"Let's Do The Timewarp Again!!!"
Now listen here. You are a double glazing salesman called Graham. A married man, a father, and supposedly a pillar of the community. But look at you. You are in a public place, wearing the sort of make-up and clothing which was only ever popular with Albanian prostitutes in the 1970s.
You are not 'a crazy guy, a great laugh' — you are a c**t and a total embarrassment to yourself, your family and your gender. And you are doing a synchronised dance to the biggest pile of musical excrement ever committed to vinyl.
So, Graham, unless you want me to go on the sort of spree that will begin with you, your family and everyone you know, and ends a few days later on a riverbank, with Paul Gascoigne bringing me a packed lunch and a fishing rod, the "Let's Not Do The Timewarp", eh?
