Saturday night and time for the annual freakfest that is, Britain’s Got Talent. Bring on the dancing dogs, shit ventriloquists, stripping drag queens, delusionals, crazies, and people juggling shopping trolleys while they light their own farts.
Regular readers will know that I only keep watching as a family bonding exercise and on the off-chance that there’s a high-wire multiple parrot act.
I only hope that the series hasn’t peaked too soon. I’ve already applauded at the flashmob orchestra; cried at the Defying Gravity girl and screamed out loud and almost ruptured my sphincter by clenching it so tightly at the last act.
WTF sword swallowing dude???? O. M. G.
Do NOT, for the sake of fuck, try that at home people!!
Am considering training Alan Lickman to pedal a tiny bike so we can audition next year.