Fried is a new sitcom that tracks the zany antics of a diverse bunch of mentally ill down-and-outers working in a failing fried chicken shop in Croydon, England. If you’re anything like me, you’re probably wondering why TV needs another sitcom, given that Seinfeld has already conquered the medium. Well, apparently some people have space in their lives for more than one show. Is this a sign of a weak and disloyal character? Possibly. Nevertheless, Fried is currently airing on Netflix, and thus demands a review.

The first few minutes of episode one showed great promise, as it featured the show’s most interesting and (for me) relatable character – the drug-addled manager, first seen suffering a heavy come-down and pissing in the deep fryer. Given that nihilists continue to be under-represented in popular culture, it was refreshing to see that Fried were bold enough to give voice to a minority perspective in this way. Sadly, he was killed off in the first 90 seconds of the show, and with his departure my interest also died.

The show might have held my attention had it delivered real insight into the art of preparing delicious fried chicken. That show could still be made, by the way – forget what you’ve heard, the best fried chicken in Melbourne is sold at Chick’N D’lish in Hallam, and someone needs to get a camera crew in there ASAP to find out what their secret is. But, sadly, Fried is basically just a show about a shitty kid who is pissed at having been friend-zoned by his sexy co-worker. Pathetic.

What is it with this generation and their lack of game? Romeo didn’t get Juliet by awkwardly hovering around her, pretending to be her friend and hoping that by offering a shoulder to cry on, her head would somehow slip and fall on his dick. Back in my day, if you wanted to let a girl know you liked her, you’d apply an extra squirt of Lynx Africa under your best shirt, walk on over and say, “Hey, I like your jeans. Wanna come to my house this weekend and chuck us a fuck?” There’s just no place for romance anymore.

As for the other characters: there’s the anxious nutjob replacement manager, the creepy and resentful 2IC, the sassy old West Indian lady, and some guy that is basically Ali G in a giant chicken costume. None of them care about preparing quality fried chicken, so fuck em. These apathetic miscreants are in need of a serious attitude readjustment. The kind that can only come from a swift kick to the jaw. Nothing builds character like working in fast food. Forget putting hair on your chest – it puts acne on your back! The sore reminder of how low down you are in the great chain of being; a worthless, spotty nothing. Only from this primordial-soup of humiliation can real life be generated. Unless of course you have some kind of a trust fund.

In summary, I give this show 3/5 nuggets. 2 for Mandeep Dhilon, who totally sizzles as the way-out-of-his-league foil to whoever the main guy is. Don’t bother learning his name. Seriously, I forbid you to Google him. And the final star goes to the druggie ex-manager, who pissed in a deep fryer – possibly the most dangerous thing a man could do with his penis short of using it to swat at an angry tiger.