Reality is Televisilicious...or something...licious.

      Reality television and I have a strange relationship. It keeps delivering stupidity and I continue to wonder why I watch it. It's a bizarre bunch of cluster fuck to put it mildly. More or less, 99% of reality programming  is bitching with a title sequence. Most of it I can't deal with. The fascination people have with watching the going's on of sickening, overtly orange people is, is something I'll never understand.

There has got to be a special kind of cancer for people like this.

      Call it pointless expectation, but, I feel that a reality show should produce something or demonstrate something useful. I feel less guilty about wasting my time watching it, if it's showing me how to do something. Like, how to make a phallic shaped cake wrapped in fondant or bend metal into a shape that demonstrates, both a disregard for aesthetics and a healthy application of wholesale retardation as well. Watching a show simply to view a cavalcade of people with little more to offer than whiny asshole behavior, brain damaged fashion sense and an inability to style their hair or do make-up, makes me sad. Sad, like, Wesley having one year of his life sucked away by the water wheel torture machine, sad. I would happily tune in if at the end of any those shows, if the person that said the most "yo"'s and "whateva"'s got hit in the face with a bat...a lot. My DVR habits would jump straight into "Jersey-tastic-licious...land" or whatever fuck knob way they spin the word "Jersey" into shit these days. 

That man appears to be "Jerkin' his Jersey!"

      The reality shows I gravitate toward usually produce something. A good example is American Chopper. Sure, that particular show is mostly about an aging ass clown, that ruined his relationship with his son/cash cow, but, in between the bitch tears and good-natured hatred, they make motor cycles occasionally. Horrible, horrible looking motor cycles. Motor cycles so ugly that I fear were one to be burned, as they deserve to be, one of the seven seals would open, then, the world would be sucked into a hellish chaotic realm of butt fugly bikes and smokey eyed banshee bitches. I shudder at the though. I offer no idiotic proclamations, however, that I watch this shit to satisfy my curiosity on the subject of chopper construction or whatever. I watch to see a douche' bag father get his slow but sure come-upppance via poorly designed choppers and his son design horrible, equally poorly designed choppers. At the very least they're making something.  

Turds on wheels.

      It's a ridiculous stipulation I know. Production isn't the focus of these shows. No one watches these shows for that. It's all about the drama, comedy or latent homo-eroticism they provide, not bikes, cooking or talent. Yet, my level of guilt and shame for having wasted, up to an hour of my life, per show, is offset by the fact that at least something came out of it. Be it a cake, high-end ugly bike, verbally abused restaurateur or an irritating singer warbling through an awful cover, in the end an item was created. Maybe I even learned a little bit about whatever in the fuck they made. I like to think I did anyway. Perhaps, what I really learned was that people of all walks of life, can sometimes put aside their differences, come together and for one shiny moment make something to be proud of...a shit ass reality show.

Alright, Gordon Ramsay, entertai--

inform me on how to yell at inept cooks, you deranged 

English, closet homo-fuck!