Angry boiled potato, Gregg Wallace, and his pole-arsed co-host, John Torode, today spoke of their excitement regarding the impending Masterchef final.
Thin lips a-flapping in their customary braying, the pair spewed forth a veritable feast of linguistic treats to describe their state of near frenzy about the prospect of three members of the public cooking them dinner.
"Cooking doesn't GET tougher than this," trumpeted Gregg, neatly overlooking the incident with the gimp suit in the prison kitchen from his shady past.
"They are going to have to cook for their Masterchef lives," intoned Torode, perhaps gleefully envisioning some sort of execution forfeit between courses.
So, the finalists. Wide-eyed Shelina has been on a journey. Andrew breaks down rather a lot, because cooking is tricky. And Tom has facial hair.
With that in mind, the final should be exactly what a Masterchef final always is - full of laden forkfuls being slurped unattractively into the mouths of two barking gimmers, shiny kitchens with unfeasible numbers of implements, steam hissing from every pot and pan, as if miniature dragons lurk inside (and, given that this is Masterchef, they probably do, waiting to be part of some elaborate dish involving hay, soil and the sputum of a small vole).
Tune in to BBC One at 9pm tonight to find out who wins the final. Alternatively, tune in just so you can finish yourself off to the dulcet tones of India Fisher as she Marilyn Monroes her way through the voiceover. Either way, you'll end up with a microwave dinner on your lap, mindlessly forking overcooked processed fat 'n' carbs into your slack-jawed gob as you watch five-star food being dished up for dickheads.