I dreamed that the population was divided into two distinct camps: those who willfully provide Michael McIntyre with a lucrative career, and those who want to continually whack the unfunny, jelly-bellied, smug, self-satisfied, pompous, middle-class, gibbering oaf in the face with a large, heavy-bottomed frying pan. We won the ensuing battle, of course, then we made Frankie Boyle King.
Sadly, I don’t always have full control of my dreams but it was satisfying while it lasted.
I Have Grave News 