over the head with a piece of the avant-garde furniture until the diary room is covered in pieces of skull and entrails. Britain’s first televised murder you lucky viewers. I bet you will all still be glued to the screen hoping someone will shag the corpse.

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