Tuesday, 13 March 2012

Deal Or No Deal - it is just random box opening

Boxes. Little boxes. Don't know what they're made from.
Noel Edmonds today admitted that the hocus and, indeed, pocus that happens in the self-styled "dream factory" (aka Bristol telly studio where Deal Or No Deal is filmed) is, in fact, bullshit.

"I don't know how we've maintained the thin veneer of credibility for so long," he said, his well-preserved features as motionless as his bouffant hair.  "It is staggering.  For almost 45 years, we've held the nation in a sort of hypnotised thrall as they watch a random assortment of earnest-yet-irksome fools ripping Velcro seals off cardboard boxes.  It's incredible that we've had such a good innings, really."

Mr Banker, the guffawing sadist at the end of the phone, who makes offers of cold hard moolah to the members of the public fortunate enough to land places in either the east or west wing of the dream factory, said, "Oh, fuck.  He's only gorn and blown it, the twat," when he heard what Edmonds had confessed.  He went on to say, "Ah, well, that's me back to the Exchequer.  I only hope they don't notice that I've been siphoning off cash for the last 45 years.  Oh.  Whoops."

The general public's opinion was expressed, as ever, in the form of a lottery system.  This week, the enormous chubby finger swooped out of the sky and "It's You"d onto one Tim Cadaver, of Droitwich.  He said, "I've long suspected that Deal Or No Deal was just random box opening.  I said as much to my wife, 36 years ago, but she beat the shit out of me for suggesting it, so I went and lived in the shed and pretended Noel Edmonds didn't exist any more.  If you'll excuse me, I was halfway through crafting a cuckoo clock out of belly-button fluff and phlegm, so I'll crack on, cheers."

Carol Edmonds (no relation), who once appeared on the show, said, "As an 'Only Here Once' or 'OHO', I knew I wasn't going to deal, no matter what the gruff-voiced charmer on the end of the phone offered me.  My nerve broke when I actually spoke to him, though, and I crumbled at the end of the third round, when I'd lost four of my power five and had no fall-back position above £10,000.  I knew I'd never get to five-box, even though I had a complicated system that involved my dog's birthday, the house numbers of everywhere I'd ever lived and the hymns I had at my wedding, so I dealt at £2.74.  With hindsight, I should've gone on, as I had £100 in my box, so to speak, so I'd have been quids in."

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