Written by Ross Douglas

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Sunday, 16 May 2004

image for Reality TV.

The curse of modern life.

From Big Brother too i’m a celebrity get me out of here (which personally i think should be renamed “i’m an attention seeking shitheel, watch me dance like a trained monkey”) reality TV is setting new standards in the dumbing down of our world.
maybe i’m just being a cynic but i really have no desire to sit on my couch for hours on end lowering my intelligence to the level of pond scum. and i don’t really understand how anyone could.
what was big brother all about? a houseful of halfwits being poked, prodded and goaded into playing up for an audience of unseen eyes.

Where is the attraction in sitting on your couch, for as many hours as you could without dropping into a mental coma if that was possible, and watching people sit on a couch? if that’s your idea of entertainment then buy a mirror, place it directly in front of your sofa and stare at yourself until your eyes glaze over and your brain grinds to a scrunching halt.

Now don’t get me wrong i’m not attacking you. i’m merely expressing my opinion. if your life is so unfulfilling that you feel you need to have some kind of connection to someone stupid enough to believe that their life will be better just because they have been “famous” for a few weeks then frankly i think i have a show for you to star in. “i’m a moronic fuckwit whose life is empty and meaningless watch me run naked across a minefield”.

I know that may sound a bit harsh but look at it this way, the reason you watched big brother was to see just how much the people in the house wound each other up, to maybe catch a glimpse of flesh or to see if there was going to be an argument that may have led to blows. i have merely taken your lust for entertainment and evolved the idea.
and be honest with yourself i think you’d enjoy “moron in a minefield” imagine this...

The show starts with angst filled guitar music and wonderfully expensive computer graphics dancing teasingly across your screen.
two annoyingly upbeat Geordie twats called Pant and Dick bounce onto your screen and introduce themselves.
“welcome to the show folks” says Pant, smiling like he has a feline fetish and has just fucked his neighbours cat.
Dick chimes in with his trademark cheeky grin “last week you watched as Mandi from Stratford made it to the nine hundred meter mark before she put a foot wrong and was maimed by a half buried anti personnel mine, supplied by our sponsors royal ordinance ltd.”
in the corner of the screen a box shows a repeat of the naked Mandi running full pelt across the mind field. the look of exhilaration is clear on her face as she begins to realise that she is tantalisingly close to the finish line. her breasts are bouncing and swaying and her supple looking ass shimmies as she sprints and leaps towards her goal. there is a flash of bright orange light and the action goes into slow-mo as Mandi is blown skywards and her legs are parted for the final time in her life.
the camera zooms in on Pant and he smiles his syrupy grin. “on this weeks show we have another 15 contestants vying for the chance to run across the minefield, we’ll be back after this short advertising break”...

After you have had corporate slogans pumped into your cerebrum, and you have been conned into thinking that you will not be socially acceptable unless you have the latest mobile phone or that your kids will be shunned by their friends unless they are wearing the latest running shoes that some money grabbing sportsman sold his soul for thirty pieces of silver to hawk to you.

...the show returns and Pant and Dick are stood next to fifteen barely human pieces of human trash that are waiting anxiously for their fifteen minutes of fame.
Pant smiles his perfectly aligned smile and informs you that this is where the contestants battle off against each other in order to decide who gets the chance to run the minefield.

There is a phone vote to see who gets to run. merits are given based upon looks rather than substance, (as seems to be the main way we are taught to judge each other thanks to years of polished and preened pop stars selling us material crap that they say will make us better people) and on knowledge of semi famous soap stars rather than actual intelligence, (which, thanks to all those gossip rags that populate the shelves of superstores and newsagents all over the country most of the morons of this country eat up like dung beetles eat shit) and on something else equally insipid and tedious that the general populace can associate with.

The contestants are slowly whittled down to the last three who then fight each other with an assortment of axes, whips, chains, baseball bats and knives. the one who successfully fends off the other two is then taken aside by Pant and Dick and is introduced to the home audience. They tell him/her that if they make it across the mine field they will be as close to royalty as is possible for a commoner to be.
they then get naked and begin the run of their lives...

And for those of you lucky (Stupid) enough to have digital TV you can press the RED button to see the interactive screens. Complete detailed biographical, medical and personal history of the contestants. Access to several camera angles, slo-mo replay and head-cam. "See the run from first person view but without the danger"...

Now that’s entertainment folks. and it also kills two birds with one stone, not only does it rid the world of another group of useless, half witted morons but it also keeps the idiots in their homes and lets the rational people of the world get on with living, like me.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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