At a stretch

say which one it is, so let's just be generic and call it "a current affairs" show.
So anyway, this "current affairs" show is starting to worry me a week, and it's not their ongoing Schapelle Corby battle with a rival current affairs show, and it's not even their 10- camera close-ups of fat stomachs in the city, because you just know there's someone watching at home, sitting up suddenly and going "Hang on, that's my T-shirt..

. and that's my stomach..

. LOOK AT ME, I'M A FLABBY MISSHAPEN HIDEOUSITY OF NATURE..

. and why am I wearing blue when I don't really suit winter colours?"
No, none of those things are worrying me so much: it's more the gone all pulpy and shiny, like they've been whacked with a tent pole, then melted on a focaccia press, then buffed with Kiwi Clear Shoe Polish.

NEXT STAGE OF OUR EXTRAORDINARY DARWINIAN JOURNEY, or else she's had a bit of work done. Either way, it looks kind of painful when she smiles, like two stagehands are hiding behind her, pulling her ears back.
And even if I'm wrong, and she hasn't changed her face at all, and she just needs to buy a better-quality chapstick, I just existing on planet Earth - and yes, I've checked with them all, and they said they're fine about it, as long as they don't have to sign anything, and could I get off the phone quick, they're missing WOMEN COSMETICALLY ENHANCING YOUR FACE BITS.

I know it's a massive surprise but that's the way it is: we don't want it, we don't need it, we don't like looking at it - especially those stretchy, severe Goldie Hawn at a film premiere, with half her chin hanging off her forehead. But the rest of us men say PLEASE WOMEN, STOP MESSING WITH YOUR FEATURES, because it doesn't make you look better or younger, it just make you look angry all the time, the same look you give us when we use your shower towel, or forget to squeeze out the kitchen sponge.
And while us men are on the subject of your female-enhancements, we'd also like to raise your breasts, and beg you to PLEASE STOP RAISING YOUR BREASTS.

It may come as an even more massive surprise, want them, we don't need them, we don't know why you're getting them - especially those hard, hurty ones that look like a pair of misplaced knees.
turned on by women with over-inflated gazungas, hanging off each collarbone like a Jolly Jumper Bouncy Castle. But for the rest of us men, they just don't feel right - it's like trying to grab onto old grandpa's bald shiny head.

Lie on top of those love-torpedoes, and they can drill a hole through your sternum.
body-renovations, because you just end up becoming a fake person, a cheap imitation - you're a Hyundai Sportswagon with a BMW badge, you're Wolfmother trying to sound like Led Zeppelin, you're those spiced feet. We don't know who you women are doing this for, but FLIPPY-FLOPPY GENUINE WOMAN, with a wiggle in the walk, and a jiggle up the top, it makes the world go round round round.