Grumpy Bastard on Love Island: a sexually-charged narcissist’s paradise

Thank Jean-Claude Juncker, the exam season is nearly over. To those of you who have finished exams, may I extend my congratulations; and to those that have not, I shall laugh pityingly whilst sipping a scotch. May your efforts extend to barely attaining a pass this year.

I think that there are several signs indicating when British summer officially begins: the end of the nice weather and the sudden onslaught of overcast skies; the sight of the first gammon wandering around with his shirt off and his sunburnt tits out for all to see; and, more recently, the start of the sexually-charged narcissist’s paradise that is Love Island. As it features in a Grumpy Bastard, you can of course assume that I fucking despise it.

As a show, it has one basic premise: the executives at ITV, clearly driven to distraction by the declining viewership of Big Brother, came up with the bright idea to do the same programme, but with a twist. Why not make sure that all the people are quite attractive, almost universally the same shade of orange, and also have about as much grey matter between them as your average cockroach?

“Love Island is nothing more than a colossal turd in the form of a light entertainment programme”

All the characters have so little depth, if the participants were a swimming pool, they wouldn’t even be able to drown a paralysed quadriplegic. Other than the compelling cast, the show has a magnificent way of manufacturing tension, whereby if an individual is single by the end of the week, they will be sent off the island.

In order to prevent all of the cast becoming comfortable with each other, the producers drip feed new meat onto the show and create conflict through the use of challenges and an ever imbalanced male to female ratio. Quite frankly, that’s about as much of an explanation as I’m willing to give. I could explain some of the nuance, but there just isn’t any. It is probably the most blatant sex-sells success that anyone, except from maybe Playboy, has ever pulled off.

The whole concept of Love Island has now convinced me that when they have run out of attractive people to feature – and in Britain that will be fairly soon – the next logical step that ITV will take is to run real gladiatorial fights, where the victor is rewarded by being able to sleep with the man/woman they choose, and the loser has to desperately claw at their intestines as they pile up on the ground. It would probably be as compelling as Love Island and I’m sure people would make the same excuses as to why they watch it, about it being ironic. Don’t lie to yourself. You need these people to watch and laugh at as they pathetically imitate romance in real life, all whilst wearing no clothes, because it makes you feel superior at the same time as giving you a raging erection.

Thanks to people like you, Western Civilization is doomed.