I made a promise to myself this year. I’m not watching “normal” (ie. non-celebrity) Big Brother anymore. Each series has been an increasingly depressed animal, upping its dose of fluoxetine as it leaps about with more desperate abandon.
But I did hear a grumble or two about last night’s eviction. Shouldn’t arrogant arse Jonathan have walked – or even saggy-titted earth mama Carole – before the “loveable house jester”?
Nah. The right man got the heave-ho. Seany (or Seány, as BB – and only BB – keeps insisting ; you lose the right to such authenticities when you insist on one adding a childishly twee “y”) is a man with such eminent knobend credentials, he should win a lifetime achievement Nobel Prize for services to bellendishness.
The curly weirdo has really bent my nose out of joint. And I’ll tell y’all for why: HE MADE ME SIDE WITH CHARLEY! How dare he do that to me. Ugh, I feel dirty and used. Sympathising with that gobby, attention-seeking, self-obsessed harpy – and it’s all his fault. Him, and his side-splitting “pranks”.
I don’t want to come over all Nicky...ahem...(And by the way, what is with that little ray of sunshine? She’s got Asian trophy-bird looks ; she’s a bright communicator. But she can’t break a smile because of those in the house who won’t wait until after lunch to eat a yoghurt...)
But Seany’s mischief cranked the unfunnyometer up to eleven. “I’m not being funny” shouldn’t be Charley’s catchphrase: it should be Seany’s. Filling someone’s boots with water is not funny. At all. Not even in the slightest.
Tracy, who is displaying clarity now the pills she took on her entry are finally wearing off, called it well: Seany was jealous about not being the centre of attention anymore, what with the new male additions. So he started courting the negative spotlight. Then, when the inevitable reprisals came-a-screaming at him, he did a butter-wouldn’t-melt face to make Old Saggy Tits and his other cronies come up and defend him, declaring him the most lovely, harmless human alive.
“I just wanna have a laugh,” he would protest. Okay. Me too. So I’ll soak something of yours that costs a hundred quid – like the entire contents of your tragic Manchester bedsit – and we’ll both collapse with merriment on to your flooded threadbare carpet as we attempt to control our guffawing.
Did you see him cry during the exit interview, as he tried to describe his bond with Laura? He was stalling. Because there was no bond. Other than the fact she was the only other contestant backward and Celtic enough to find a condom on a toy monkey’s head hysterical.
Seany lists one of his likes as “dancing in supermarkets”. I’m not shitting you. He dislikes “withdrawn people”. No “Seany-love” (blurggggghhhhhhh) for them. What he means is, he doesn’t like quiet, pleasant folk who show him up even more as a needy, irksome pudding-faced Mick Hucknall hobbit.
Anyway, like I say. I am not watching Big Brother anymore.
