The Friday Night Project
From Frikipedia
Contents |
Overview
Utterly stupid Friday night "entertainment" show which makes you want to claw your eyes out with tetanus-infected needles to prevent them turning to mush and dribbling down your cheeks. Less watchable than a televised rape.
The Premise
Hosted by a bearded neanderthal and a camp brain tumour, the Friday Night Project also has a different guest host every week, whose job it is to be belittled in a variety of not-funny ways by the two others and generally fart out an autocue recital like a bad reaction to eating a vat of cabbage soup.
The audience is made up of a large group of neanderthal-like troglodytes who were either too pissed, stupid or mentally incapacitated to blag their way into a gaudy fetish night at a nightclub. You can feel the reek of Lynx and hormones from your sofa. On occasion, a combination of the two seeps out of your TV speakers like bile escaping a stomach wound. The audience's job is to laugh and cheer like a group of tripping acid heads at anything and everything that happens, without ever looking like they're actually paying any attention.
The Features
Are all awful.
One major feature is an egotistical quiz-type atrocity, where the guest host asks a number of questions designed to exorcise demons of their own sad past in an attempt to give one or the other side of the audience a chance to grab some money. Literally. The winning team wins the chance of allowing a random Big Brother loser to don a coat covered in five pound notes and run into their "side" of the "audience". Audience members are compelled to reach out and grab fistfuls of cash off the coat in a demeaning act akin to making a tramp dance for a quid to put towards a can of special brew. It is impossible to watch the insane grab for tomorrow's beer money without cringing behind a cushion soaked in rohypnol.
Another slot sees audience members given the chance to ask "crazy" questions to the guest host. These all seem pre-prepared and make the guest shriek in a fake manner before poring out stories of how they once dabbled with homo/heteosexuality. Again, just a massive ego-fuck for whichever depraved and desperate C-lister has been dragged in to ham it up for cash.
Friki Verdict
Utter shit. For a more entertaining Friday night, attach your genitalia to an industrial sander whilst sticking long, strychnine-soaked spikes up your nostrils and into your brain.
