HOT SEAT CONTESTANT: “Contestant 3: If perhaps you were a cloud… what sort of cloud could you be?”

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HOT SEAT CONTESTANT: “Contestant 3: If perhaps you were a cloud… what sort of cloud could you be?”

SERIAL KILLER NO 3: “A cloud whom enjoys murdering individuals. THEN MATTER!”

If Blind Date had been a peck from the cheek, then Take me personally Out – its flashier, noisier, nastier offspring – is a full-blown tongue down the neck, detailed with unwanted groping. During Cilla’s reign as Queen of Saturday evening light activity she were able to capture the essence of the bygone, buttoned-down Britain of saucy postcards and bus-trips to Blackpool. Take Me Out, having its shrieking cavalcade of bouncing boobs and scarcely decipherable neck tattoos, provides rather the promise of a lorra, lorra chlamydia, and a fast reminder from our Jesus of the reason we don’t deserve to endure as being a species.

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