|Yes, it's the return of the thing that will not die|
“There will be a few fucking minor fucking changes to Big Brother’s fucking tired format,” explained Mr Desmond. “First, every fucking room will have a fucking TV in the fucking wall, safely installed behind a fucking bulletproof glass screen, showing Channel fucking 5’s exciting diet of Top fucking Gear rejects and films that went fucking straight to fucking video. I’ll get the fucking audience ratings up into single fucking figures if it fucking kills me.”
“Secondly, instead of talking to Big fucking Brother, housemates will fucking take turns in what used to be the fucking Diary Room to talk about wanking to solitary Daily fucking Express-reading saddoes in their fucking 40s who call the onscreen fucking premium-rate chatline number at a pound a fucking minute,” he added with a salacious drool.
“Fucking finally,” slobbered Britain’s cut-price Murdoch wannabe, “Items of fucking clothing will be removed every fucking day until, by the last fucking week, all the fucking contestants are wandering about fucking starkers. If that doesn’t fucking breathe new fucking life into the fucking thing, I’m a fucking Nazi.”