I must admit I usually run screaming from the room when The Apprentice appears on the telly, but I was so impressed with Lucy Sweet’s review of the first episode I felt compelled to witness what blue-sky heights of utter cuntdom the contestants could soar to this week. And by Christ, they did not let me down.
First Off, Lord Sugar gave it a surprise mix up, and threw Patsy Kensit’s less jovial older sister from the ladies into the men’s team to “keep an eye on them”. This proved to be a piece of piss, as the men’s team seems to be woefully short of anything approaching leadership or charisma. I’m trying to pick out individuals, but I can only remember The One Who Looks Like A Young Gordon Brown and The One Who Thinks He’s A Champagne Bottle.
The task was potentially a good one, but this bunch of gormless twats fell spectacularly flat at the first hurdle. Given the chance to come up something truly mental, the beach accessories were ultimately the products of painfully slow minds in a self-induced hurry.
In the man’s corner, the towel/bag combo was about as innovative as getting up in a morning. They pushed the envelope even further by putting some daring Motorhead style umlauts over the trade name. Then, heady and invigorated by their sudden creative thought shower, they suddenly demanded that their team leader dress up as a cowgirl. Amazingly, she agreed. All of a sudden it was like watching an episode of On The Buses.
Meanwhile, over in the ladies team, everyone was too busy talking very loudly at once to notice that the one with the pale blue psycho eyes kept wandering off and weeping bitterly in dimly lit corridors, like a demented power-suited Chucky Doll. Last time a woman who looked like this was on television it was in The Exorcist. Their product fell gloriously short as well. Actually, I thought The Beach Reader could have been a good idea, but I envisaged it to look a bit more space age, like a cross between a telescopic toy crane and a music stand. Instead it looked like a windshield for a goblin.
"I’m trying to pick out individuals, but I can only remember The One Who Looks Like A Young Gordon Brown and The One Who Thinks He’s A Champagne Bottle."
What’s truly astonishing about The Apprentice is not how objectionable the contestants are, but how fuckin mind bogglingly thick. Chucky Dolls team could have conned Boots into pelting some money down the doomed pit of their half arsed brainwave, until the tremble lipped team leader suddenly erupted like a burst water main and pissed all over the potential deal. Christ knows why. Probably because she hadn’t objected to anything major in the last five minutes. And then, at the bollocking, she blamed everyone else for not stopping her. Astonishing. There are psycho killers on death row in America who use exactly the same logic.
The final sacking was set up rather dramatically by the Birmingham City woman who delivered an impromptu feminist lecture that somehow managed to both kick all the women’s arses and simultaneously suck Lord Sugars gnarled old cock. So full points to her for dexterity. The old bloke on the other side, Old Nick, he just did what he does best, lurking around like a sherry-crazed butler. He’s the best thing on it by a mile.
In the end, the sour faced tycoon took the easy option and pointed his terrifying finger gun at the innocent by-stander; the lass who’d just sat in the corner of the room and said fuck all. The Loud Mouth and The Psycho get to go another round next week. They wheeled their little power capsules out of reception and they did not look back, leaving their former teammate sprawled out on the couch, stunned, like a harpooned polar bear.
Then, in the whisking of a limo, they went from sworn enemies to sister act, waltzing up the stairs hand in hand like they were attending some glitzy film premiere. Which of course, they were. The one in their heads. Starring them.
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