Take Me Out

“Bring out the meat!” yells comedian Patrick McGuinness, whilst pretending to massage a giant, invisible cock. This is the opening of McGuinness’ ITV game show, where a truck load of women are carted into a vomit inducing blue studio, and lined up like cattle at a farmers market, where they await the judgement of one dimwitted, overweight jock.

Paddy’s strange request signals Kasabian’s “Clubfoot” to kick in, and something christened “The Love Lift” to descend. Suddenly, out from the other side of the studio steps a big boned, meat-headed hulk-like figure, who stampedes towards the lucky ladies like an escaped sex offender, who’s spent the last five years in a high-security sex asylum.

“This is Mark,” says Paddy, dropping the phallus that exists only in his own imagination. “Let the shepherd see the pie!”

Paddy licks each of his fingers before placing them on his nipples and acting out the universal gesture for, “Ouch, these are hot!” then he collects Mark, who, by now, is salivating at the very sight of these scantily clad, distinctively orange women.

Mark’s a gym instructor, we learn, and his hobbies include eating meat and fucking things with his penis. The women seem impressed, despite the increasingly dim, vacant expression written across Mark’s face.

Paddy speaks to some of the ladies, asking for their opinions on Mark. He focuses primarily on Deborah, who’s practically neon in appearance and seemingly dead on the personality front. “I bet you’d like to spend a lovely week in Cyprus with this hunk of monk, wouldn’t you?” Paddy asks, impersonating X-Pac, the WWF wrestler who’d, on occasion, form an “X” with his arms over his bulging package.

“Yep, just me, Mark, the sand and the sea,” replies Deborah. “We’ll have the time of our lives!”

The audience applaud and whoop, yet Mark continues to smile dimly, as if nothing has been said. “What’s a time?” his face seems to imply.

“Well, remember, no likey, no lightey”, Paddy tells the ladies. “If you’re turned off, turn off.”

Few of the ladies turn their light off. They want Mark, even though he probably eats livestock for breakfast and pisses all over the floor during bathroom visits, almost as if he has refused to acknowledge the existence of a toilet. I know Mark’s type, having attended a university attended mostly by thick-jawed, vacuous jock-types.

Judging by his complete lack of personality, any normal person would have immediately identified Mark as somebody with the emotional intelligence of a Boost bar, but these women haven’t thought this far ahead; they want a big man with big arms, and undoubtedly, enormous, big beefy balls. Never mind his unmistakably meaty stench or missing brain. As far as the ladies are concerned, he’s ALL man, much in the same way that lads in WKD adverts are ALL man.

Eventually, Mark chooses the woman he wishes to expel his bountiful seed inside. “DEBWAH!” he bellows, unsurprisingly, pounding his fists against his chest, whilst his visible erection attempts to leap out of his jeans like a salmon swimming up stream.

“Deborah!” Paddy repeats, for confused viewers at home. Mark views this as a cue to stomp over to Deborah like a constipated ox. He tells her she’s beautiful and that he wishes to breed with her in Cyprus. She agrees, of course, and the two exit the studio to the sound of applause.

“Ooh!” Paddy squeals in amusement, as I attempt to burst his stupid Greggs endorsing, squashed boiled egg face with my mind, alas to no avail. “Two more happy customers!”

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