Poverty Princess Peeps on The Peep Show

*DISCLAIMER – Most of the language, expressions and views in this blog are taken directly from the Peep Show script. I apologise for any offence caused from the bottom of my perfectly, posh, perry heart.

I also no longer dance with Molly.

Why watch the Peep Show you ask? Now that’s a very interesting question. First of all, this is not pyramid selling. Have you ever had spaghetti on toast for tea? Have you ever had to endure small talk in the lift with Rob the Knob from HR and Barbara the office racist? Ever been terrorised by the local youths on bikes? Every day experiences we have all encountered at some point in our lives.

The latter can actually quite be quite traumatising – I mean my friend Neil once hallucinated that kids on bikes were coming to get him, after too much dancing with Molly. All he really needed was a cold shower but I was too intoxicated myself to throw him in one and J Duz’s idea of a rescue mission was to curl up in a ball and be his guard dog. I did however, reach across the bed to offer him a comforting pat on the head, but in my own drunken state, accidentally ruffled my gal pal Libby’s beautiful, blonde locks instead.

Peep show caters to the masses, kind of like Jesus, but rather than just a couple of old fish, this menu consists of 21st century comedy gold. Whether you’re an oddball, Hitler sympathiser or even just a bit of a crack-bitch, then this is the show for you.

The script allows its natural bloody charm to wing it with a ‘you will like this & if you don’t, then you can just fuck off’ attitude. Like my approach to this review. It’s 09:44 and if I wanna go out the night before and have one too many Proseccos in Spoons, as a special birthday treat, then who the fuck are you to judge, you nonce. Stop pissing on my bonfire.

In the modern day world where we’re all searching for that fuck-buddy next door and it’s not who you know, it’s who you blow, we all need that sweet release of light-hearted comedy to unwind our tiny Caucasian minds. I’m not a Barabara, it’s just that I live in a world where any murder mystery is solved by the imprisonment of an innocent black person and I’m not sure Peep Show is broadcasted in prison.

Why is my opinion so important? It isn’t, I’m just a dysfunctional, slacker-bitch looking for that swastika love.

Later potat-as.

swatstika-love

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