Disturbingly, this is not the most frightening image you will see in this post. Image via tumblr

We’re worried about Vicky from Geordie Shore, readers.

Don’t panic, she hasn’t undergone a personality bypass or anything.  As we all know, Vicky’s behaviour does not inspire pity in normal people as much as uncontrollable violence directed towards the TV, but she has recently fallen under the spell of a known offender and Stockholm Syndrome is setting in.

Ricci, who has several warrants outstanding with the Fashion Police, has, through a system of ab exposure, short bursts of sex and incoherent screaming, tricked Vicky into thinking marrying him will be a good idea.

See? 

Let’s apply some perspective. Even Vicky & Ricci’s friends, whose own interpersonal relationships are constantly verging on the homicidal, thought Ricci’s idea of proposing to his bird was the work of a mad man. They had a fist fight in the last episode, for Christ’s sake. And yet still he takes her to a restaurant, and waits nervously for the plane he hired to fly past with his proposal trailing from its tail like toilet roll on a cheerfully oblivious high heel.

He hid the ring in his pants, people. Then he wonders why she keeps talking about prawns?

We’ll be staying away from Newcastle on the weekend of that particular union. It should be easy enough to work out when it happens. They’ll be talk of a seismic disturbance and a mysterious orange mushroom cloud will  hang over the Tyneside area, interfering with aircraft.

You wait.

Not in any recognisable sense of the term, no.

Given the overall response to the nup news, you might imagine that Holly and Charlotte would steer clear of inter-house mating rituals. But we’re in Cancun, where the world is viewed through a sambuca induced haze and even Parsnip Gaz  and James The Peg seem like good prospects.

They’re obviously not. James still hasn’t managed to muster up the will or energy to fight off Holly, who waits until he’s prone and helpless in bed before approaching by stealth and having her way. Charlotte is less fortunate – Gaz is not crippled and can therefore run away and tash-on with other birds. When she’s not crying, she’s running away or falling down and fouling herself.

After careful consideration of the facts, both Natasha & Kelly conclude that banging their heads together instead of their genitals would produce more positive results.

And so that’s it for the foreseeable future, and perhaps forever.  Last night’s season finale also featured Jay’s last hurrah, which does rather beg the question will they come back at all? There’s only so long a group of people can live together/shag each other before someone is killed in their bed (Cancun Chris would be our first suspect, see last round-up for details) and the programme makers attempted to lament this devastating possibility by playing back the cast’s adventures during the series to ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ by Simple Minds.

Big mistake. Huge. The majority of the demographic this show is aimed at will have no emotional attachment to this tune whatsoever and the ones that do (like us) will be angry that their warm, fluffy memories of ‘The Breakfast Club’ have been polluted by a new, and entirely more fucked up generation. And Joel Corry’s inability to drink (l).

The Viewer thanks the crew for an entertaining and enlightening few weeks. Like the sex, it’s been badly lit, frantic, and… well… emotionless.

Images via geordieshoreonline.com, metro.co.uk, geordieshoreweb.com.

This article first appeared on baggytrouseredmisanthropist.com.

Advertisements