I hate reality TV. Loathe it with a passion. I actually want to throw things at the TV if The X-Factor dares to show its face. And Big Brother just makes me want to… also throw things at the TV.

But I have one exception to this rule, one guilty pleasure, and that’s The Apprentice. I’m not sure why this is, as it is consistently home to some of the most obnoxious peen-arses that have ever graced the nation’s TV screens. But there’s something oddly addictive about it.

Twitter helps, of course. The Apprentice is one of those shows that a lot of people on Twitter get behind, narrate, comment and enjoy together. It’s like sitting together with an enormous group of friends, pointing and laughing at the prize gits on screen and (possibly) drinking to excess. Of course, it wouldn’t be Twitter without other people trying to tell you what you can and can’t post on your own stream, so add at least one person to the metaphorical throng of people who is sitting in the corner with their arms folded, sulking, whinging about everyone else having a good time.

That is an overstatement, of course. Most of my non-Apprentice-watching friends politely informed me that they’d either be avoiding Twitter for a while, or temporarily unfollowing me. Perfectly fine; it’s the way Twitter’s designed to work, after all. The image of the sourpuss in the corner was too amusing to leave out, though. And there are certainly those who do like to throw a strop when people aren’t posting what they think should be posted. Balls to them, I say! Or indeed, I point them to this response to me from the fine and lovely @velourvelvet:

(Also, look, see? #newtwitter is good for something. You can see my original tweet and the reply! Stop moaning.)

Anyway. Tonight’s episode revolved around sausages and the manufacturing and sale thereof. Naturally, the episode was edited to include as much innuendo as possible. Come on, we’re British. What’s the world coming to if you can’t snicker at the line “Hello there sir, you look like a sausage connoisseur”?

As usual, the people involved appear to mostly be prize dicks. They have, of course, been chosen because they make “good telly”. Pop in some grade-A peens amongst the blokes, pop in a few hotties and a few bitches amongst the girls, light the fuse and simply sit back. Easy. It also helps that grade-A peens who are also self-professed “entrepreneurs” up the knobjockey potential by, like, tenfold.

Tonight’s casualty was Dan, who looked like a mashup between Nicolas Cage and Bruce Willis. If indeed it were possible to do a mashup of people’s faces. Dan took on the poison chalice that was the first episode’s project manager position. And his style of project management was to slam tables, say “fuck” a lot and stand back not doing very much besides adjusting his cuffs. And his response to “why didn’t you sell anything?” was “I was managing the group”. Yes. Badly.

It was actually quite a surprise to see him go, though. As one friend put it on Twitter, “they usually keep the biggest cunt in for at least 4-5 weeks”. But to be fair, Dan has plenty of rivals for that illustrious post. Chief among them is Stuart, who deserves a punch in the balls for coming out with the line “everything I touch turns to sold” [sic] and miming punching numbers in on a calculator at every opportunity. The smart money is either on him being next out, or on him being kept in as long as possible to stir up as much discord as possible. My vote is for the latter.

Anyway. Enough talk of nonsense TV. And possibly time for bed.