It took 18 seconds for Junior Apprentice (BBC One, Wednesday, 12 May, 9pm) to make me curse. That must be a record. Some greasy faced little gitbox appeared and grimaced about how ruthless he was like it was an enviable trait. I bet he’s delivered a P45 to his own weary mother for not being efficient enough around the house. Horrible, horrible little arse-grape. Of course, this being Apprentice related, the whole show centres around horrible humans who wake up early in a morning just to cram enough twattishness in.

Watching The Apprentice is always a miserable experience. Without question, The Apprentice manages to find the worst humans on Earth and then, somehow, push them and poke them into becoming even more irritating. Its an astonishing feat really.

However, the show is going one better this time ’round, managing to coral yapping recent-pubes up together in a house and letting them talk like idiots from The City. When I was 16, me and my peers were more concerned about smoking tabs, getting wankered on cheap ale and trying to stick our extremities in other humans with similar base interests. Sure, we’re were utter troglodytes in comparison, but give me that any day of the week over a day filled with talking about ‘targets’ and crowing about “synergy”.

Of course, it’s clear that this shower of shitehawks will all invariably end up earning a thousand times what I’ll ever earn. That said, while Lord Sugar (which sounds like a dreadful marketing mascot for Tate and Lyle) thinks that these people are all set to revitalise the country in the future, I personally think we’re witnessing first-hand the type of person to create a future credit-crunch. So certain am I of this fact that I think we should be allowed to send them to an abattoir now and run a competition to see which lucky members of the public get to prize of culling them with a bolt gun.

First in the death-queue would surely have to be the fascinatingly grim Jordan de Courcy who is a mixture of Oliver Peyton and James Harries. A weird fog of aloofness hangs over his oily little skull, combined with a frankly obscene self-assuredness that reeks of a future nervous breakdown. Of course, this makes him perfect for a TV show such as this. So canny is our Jordan that he’s probably gobbling up shared in tobacco companies right now, completely aware of how much he’ll stress the nation into taking up chain-smoking. He’s a relentless swarm of git-bees humming around your head.

Wonderfully however, our Jordan became a sacrificial lamb and was given the boot, leaving us with a tantalising glimpse at how awful he really could’ve been, with a parting shot of his unswaying knowledge that there are people left on the show… “and I’m better than them.”

Which leaves us with Prick Number 2: Zoe.

With her ubiquitous business-beret, designed to create imagined kookiness to deflect away from business wankeryness, she’s the one who will be making you contort your face into a thousand wrinkled howls of despair over the coming weeks.

Whitney Houston once sang “I believe the children are the future…”. Sadly, she missed the verse out about how they’re a horrible bunch of back-stabbing idiots, all twirling around in their own puddles of self-satisfied smuggery.

I hate them. I hate them all.