"If you're building a business," notes project manager Jessica, "you need team players." A fair point, but one which neglects two things: on The Apprentice they aren't building a business; they're dancing like monkeys while a rich man watches, and the "team players" are participating in a process in which their colleagues' failure is their gain. Wait, I think I've cracked it.
On TV this week: one journalist wrestles with his conscience and tries to understand where he went wrong, while another discusses with undisguised glee how he exploited a young woman's murder for personal gain.
A man yesterday informed his 97 Twitter followers that he was uninterested in the day's trending story about the Great British Bake-Off because he had never seen it.
Jeremy Corbyn's claim not to know who Ant and Dec are has been exposed as bollocks.
There's a dog in this one. The dog is called Maxine. Who is this dog? Where is she going? Has she ever learned to love?
It's been about nine months since I last saw an episode of Mr Robot, and now I remember I rarely have a bloody clue what's going on. Is he his own dad? Is his dog real? Why would there be a fully-functioning popcorn machine still in an abandoned amusement arcade? Oh God there are 12 of these things.
Social media manager of DoorsWorld in Winchester Jez Hinds was today reported to be off sick on the one day he had a trending topic to jump on to.
If Eastenders were realistic, there'd be no Peggy Mitchells. Hers is a London where a pub landlady can return after six years and be greeted warmly in the street by tens of people still living there, all bound together by family ties and regular community events, rather than vaguely recognising each other as the person they used to be on the same daily train commute with and avoiding eye contact. But that's not the point.
Dayman! Uhh-AHH-ahh! Fighter of the Night Manager! Is all I could think of when I heard the title. Then I found out it had House and Loki in it, and I was on board, although still mainly for the Dayman thing.
Night managers of UK hotels have reported that scenarios requiring them to infiltrate the organisations of rogue arms dealers are rare.
"It doesn't come up much if I'm honest," confirmed Darren Moxey of Hexham Premier Inn. "Mainly I just do sudokus.
"Once I had to prise open an old couple's window because it was stuck and they were too hot to sleep. And last year I had to change the battery in the smoke alarm on four because it was beeping every thirty seconds.
"No, we don't get a lot of emotionally damaged American ex-models in, shooting me sexually charged glances. Once we had a hen do stay and they made me dance with them in the foyer. But one of them knocked over the umbrella stand and I had to ask them all to go to bed.
"They grabbed my name badge and wouldn't give it back."