And so another year rolls around, and thousands of orphans will be performing song-and-dance routines, begging you not to turn your back on them, like everyone else they ever gave a damn about has.

Early reports suggest that a quartet of hookers could be the next Pussycat Dolls, but no doubt they will be usurped at some point by a sniveling effeminate teen who has promised his dying nan that he will win X Factor for her. Regardless that she's never seen it. It's the television highlight of the autumn, and yet, they never quite get the winner right.

In a perfect world, these people would all be trillionaires?