Reality TV is Sham

Forward: The ever increasing popularity of reality TV raises issues with being told what we should find entertaining.

We have now seen the return of the once originally unique real life sitcom that always ends up taking over the entire broadcasting network for a good couple of months and leaves the public with a little present in the form a handful of new Z list celebrities (more like a suspiciously smelling dodgy stain than a present..), that most normal people couldn’t give a camels toe about. We can also thank this reality hell for starting the whole reality TV boom that filled our lives with a never ending torrent of two bit celebrities trying in vain to revive their flagging careers by subjecting themselves to a wide variety of appallingly degrading and downright shameful activities (but occasionally cringingly funny, remember the inflatable Barbie doll eating fish eyes in the jungle?), when all they end up doing is selling Icelandic frozen delights for a couple of months afterwards….

The whole concept of all reality TV is bogus, a play on words and a blatant lie. How can anything that is created and staged be real, how can the ‘actors’ words and reactions be real when they are playing for a prize? All that is being shown is a bunch of actors taking part in a supposedly ‘live’ game show where their ability to create a relatable character is rewarded with money and fame (if fame is even a worthy prize). Mr. T’s ‘Craziest Fools’ was much closer to reality TV than BB could ever be.

I have watched many a decent person (ok, just one but it really annoyed me) become lost in the murky world of BB (insert the series numbers here), watching hour upon hour of the live streaming as they simply go about what can only be described as their everyday business, but more amusingly is watching a friend hurry home from any type of drinking or social session to watch a bunch of strangers sleeping and snoring, to be met with the comment of ‘something interesting might happen…’ Tell you what, turn off the sodding telly and we’ll do something interesting in real life!

The average Joe or Sheila (…I know we’re not Australian but I like the analogy) will, if anything, only watch the hour long summary of the day’s events (usually arguments and bitching) which condenses everything that has happened that day that producers deem interesting or relevant into a daily update allowing us to keep up with the oh so important life that these hamsters lead in their cages. But therein lies the problem… I think that we should be able to make our minds up about the morality and virtuality of each and every situation, but the powers that be in the crazy media circus insist of making this virtually impossible by carefully selecting the little ‘snipits’ that appear on our idiot boxes, honestly they may as well insert a subliminal message stating who they need to win the show into the first ten minutes and allow us to invest that hour of viewing hell into something, anything, more productive than watching a bunch of attention seeking wanna-be’s bitch and argue about who is next to feel a cold blade between their shoulder blades.

I guess I’m trying to say that we shouldn’t feed this industry the attention that, just like its actors, it so desperately craves to stay alive and ‘current’, and then perhaps the vast quantity of money and resources invested could be ploughed into something more worthwhile but it’ll never happen, instead let’s keep our fingers crossed for another series of Jungle winging & Fakes and how to look stupid on ice….

Close the Gate....

Forward: This is a passage describing feelings relating to past event, which has raised deep emotions despite the simplicity of the requests.

A stunning tree deep within Dalby Forest

Its bloody good job that I, like so many others in my situation, suffer tragically from a terrible and debilitating disease; an infliction so devastating and life altering that only another parent would understand the pain caused by this invisible peril. It’s called unconditional love; and is secreted from the pores of the skin for your little bundles of pain joy, and if it didn’t exist or I didn’t suffer from it; I swear I would be receiving visits from my friendly (?) local social worker by now questioning why there are two boys hanging by their underpants from the top of the garage door screaming that it wasn’t them.

For reasons unbeknown to any rational thinking adult, ‘dumb and dumber’ (I do love them, honestly, but this really winds me up) consistently leave the gate, separating my tranquil and tidy back garden from what can only be described as a world war 3, with what sounds like actual murders taking place, wide open. My boundary is breached, my protection from the hordes of screaming brats is nonexistent and I’m scared. What if the little gob s**tes wander in through the open gate looking for an easy target, someone to cling on to, I don’t want to be that friendly dad that the kids feel comfortable around, I’d have to employ an immigrant worker to help me with the never ending string of snacks and drinks that need to be supplied to the rabble.

On Sunday I actually made an effort to count how many times the simple request was made to my two boys, and their friends, and their friends’ friends, and the other randomers that happened to be following them in and out of my garden.  FIFTEEN TIMES, honestly I asked the ignorant little toe rags fifteen times to close the bloody gate, and each and every time they passed through the boundary it was left wide open. And because of that, there is now a deep head shaped groove next to the patio door which I found my head slamming uncontrollably into after every gate related violation occurred. I have a head ache….

But there is an answer, a solution that will save me from the potential snack preparation hell that only expensive ongoing therapy could relive; it’s a called a ‘large f**king spring’ and it will do what my little sods are ment to do after every opening event of the wooden portcullis occurs – CLOSE IT BEHIND THEM!!  

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