You know nothing of its life? Be grateful |
“Like most people, we were under the impression that The Chris Moyles Breakfast Show was some sort of community radio project, operating on a shoestring out of a cupboard at the back of an FE college,” said a spokesman. “It’s got that endearing lack of professionalism running right through it. We just assumed he was some idle doley slob trying to hoodwink the Jobcentre into believing he was doing a bit of voluntary work to fill in a long gap on his CV.”
“Now we’re desperately trying to find out just what on earth the BBC think this chuntering ignoramus might be worth,” he added, “And - as Mr Moyles tiresomely says of his own enquiries - we’re just hitting a wall of silence every time we ask.”
When irate fans rang in to complain about the irritating whine coming out of their radios in lieu of the usual bland chart pap, DJ Moyles exploded in rage - improbably telling the very people who have endured six long years of dreary descriptions of his achingly dull conversations with fellow dolts down the pub, “You know nothing of my life,” before launching into a wearisome minute-by-minute description of a night spent sleeping, dribbling and farting on a mate’s sofa.
“Our remit empowers us to leave no stone unturned in our quest to determine the level of value the BBC offers the licence payers,” said the haggard spokesman. “However, if Mr Moyles would like to crawl back into his dark, damp cranny, we promise faithfully to put his stone back and never look under it again.”
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