Michael Parkinson is what you would lovingly term a sort of “latex Turin Shroud”, if you were me. A dessicated Spitting Image puppet leering out of an abandoned BBC prop department.
My sister, the eminently funny Bolb once said of him:
“Michael Parkinson delivers diseases. Parkinson’s Disease being one of them; he injects the disease through his finger, directly into their shoulder. He’s an evil, evil man.”
Dunno if I got all that right, but we were probably watching The Raccoons or something at the time. Years later, Michael does life insurance ads, and I can’t help thinking he’s raking in coin because of that disease givin’ finger. Of course, that would be mental. But imagine it.
I went and made up an idea called “Michael Parkinsons’s Final Blow: Life Insurance”, which is an incrediby confused company who appear to have mixed up life insurance with euthenasia. And they pay Michael Parkinson to sneak into houses to deliver the Final Blow. Hence, Final Blow life insurance.
Problem is, they’d end up paying out big time. It doesn’t make fucking sense.
“What are you, some sort of cunt? Pay an extra tenner, and I will deliver the final blow. Me, Parkinson, putting a pillow over your fucking face. Fucking right. Parkinson’s Displeased!”
Can see it catching on.