So, to help, here is a guide of who to avoid if you’re ever unemployed/a single mother/ retarded/ on holiday/retired/ill/more retarded/ran out of heroin.
Carol McGiffin
Anyone who has got me on Twitter will know I loathe this woman. In fact, if I had to spend an hour either having my ballsack nibbled by ferrets and listening to Diana Vickers caterwauling like some sort of banshee in heat or spend an hour talking to her about absolutely anything, I’d take having my junk chewed by rodents. There are many things to hate about Carol McGiffin, and ticking the list makes you a better person. She’s about 60 but dresses like a 23 year old, to the point she must have some sly competition with Madonna going on, she’s shagging somebody about half her age, she’s a Tory, she’s got a voice which sounds like nails on a chalkboard and she’s a Tory, which counts as two because it’s such a vile thing to be. Loose Women is routinely destroyed by her putting in her shit opinions, whether it’s about how she’s a fag hag who’s against gay marriage or a vile cougar who drinks foetuses, believing them to be the elixir of youth. Though unlike the rest of the Loose Women cast, she has absolutely no claim to fame. Yes, she was married to Chris Evans, but his only claim to fame is being the second biggest prick on the radio (The gold going to that fat wanker Chris Moyles). Whenever you find yourself about to watch Loose Women and seeing that haggered cockney slag on it, I’d recommend an activity like seeing how much gas you can inhale from the oven before your ears begin to bleed.
The woman on the ‘Ramdens’ advert
Okay, technically this isn’t daytime TV, but in all honesty I never witness these adverts after 5pm. This is probably because the type of people who watch daytime TV go out after 5 to drink ‘White Lightning’ and menace old people, leaving their 2 year old children under the care of darling Mr. Hot Iron. The woman I’m talking about isn’t the one who talks to the camera about selling your gold for some more money for crack for the child, no, it’s the one who stands behind the counter and looks down the camera with a horrendously awkward look. Why would something this trivial wind me up? It just does. I’m ‘sorry’, but if you are going to do it, do it properly. Don’t get some woman to stand at the back, failing in their attempts to look nonchalant and actually look as if the camera is some sort of sword with a built in bee cannon.
Ben Shephard
Have you ever heard one of those songs where you finish listening to it and feel as if you’ve blanked out for a few minutes and have no idea what you just heard? Or seen a TV show and wondered where you’ve been for the last half an hour? It all relates to something called ‘highway hypnosis’, in which you encounter something so dull, unimpressionable and mundane that you don’t even register it. This, ladies and gents, is the television presenting of Ben Shepherd. GMTV hired Ben Shepherd in the idea that women waking up and watching morning television wanted something mildly attractive to look at, because therefore it meant the rest of their day will be sexually charged and they might get to third base with Brian from the photocopying room. Or something. It was also to counterbalance Andrew Castle, who appropriately looks like a crumbling grey wall. Though with his barely interesting looks and his mind numbingly lame presenting skill, Ben Shepherd makes morning news as bland as eating white bread in a beige room whilst listening to Coldplay.
People on Jeremy Kyle
With Jeremy Kyle being the cornerstone of daytime TV, with his morning show on at some time in the 9th hour and two repeats after lunch, Kyle reigns supreme as the Lord Sith of daytime television. Though Kyle himself is a wonderful human being, it’s fair to say that about 80% of the people on his show are not as good. I’m hoping you know the format of Jeremy Kyle, and if you do then you can probably feel safe enough to skip forward a couple of sentences. Basically, he gets people on who have problems in their life, they give their respective sides of the story and he proceeds to either shout at people for being general pricks or congratulate them for being decent people in the face of adversity. With many people criticising the show, it poses as an interesting insight into the lives of people in modern society, sort of like a real life TV series. The people on the show are utter twats, it’s fair to say. The types of people who come on after impregnating six different women and refusing to get off benefits to pay for his children, or women who have been shagging anonymous men behind the Working Men’s Club and pretend to play the victim. Though ‘The Jeremy Kyle Show’ is certainly watchable, the people are certainly unbearable.
Anyone on a bingo advert
Again, people on adverts. It can happen at any time, but I don’t see these after 5. There are quite a few reasons to hate bingo; it requires absolutely no skill, it’s dull, it’s not worth the minimal effort and most of the players are hefty, 40-something year old grandmothers who sit in council flats on disability benefits because their cankles are causing them bother. It’s not entirely the people who play it who wind me up (though they do, don’t get me wrong) but it’s mostly those really shit adverts. Between ten minute segments of selling houses on fire/antiques orgy/chat with a seahorse, you get at least 3 separate adverts for online bingo. On their own they can be judged as quite quirky and amusing; there is some degree of cheeky feminism and a little bit of generic advertising wit. However, after you see some woman leave her husband watching football to play bingo under the guise ‘Footiewidow’ followed by some big nosed tart being cheered along by a ‘Diana Ross and the Supremes’ tribute act from a Skegness holiday camp to Vic Reeves shamefully donning drag and proceeding to play bingo is beyond tedious. During advert breaks I instead turn off my Sky box and stab myself in the foreskin with a hot needle. It certainly beats fucking bingo adverts.
The fat woman from ‘Dickinson’s Real Deal’
Have you ever wondered what would happen if Jabba the Hutt from ‘Star Wars’ put on that wig which John Travolta puts on when he does his Ke$ha act and started judging the price of antiques? Tune into ‘Dickinson’s Real Deal’ and be amazed. (Warning, you cannot unsee).
Angela Griffin.
Did you watch the Sky Oscar’s ceremony where they gave some fuckwit from Manchester a microphone and let her blab incessantly at confused movie stars? She has a talk show on Sky1. I know, amongst all of the evils Rupert Murdoch has conducted, I’m pretty sure this comes pretty high on the list. The format of ‘Angela and Friends’ isn’t too bad; instead of the usual ‘We will talk about what we’re told to’ they talk about what the audience ask them to talk about by submitting questions. Angela’s ‘Friends’ are the usual boy band/soap opera/reality TV dickwads who you would expect to see on here, keeping their fingers tightly on the pause button before their 15 minutes of fame are up. Though the format is sound on paper, in practice it turns into what I can only compare to an hour of watching a collection of horses have cholera induced diarrhoea. Instead of the audience sending in intellectual, challenging and controversial subjects for people to talk about, such as the death penalty, stem cell research, abortion and same-sex marriage, the categorically spastic audience instead ask questions such as ‘Which are cooler; leggings, jeggings or treggings?’, ‘Who do you think should win this series of ‘I’m a Celebrity’?’ or ‘If I swallow will my husband stop sleeping with our Eastern European maid?’. The possibly interesting format quickly spins into the downwards spiral of the general stupidity that happens with many things in the UK (Big Brother, religion, the media, freedom of speech, the right to live etc.)
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