If the answer to any of these questions is “YES”, Borkowski has a couple of tasty slices of satirical goodness to ease your rage, two fine diversions from a toxic weekend of TV carnage. In a burst of pre-Christmas generosity, we present The Exterminating Factor, a neat-but-twisted X rated game that allows the player an opportunity to vent their destructive feelings. All within the bounds of legality and common sense, of course – we are in no way suggesting that the game’s scenario should be re-enacted in real life.

You see, this twisted little game allows the player to shoot virtual nails into the disembodied heads of Simon Cowell, Danni Minogue, Cheryl Cole and Louis Walsh – and what would there be on TV worth being ranted and fulminated about if The Exterminator Factor were taken too seriously and acted upon in real life?

Better just to play the game and feel that shiver of nervous satisfaction as the first virtual nail strikes and two smaller judges’ heads burst from Simon Cowell’s smiling face. Or gasp as the dimpled smile of a tiny Cheryl Cole disappears forever in a hail of virtual nails.

Based on the gaming classic Asteroids, The Exterminating Factor is the perfect way of letting loose all your pent up frustrations at the 21st Century’s premier talent contest cum soap opera. Click on the picture to access the game.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Borkowski also presents a sharp, satirical poem for all the pacifists and non-gamers out there who are tired of celebrity for the sake of celebrity; of popularity contests masquerading as talent contests; who cannot bear to see the world and its wife doing everything in its power to be famous.

The Sleb’s Prayer, by the remarkable poet Adam Horovitz, features music based on a sample by great 60s garage rock band, The Groupies. The track has been wrapped up in Mel Rodiq’s stunning video in the style of magazines like Heat and OK. You can see it below.

I’d like tea with Lord Mountbatten
I’d like a gin with dear old gran
I’d like a brand new book by van der Post
I’d like poetry to scan

I’d like a son who didn’t dress up
like Max Moseley just for fun
and a chance to stop my sons’ lives
from appearing in The Sun

I’d like my plants to answer back for once
and tell me what they feel
I’d like houses built from Portland stone
and not from glass and steel

I’d like a handy time machine
to take me back to 71
so I could marry Camilla then
& have her as mother to my sons

I would like a peaceful life
for the press to bugger off
I’d like them to stop presenting me
as an out of touch old toff

But I would give that all up
if mother would just say
‘Charles it’s your turn to be King,
I’m stepping down today’.

I don’t want a White House,
I want a light house, a right house.
I don’t want a White House,
I want a beacon ‘gainst the night house.

I want a dream in every heart house,
a no one kept apart house.
I want a truth house, a youth house,
an open not uncouth house.

I want a hope house, a joy house,
a no lies to deploy house.
I want a trust house, a just house,
a proactive and robust house.

I don’t want a White House,
I want a freedom walking tall house.
I don’t want a White House,
I want a no colour at all house.

Jonathan Ross is, Jonathan Ross is
a sacrificial lamb for the BBC bosses
he may be cheeky, sweary and slick
a gold plated carrot on the end of a stick
but however many kids he got watching the box
his stellar career is now on the rocks
at least at the Beeb, where he’s put on ice
for phoning up actors and not being nice

but Jonathan Ross is, Jonathan Ross is
perfectly capable of cutting his losses
he could go anywhere, and quickly get work
with a wink and a wave and a quirky smirk.

Jonathan Ross is, Jonathan Ross is
highly unlikely to be carrying crosses
he won’t walk on water but he’s not going to drown
however much the press try to push him down.

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