SO there you are on a Saturday night, praying that the nauseatingly good-looking person on Bland Date ends up picking a total hound. Then you try to decide whether to wait for the lottery numbers before moseying on down to the local purveyor of alcoholic beverages.
Next thing you know the aliens have landed and started mercilessly slaughtering the entire human race. Obviously this is not a satisfactory state of affairs, especially as you were quite looking forward to living long enough to find out if Craig and Sharon enjoy their Bog Snorkelling weekend in Birmingham.
Fortunately, the chaps who make such decisions have chosen to give you the honour of saving humanity from a serious case of extinction.
