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Then you get T4 presenters, who are a weird bunch. As I’ve probably made clear from my past scribbles I don’t really like them. I find them loud annoying and in-your-face (which to be fair, is probably part of their job description). But they persist year after year, coming in as fresh-faced failed radio presenters or models heavily draped in Top Shop’s latest rags, until they are metaphorically euthanized from the line-up at age 24 like an old incontinent farm hound, with an uncertain future of bit-part presenting jobs like the X-tra Factor or popular entertainment oblivion.
After all look what happened to Alex Zane after he was put out to pasture. Now he struts around an empty studio, in a suit that is far too smart for his face, laughing to himself at YouTube video’s that were popular 6 months ago. He’s the British TV equivalent of Gary Busey.
Its hard to know what logic led to the creation of the T4 presenter. Was it a cynical attempt to cash in on the average half-witted teen looking for the latest repeats of Friends and Smallville, or is it an on the mark representation of what today’s thinking young-adult craves. All I can say is that if it’s the latter I’m going to start praying for a case of mass impotence like in Children of Men.
Overall the only thing that T4 presenters themselves are really guilty of is that they’re vapid, personality vacuums housed in this year’s designer fashion and hair gel encased skulls; armed only with an encyclopedia of pop culture slang. Let’s be fair the female presenters are little more than squawking human clothes horses for River Island. It’s just a shame they’re there to greet me on weekend morning when I’m hungover and purposely avoiding loud colours, and a cooler-than-thou attitude.