The Apprentice is back, everybody! On the telly, or your iPad, or through the window of that nice family that lives down the road, the one with the cute schnauzer that will one day be yours! Yep, it’s returning for its 13th series, as 18 ‘candidates’ vie for Alan Sugar’s attention and ultimately, money. Nice wad of £250,000 coming their way if they’re the least-shit bonehead. How exciting!
And today, the contestants (they’re contestants, aren’t they, not candidates - this is a TV show) have all been revealed in their full, smarmy glory, jutting their chests out, not quite knowing what to do with their hands, screaming internally about how great they are. It’s all very exciting.
And because we now have photos of them, we can now accurately guess their final plan. I can look at their creepy heads and use this information to work out what their cool, wizard business idea that definitely won’t fail, will be.
This guy can’t even do his tie up properly for the press shot, but you better believe he’s absolutely smashed the horizontal earring look. People with horizontal earrings don’t fuck about, son - this is business, bozo. Aside from that, I can tell by his tight lips, that he’s just itching to scream about his new sex toy, that evaporates as soon as anyone comes within five metres of your bedroom door.
This woman clearly thinks she is Jenna Coleman, which is a bit rude, if you ask me, but I would bet that her business idea wouldn’t bother the star of The Crown. That’s because, if Clark wins, she’s going to pump Sugar’s 250-large into a yoga machine that stretches your neck so far onto your back, that it breaks it, instantly killing you.
“Who is the richest man in The Simpsons?” says Charles in his opening promo, “It’s me.”
What he’s doing is a riff on his name there, which approximately 35 people will laugh at. Anyway, he’s clearly going to make super-fast electric lids for wheelie bins. Ones with such powerful springs that you can punt a cat into a chimney from 100 metres.
Christ, don’t get on the wrong side of old Jade, that hand on the hip means business, literal business.
Jade will use her pointed nous to spot a giant, aching gap in the market and set up a PR firm.
Can you set up a serial killing business? Because this small boy is going to set up a serial killing business.
Looking very buttery here, Bushra. Cat that got the cream, is it? Trying to wheedle your way into my good books, are ya?
Good business idea though, I will admit - not sure why nobody ever thought of releasing a cream that was specifically for cats to eat. Good shout.
This man has an abnormally long body, which is slightly unnerving, so there’s a very good chance he could be some sort of cybernetic organism. Hasn’t quite got the ‘human’ smile right, has he? Something going on here.
So his business idea will clearly be something to do with artificial intelligence - this lengthy android is going to fucking lie about making vaccuum cleaners but they’ll actually be an army of sentient robots that’ll jam their tubes up our arses at the first opportunity, and suck all our guts out until we’re all just floppy sleeping bags of skin that can be utilised as warm birth sacs for the next wave of overly-stretched cyborg candidates. I know his game.
Something to do with lips, isn’t it? That pout could end the dinosaurs.
It’s a glue that you put in your mouth and it traps your lips in a permanent duck-face. It lasts for a week before dissolving, so you have to eat and drink through your nose for a bit, but you look really amazing.
Disclaimer: side-effects include teapot-arm contortions and the immediate death of anyone you kiss.
Have you ever seen a chest-jut like that? Have you ever seen a sternum so far forwards? Heart, lungs, ribs thrust forth like John Hurt dying in Alien? Back arched to breaking point, body like a giant, overly-confident lacrosse stick? No, you haven’t.
Anyway, this guy’s booting 250 grand into genetically-modified, giant stag beetles, because why the fuck not? You’ve got 250 biggies, do what you want, make giant insects. If Sugar objects, *CHOMP* I’m the boss now, YAH! YAH my steed! YAH! Into battle!
Annoying, isn’t it, when you’ve got all dressed up to do your big important Apprentice press shot, the one that will be seen around the country for the next couple of months, and you were massively on the baked beans the night before. Look at those clenched fists - she’s holding a big one in. Act casual, her face says, aaaaact casual, this will only take a minute, but I’ve sussed ya, Lizzie, I know your windy secret.
But yeah, she’s gonna slap Sugar’s dough on something really boring like a big bit of dumb concrete or something.
Danny Grant’s a bit too cool for school, in my humble ‘o’. Also, a tad aggressive - he’s really staring you down in this one, isn’t he? You can just hear him, boring into the front of your skull, seeping into your brain, It’s my way or the highway, doofus, I’ll give you a wedgie so hard you’ll be gargling on oysters for a week.
This terrifyingly stern man knows what he wants, and what he wants is a conglomerate pumping out boxer shorts that emit a precisely-directed low-frequency wave that’ll make any competitor’s diaphragm instantly collapse if they look at your crotch.
Christ, I hope it’s not a clothing company cos she’s got a massive rip right on the front of her dress - not sure why nobody said anything.
No, it’ll be something that the youngsters like, won’t it? Something digital. Something for berks like a virtual gin and tonic or something. A Bloody Mary that exists only as a Snapchat filter. An avocado, but it’s actually a computer virus that steals other people’s Instagram followers and gives them to you. A fidget spinner, but it’s actually ‘the internet’.
ELLIOT VAN EMDEN
Let me introduce you to: the least confident pose anyone has ever pulled. Elliot, however, is going to make up for this by wasting Alan Sugar’s money on a giant, metal body suit that will render him over 13ft tall, and has solid steel mallets for hands, then he’s gonna go and smash up his local Burtons Menswear, because they sold him a suit with sleeves that were too short.
Good effort on attempting a smile there, Sarah - it’s like watching The Terminator give it a bash.
Diagonal mouth or not, she’s dropping Sugar’s wad on vacuum-packed pet foetuses. Pour salt on them and three times out of ten, they come back to life for a confused hour before coughing themselves to death.
This man has said “banter” before, and he has said it entirely sincerely. He has shouted it, actually, screeched it, in an All Bar One somewhere. This man is going to open a bar, isn’t he? A banter bar that never closes, and will kick you out for talking about anything other than sales. You have to sell to get in, sell to get a drink, sell to use the lavvie, and if you don’t hit your targets, you’re outta there, buster.
Also, nothing but Jägerbombs on offer, ever, obviously.
I don’t know, mini discs or some shit.
He’s got the bottom button of his waistcoat done up, so he’s obviously an estate agent.
As such, this player’s going to set up some sort of electric garage door business. Wack Alan’s bunce on a door that closes with such needless strength and speed that it’ll cut your car in half if you don’t drive it into the back-wall of the garage at 80mph.
Can also be used to smash a horse’s head off, should you really want to make an impression with your new neighbours.
Another liar, here, wearing a pair of glasses that don’t work, clearly. But hey, she looks the most amicable out of the other hard-faced automatons, and this kind demeanor is reflected in her sweet plan to annihilate all men from the planet by using a biological weapon that sets fire to testosterone. Let her off - she’s nice!
Don’t know who this guy is but good luck going up against Alan Sugar with an attitude like that.