Bright lights flicked on with a ping, a live studio audience erupting in applause. Before them was a colourful set, a kitchenette where the star stood front and centre. GARPLE, it said in bright neon letters.

He towered over the counter, pale and sickly with a slicked back ponytail by his neck. Grinning unconvincingly to the crowd, he held a knife in hand. You sat in the audience, and you could have sworn you saw a bead of sweat roll down his forehead.

"G-..Good morning boys and girls!"