Here's an idea, you utter bastard:

Drench the outer sides of my desperate brain in some kind of fluid that, through the miracle of osmosis, eventually seeps through the grey viscous until both ends meet in the middle, thus producing a reaction not unlike that when electrical contacts find that all-important spark.

PING! go the Greed Lights, flickering and flashing on, like strobelights, all around my skull.

HURRAH! What will I buy for myself?

What kind of house?

What kind of car?

In fact, how many cars?

Gadgets?

Furniture?

And what about my family friends?

Where shall we all go on holiday?

How popular will I be?

How much sex will I get?

*gurning with excitement, dry in the mouth*

God, I can finally pay off this, and I can pay off that.

And I can pay off their debts, too.

Because that'll make them love me.

And I can get my eyes lasered.

And buy that suit.

And one of those watches.

And a London apartment. And one in New York.

And a yacht.

Oh, yes. I need that fucking yacht.

And helicopter flying lessons.

And a season ticket.

And my own restaurant. Inside my own hotel.

*gibber gibber gibber*

And then I can SING to the mirror without a care in the world!

SCATTER fifty pound notes from my penthouse balcony!

PISS in my bed!

SHIT in my sink!

PUNCH my own butler!

I CAN! I CAN! I CAN! I C -

"And here's your host, Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale WIN-tonnnnnnnnnn........."

And then you remind me that I'm 50p short of a pint of Black Soup.

You absolute cunt.