The show’s host is a complete wanker; a solid gold, diamond encrusted hand-shuffle monkey. I ignore his sarcasm, don’t get distracted by his teeth and watch him flirt with the girl, a right little munter, who’s squeezed into a size sixteen and hasn’t had this much attention since falling backwards in a nightclub, three sheets to the wind on Bacardi Breezers, flashing commando to a rank of desperados who’d turned her into a six pint looker.
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