OK. I’m not a huge fan of Dickens. Kudos to the bloke for getting paid by the word, and milking as many words as he could from this arrangement. But to me Dickens’s stories follow a predictable formula and focus on dull themes of poverty, oppression and social injustice. Call me old fashioned but, when I want entertaining nowadays I look forward to big breasts, lots of asinine celebrity introspection and maybe some form of obscenity.Therefore, here is my Dickensian interpretation of a modern television masterpiece.
It was the best of jungles, it was the worst of jungles, it was a jungle made ridiculous by Ant, it was a jungle made risible by Dec. It was a jungle that was currently home to the wit and wisdom of the dapper (and somewhat faculty-challenged) Joey Essex. “Good morrow, fair maiden Amy Willerton,” chimed Joey Essex as he clamoured from his hammock. His gaze was drawn to Amy Willerton’s hammocks. They looked like tits. Joey Essex liked tits. He was often compared to one of them. Except Amy Willerton’s tits looked like they had slightly more brain cells than Joey Essex.“Gor Blimey, Mester Essex,” cawed Ms Willerton. “A’ve just been unflanging me craddock. Woudst tha like a sniff at it?”Joey Essex considered dipping his wick in Amy again but he wasn’t sure if that would help or exacerbate the jungle rash. He supposed, given the rancid stink of it, there was a likelihood the rash had come from the last time he dipped his wick in her.He shook his head and stepped bravely toward the dunny where Ant and Dec were lurking with a Bush Tucker Challenge. “It is a far, far better kangaroo’s anus I am about to eat now, than the one I ate yesterday,” he boldly told Ms Amy Willerton. “It is a far, far better plate of cockroach sploodge I am about to swallow, then I have ever known before.”
