Out of necessity for the protection of the few remaining shreds of sanity I have left my brain has adapted and can now filter out almost anything that exists in the background world of television. I imagine it must be how a heavily sedated caged tiger feels. I still want to destroy every last remnant of Kardashianism that plagues our planet but it’s a distant, slippery feeling and I can’t quite get a handle on it and oh look a new chapter to read in my book let’s get back to that.
However. On occasion a certain level of what-the-fuckness bypasses the filter and all bets are off.
Tonight my wife was surfing through the channels and stumbled across yet another new show where a bunch of people of the same sex subject themselves to ritual humiliation so they can end up on a date with some moron of the opposite sex. In this particular example it was a bunch of generally attractive women who I doubt would have too much trouble getting a date (assuming vapid, self-centred, psychotically charged lunatics with voices that would make you beg for the nails on a chalkboard treatment are your kind of thing) looking to get a date. I have no idea who they were competing for but let’s go out on a limb and suggest he might be tall, muscled, perfectly-cheekboned and is really quite sensitive and looking
to get laid for love.
I have no idea what had gone before but as we arrived on Planet CarCrash numerous aforementioned laydeez (in obligatory bikini / beach wear) were offered a choice between doing shots of hot sauce or eating plates of pig feet.
Sadly, I have to report that no-one choked on a bone or indeed had their eyes burned out by rogue hot sauce and so another challenge was laid down.
Bobbing for apples.
In a bucket of fish chum (that’s guts for us non-fisherfolk)
As another tiny piece of my soul threw itself screaming into the void I found myself hoping that every single one of them would somehow become stuck in their own individual buckets. We could watch as their initial nausea was replaced by genuine terror. Listen to their muted, fish-gut insulated screams. Watch as their arms flail around, scrambling for purchase, clawing desperately at the buckets and then at themselves drawing deep scratches in their perfectly tanned bodies until at last they find their smart phones tucked into their scant clothing and bring them forth to snap a selfie and post it to Facebook from muscle memory with a millisecond of consciousness to spare.
For the love of all that is holy, unholy or utterly perforated, spare us from more of this shit.
Bring in Daenerys Targaryen as head of global programming and reopen the fighting pits for these cretins.
And now for some music. The utterly brilliant Future Of The Left and their far more eloquent take on similar matters.
Header photo: “An Assortment of Dates (4257198208)” by Alex Proimos from Sydney, Australia – An Assortment of Dates. Licensed under CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons – https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:An_Assortment_of_Dates_(4257198208).jpg#/media/File:An_Assortment_of_Dates_(4257198208).jpg