Pete.
14-06-2015, 07:07 PM
Down in the sun-kissed Balearics, two of the villa’s lotharios are *eyeing up their next conquest.
Jon: “If you make a move on any of those girls, they’ll get with you.”
Jordan: “It’s like that saying, ‘Don’t wait until the iron is hot to strike, strike it *yourself to make it hot.’”
Ahh, Confucius the Tefal work *experience years, unless I’m much *mistaken.
Welcome to Love Island. This is where boy meets girl, boy dumps girl, girl snogs *another boy, girl dumps other boy, boy gets back with girl, girl dumps boy, only to be dumped by boy, who gets back with other girl.
It’s a revival of one of the greats in the pantheon of reality TV.
I jest not. The original shows were *extraordinary, explosive, funny and, most importantly, starred Paul Danan, *transcending Hollyoaks.
So one decade on, some ITV2 twerp thought: “Hey, let’s bring it back. Only this time, forget Fiji. It’s short-haul to Majorca. And no celebrities.”
And what did that bozo get? A ratings disaster that’s being pummelled by a terrible series of Big Brother, with daily tasks like “which boy can remove five girls’ bras with one hand the fastest”.
Highbrow stuff.
It must have been a big surprise that, having aimed for the Dapper Laughs end of the market, they’ve cast the most *laddish, lairy insults to the human race.
And the boys are almost as bad.
They include “Oi-Oi!” Omar, Josh, who likes “nice t**s and a decent arse” (the girls must be relieved that he’s not *shallow), and Jon, who claims “300 to 400 women” on his bedpost but insists: “I don’t just sleep with any old bird.”
What with him being so exceptionally picky.
And of course we have cheesy Mancunian/Italian twins John and Tony – walking gorgonzola, who “put the *winning into twinning” shortly before * being rejected by the girls and putting the *“uggering off” into “buggering off”.
Then there’s the vacuous, cud-chewing bimbos.
We have Hannah, a “Scouse from Liverpool” – of all places – tipsy hellhole Jess, Zoe, who likes “men that are men, like Vikings, pirates, anyone with hair”.
And Lauren, who is on the show because she had her photo taken with Zayn Malik and had nothing to do with One Direction splitting.
So begins five more weeks of bed-*hopping, “cheeky little feels to check for size” and such nonsense.
Caroline Flack is probably wondering why she signed up to host this charmless beast, aside from altitude training for The X Factor.
But it might be for links like this from the very, VERY, annoying narrator: “Coming up, Jon shows his romantic side.”
BELCH!
Stay classy, ITV2.
Scolding tea spilt
Jon: “If you make a move on any of those girls, they’ll get with you.”
Jordan: “It’s like that saying, ‘Don’t wait until the iron is hot to strike, strike it *yourself to make it hot.’”
Ahh, Confucius the Tefal work *experience years, unless I’m much *mistaken.
Welcome to Love Island. This is where boy meets girl, boy dumps girl, girl snogs *another boy, girl dumps other boy, boy gets back with girl, girl dumps boy, only to be dumped by boy, who gets back with other girl.
It’s a revival of one of the greats in the pantheon of reality TV.
I jest not. The original shows were *extraordinary, explosive, funny and, most importantly, starred Paul Danan, *transcending Hollyoaks.
So one decade on, some ITV2 twerp thought: “Hey, let’s bring it back. Only this time, forget Fiji. It’s short-haul to Majorca. And no celebrities.”
And what did that bozo get? A ratings disaster that’s being pummelled by a terrible series of Big Brother, with daily tasks like “which boy can remove five girls’ bras with one hand the fastest”.
Highbrow stuff.
It must have been a big surprise that, having aimed for the Dapper Laughs end of the market, they’ve cast the most *laddish, lairy insults to the human race.
And the boys are almost as bad.
They include “Oi-Oi!” Omar, Josh, who likes “nice t**s and a decent arse” (the girls must be relieved that he’s not *shallow), and Jon, who claims “300 to 400 women” on his bedpost but insists: “I don’t just sleep with any old bird.”
What with him being so exceptionally picky.
And of course we have cheesy Mancunian/Italian twins John and Tony – walking gorgonzola, who “put the *winning into twinning” shortly before * being rejected by the girls and putting the *“uggering off” into “buggering off”.
Then there’s the vacuous, cud-chewing bimbos.
We have Hannah, a “Scouse from Liverpool” – of all places – tipsy hellhole Jess, Zoe, who likes “men that are men, like Vikings, pirates, anyone with hair”.
And Lauren, who is on the show because she had her photo taken with Zayn Malik and had nothing to do with One Direction splitting.
So begins five more weeks of bed-*hopping, “cheeky little feels to check for size” and such nonsense.
Caroline Flack is probably wondering why she signed up to host this charmless beast, aside from altitude training for The X Factor.
But it might be for links like this from the very, VERY, annoying narrator: “Coming up, Jon shows his romantic side.”
BELCH!
Stay classy, ITV2.
Scolding tea spilt