Get Lost Peter was having a bad day at the races. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a voiceover next to his ear-wax. “It’ll only end in tears of a clown.”
“I refuse to believe it’s not batter,” said the accused, who was accused.
“Where did he come from?” asked the Archbishopric of Canterbury Tales. “He’s not welcome mat here. Send him to ITV as a contestant.”
Get Lost Peter did what he was told you so and took the accused to ITV where they made him famous by mistake for winning Celebrity Cake Hunt.
The Accused, now with a das kapital A for ’orses, immediately became Yes Minister for Celebrity Culture and Yoghurt in the Government of all the Talentless.
“We’re all in this life-raft together, apart from the poor people who can bloody well learn to swim, the lazy gets!” screamed Davy “Dave” Camerashy, Primark Minister and person in charge of being a twat.
“Where’s a punch bag of nails when you need one?” asked the Accused, just as Nicola Kellog’s mince meat into the room. The attack dog Rottweilers licked him to death with their teeth as the Government of all the talons gathered in his name and shouted, “Fight!” just like a group of child people.
“How was your day?” asked Mrs Get Lost Peter, but, as usual, Get Lost Peter had jumped in front of an accurist plot on the way home and was nowhere man to be seen.