Apparently the first task involves testing the candidates’ negotiation and selling skills. As always, they’ve a shaky grasp of grammar and an inability to know when they’re talking bollocks. Take a look at this year’s numpties:
The Tasmanian devil occasionally stirred up a tornado. Not a torpedo. JEEZ.
Not a sentence, mate.
Because I’m worth it.
You play IN the team.
Close the door on your way out, love.
Except in order to win something, there has to be an element of competition.
“I’m short, so I’m, er, a pocket rocket! Aaaaaaaaand….. I’m fiery! (GEDDIT!) And I, er, nope, I can’t stretch this metaphor any further, soz.”
Likely to volunteer to be project manager in the first task, and also first to climb into the Taxi of Doom.
Hey, it worked for Frida Kahlo.
D’you want some wax for that cross?
Don’t look like him, pal.
And what do hustlers, walking the mean streets of Glasgow want? That’s right. THEIR OWN HAIR SALON.
“And mummy says I’m the best at tying my own shoelaces.”
“And I am absolutely not whingeing when I say that people foolishly mistake my enthusiasm for silliness or positivity for naivety. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. Stop being mean. IT’S NOT FAIR.”
“I’ve even adapted to getting to the age of 32 and not rising any higher up the corporate ladder than sales exec. Go me!”
And nothing conveys the inalienable aura of strength quite like a bow tie.
“I’m better than Samuel at tying my own shoe laces, so THERE.”