Friday, May 28, 2004

The Future of Reality Television

In a desperate bid to find a reliable quick fix substitute of crap television in the wake of Sunday's Survivor season finale and to ease the violent jonsing for Reality cheese until the next season's premiere of Survivor: All-Star (only a mere 47 days away), I searched out other forms of low-brow shit television entertainment whilst I knitted my ass off on the couch.

I ended up spending an hour of my life watching the snobby exploits of Paris Hilton, and the equally blonde, equally cosmetic, equally spoiled, and equally dumb Nicole Ritchie (and let's not forget that shaved rat in pink bobby-socks, "Tinkerbell") fudge their way through everyday rural life on a farm in the middle of Redneck Country. What has the world come to when we are entertained and perplexed by two hoity-toity store-bought daddy's princesses struggling with the ordinary 9 to 5 blue collar grind that we normal schlups call "life". I find this both intriguing, and infuriating.

Can I identify with their desperate plight against societal boundaries, or lack there-of maybe? No, certainly not. No more than I can imagine being starved to death on a remote island with people who's sole purpose is to lie, cheat, and back-stab my ass for the chance to win a million dollars.

I think it would be better Reality entertainment if we were to shake things up a bit. Wouldn't be more interesting to simply give the cool mil to any 'ol ordinary bimster on the street and an available mansion to enjoy his new financially secure, stress free lifestyle, and challenge him to spend the whole freaking lot in 36 days! Let them spend it in any way they see fit or on anything these choose....and capture the whole thing on tape.

I know if you give me a million dollars and said: "you got 36 days kid, have a blast"...I'd sure as shit make for some interesting broadcast television! I'd be lighting bowls off lit thousand dollar bills, driving limousines into the swimming pool, jet-setting around the world in a customized Lear Jet remodeled to resemble the Star Ship Enterprise with a bevy of buxom cheerleaders, hiring retired 80's hair bands to perform concerts in my bathroom(s), and otherwise indulge in a fantasy shopping spree that would make Michael Jackson weep with envy.

I figure it would at least take me the better part of one entire broadcast season before I could burn through the whole motherload of wealth. Who wouldn't tune in to see me partake in my every whim and desire and live vicariously through my wanton gluttony and frivolous spending? I know I'd sure tune to see some ordinary schmuck live out their wildest Keith Moon fantasies unashamedly before the camera.

Another idea: we could simply take Keith Richards, tell him that our "laws of moral conduct" no longer apply to him and turn him loose on the innocent unsuspecting public. In the first day alone he'd be off hunting endangered snow owls with nuclear warheads while snorting pure anthrax on the Queen's yacht with Osama bin Laden.


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