Come Dine With Me (and this voice I can hear in my head).

Come Dine With Me is on Channel 4 at 5:30pm and at other various intervals during the day...everyday...in fact, episodes of Come Dine With Me are about as regular as the number 59 bus; and let me tell you, that's a regular service. It's another of those simple channel 4 shows with low production values that gently eases us all into the Simpsons at 6 o'clock. It is fast becoming a hit amongst the Hollyoaks-watching student masses and seems to have inexplicably scraped together a cult following from nowhere, which is incredible, because like Deal or No Deal's lack of substance, this too has all the content of Victoria Beckham's stomach. And personality. And brain. Anyway, it has somehow managed to vomit up enough popularity to justify its being broadcast for two hours upon hours, everyday of the week. Thank God, because I just wasn't getting the closure I needed when they didn't show the entire contest in one day! After all, whoooo will win the tantalising £1000 prize? Probably one of the idiotic contestants. They're the kind of morons who use the phrase "absolutely gutted" excessively to explain how they feel.

The prize in itself is less of a prize and more of a reimbursement, since the contestants have already spent in excess of £1000 on chicken innards and quail eggs so as to win the bloody thing.
For those that have been watching television relevant to our time, let me tell you what Come Dine With Me is quickly (or, skip this paragraph, and I'll merely quote that it is a "roller coaster of dinner party emotions"). First, four average people are introduced, but we mean TV average people of course, so here, average people means people that have been specifically selected by a team of pickled brains in jars at Channel 4 to be juuust eccentric enough to be entertaining, without being too outlandish for five thirty in the afternoon. It goes without saying as well that this team of four have been specially selected not to get on - wait a minute Channel 4, they're supposed to be having a pleasant dinner party, why would you put this drag queen around the same table as this traditionalist blokey bloke!? It beggers belief! That's asking for trouble! Anyway, they take it in turns to host a dinner party with these complete strangers and at the end of every evening in the cab-drive home they rate the hosts evening out of ten. It's simple, it's easy, and even better it's not elephant.co.uk. Yes alright, that's an old reference, let's just get on with it shall we?

Come Dine With Me could have been fun and pleasant. Regrettably the makers of Come Dine With Me were simply not satisfied with their nice, neat little program. They had to put some claws on that kitten, baby.

Step forward, irritating narrator, affectionately known as 'That Wanker' to his friends, and by me.
Little do the contestants know that every single one of their inept moves are met with a.. teehee.. witty QUIP from That Wanker, an apparently omniscient voice with a bottomless biscuit barrel of clever remarks to make in regards to the contestants quirks and errors. Ha-ha! Tee Hee!
For Example...

*Alan is cleaning a glass*
That Wanker: "OOp, looks like you missed a spot Alan!" - Ah-Ha-Ha! Ah-Tee-Hee!

*Mary is cooking something, but it's staaarting to burn...wer oh oh!
That Wanker: "Er - I think they might be done Mary!" - Ah-Ha-Ha! Er-Ho-Ho! Ah-Tee-Hee!

*Andy puts together what he feels is a 'work of art'
That Wanker, all in one word under his breath: "yeah,aJacksonPollockmaybe"

or comments like, "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that" and "Yeah, don't worry, I don't know what she's talking about either!"

I think at this point it has become clear that I am not a fan of him and his commentary. Football Matches have commentary, but not meal times. If you were eating dinner with some friends and someone started going "oh and that's a lovely pass of the ketchup, really switching the play well there, OH, the custodians spilled the peas everywhere, he won't be happy with that", then you'd get pretty cheesed off. The contestants can't hear That Wanker and so they must get a real shock once it's aired. A shock that manifests itself as urge to punch.
The guys a sarcastic menace! Robert Webb can get away with this shit on Young, Dumb and Living Off Mum because he is a comedian of some wit. Sarcasm without wit or irony equals sarcasm, cold, cold sarcasm; it's the same difference between Jimmy Carr and Adolf Hitler. That Wanker (the narrator, not Jimmy Carr, not in this instance) thinks he is funny, but he comes off as one of those people's parents that you really secretly hate. You know, when you go round your friends house and you meet their Dad, and he works down the garage where all his mates think he's hilarious because of all his practical jokes. He thinks he's Eddie Izzard because he comes out with gems like "say it, don't spray it" at dinner time - yeah, feel free to use that one, he'll add. (My own sarcasm here is noted, thank you for pointing it out to me).

The narrator ruins this whole thing. He talks to you with too much familiarity, like you're two gossiping old women in a tea room that know the contestants personally and who you've both heard something about - that means he's contaminating us whenever he makes one of his annoying little quips. Every single bloody time he says something about somebodies cooking it's like another little nudge in the ribs from a pudgy little fat man going "oop, looks like Liam's on the war path again!" You, the viewer, sicken me. The narrator provides some company for you! The poor wee viewer all alone, friendless and cold, but somehow attends an interactive dinner party - well, well done to you, I'll give you an 8 for sheer effort and self-ambiance.

Let's be honest though, the reason I that I really don't like That Wanker is because he does my job for me. He makes remarks at the television, annoying comments on the program while everyone else is trying to watch it. He's me. I'm That Wanker.