Reality TV: Electronic Heroine
No kingpin is more capable of altering your mental or physical state when they’re on television than President George W. Bush. Think about it. Nine times out of ten, you’re either scratching your head trying to figure out what the hell he just said, or you become so emotional over his policies and/or initiatives that you literally shake. Whenever I see him on the tube giving some moronic speech, I imagine running up to the podium and mushing him in the face with a pie made of rotted cheese and eggs. I don’t mean some light-hearted mush either. I mean the type of mush that makes your neck and whole body jerk backward. Call it a mush with conviction. Then, doing my best Gilbert Gottfried impersonation, I’d yell, “There’s your piece of the tax cut pie ‘Georgie Boy!'” I’m sorry, but the man just irritates me to no end. I’d rather watch reruns of that awfully hideous Kathie Lee Gifford movie that premiered on E! years ago. It was so bad I can’t even remember the title. Nor do I want to. Someone pass me a barf bag. Kelly Ripa rocks!
“The O’Reilly Factor”, on the Fox News Channel, is one of those shows that attempt to get you “hooked” on stupidity. I would love to appear as a commentator, just to irk the hell out of Bill O’Reilly. Can you get anymore smug than this guy? He never lets you get a word in edgewise. I’ve often imagined myself on the set playing with an “Etch-A-Sketch”, and asking him if he liked my stick figure drawings as he mercilessly grilled his guest. That, or I’d keep asking him why Tim Russert, of “Meet the Press”, was so much smarter than he was. I don’t know what’s more annoying. Having to watch O’Reilly, or taking a dump and realizing you’ve run out of toilet paper! If he likes confrontation, I’d give him confrontation.
Those overly joyous, local and national news anchors are getting on my nerves too! Every network has a prototype, and they’re annoying as hell. These “pushers” will finish the most heart-wrenching story, and in the next second they’ll say, “Now we go to Bob Lane for our exclusive report on a woman who married her pig and wants a divorce because she found out the pig is gay.” What’s the hell? This is the kind of stupid crap that makes you want to slap the producers. So many times I have envisioned taking a fire hose and opening it up full blast on these suit-wearing, Colgate using, perky breasted, self-absorbed, phony, media controlled weasels. The news is not news anymore. It’s crossed the line to become entertainment as opposed to having substance and importance, and that is a sad reality. Spare me the weak attempts at comical banter, give me the facts and get off the air so I can watch “The Andy Griffith Show”. Don’t make me miss the opening with the whistling theme either. I live for that! There will be hell to pay if I hear, “We now join our regularly scheduled program, which is already in progress.”
How many cooking shows do we need? You’ve already got Emeril, some British chick with pretty nice boobs, The Naked Chef, The Iron Chef and a host of others that continue to provide a “fix”. I miss the era when there were just two cooking gods, Julia Child and Graham Kerr. Kerr was the man! The best part of watching “The Galloping Gourmet” was waiting to see if Kerr would be sauced long before the meat was at the end of the show. It seemed like the man took a sip of wine every three minutes while cooking.
As far as my fantasy involving these stupid cooking shows goes, I’d show up on sets and completely take over. I’d call myself “The Disgruntled Chef.” Instead of preparing lavish meals or desserts, I’d pull out a box of Cheerios, a can of Ravioli, or a Popsicle, look right into the camera and say, “I don’t cook damn it, and neither should you!” I’d knock over all the ingredients and spices, kick chairs, curse, hurl utensils at the crew, and squirt cheese dip all over the audience. I may not get much in the way of a studio audience, but I’ll bet the ratings would go through the roof.
The fashion related programs are a pain in the ass too. Celebrities like Joan Rivers create legions of junkies by telling you to wear this or wear that because it’s “in”. Versace, Valentino, Donna Karan, Gucci, Phat Farm, Roca-Wear, Fetish and Sean John are shoved in our faces week after week. What’s worse is the fact that we are made to feel less than adequate if we don’t buy their products. Shut up already! You know what my favorite label is? It’s called affordable!
I’d love to show up on these programs in ripped up jeans with mustard stains on them and my butt cheeks hanging out where the back pockets should be. I’d walk in there looking like a bad version of the artist known as Prince. I’d wear a tee shirt with dried-up yellow stains in the underarm area and some really horrendous smelling sandals. I’d make sure I didn’t bathe for a week before going on the show too. I’d give new meaning to the term “funky fashion”. Then, I’d hit Joan Rivers and her snotty fashion panelists in the head with one of my sandals and run like a bandit.
With all that said, you can now draw you own conclusion. Maybe I am a little psycho, or maybe I’m just crazy like a fox. Whatever the case, I’m sure that I’m not alone when it comes to having such thoughts. If you do as well, count yourself as one of the lucky ones.
With so many networks offering you a free “hit”, you’ve made the decision not to let anyone tap your intelligence vein or alter your state of consciousness.
Our desperate need for instant gratification, acceptance and escapism created these media kingpins. They have become part of our lives and culture, and we now have to live with them to the point where our brains are literally rotting, and the matter is beginning to ooze from our ears. People all over the world cannot seem to survive without reality television, and the remote control is the needle that injects this poison into our veins.
