Fifteen Minutes of Fish
I would have to say that in terms of sheer enjoyment, watching Reality TV fits in somewhere between eating sawdust and licking Abu Hamza's stump. Last year I bought a Freeview box in Dixons from a man who looked like a weeble.
"What's the difference between the £50 box and the £100 box?" I asked.
"The £100 box has got a red light on it," he replied.
The information retention of these people is nothing short of incredible. As I smugly walked out of the shop with my box, sans red light, I thought about all the hours of quality TV I was about to be subjected to - channels and channels of highbrow entertainment and groundbreaking documentaries. Sadly, this wasn't the case.
"What gives?" I cried, returning to Mr Weeble the next day. "All they show is repeats of Big Brother! Then the highlights of the repeats of Big Brother! Then the analysis of the highlights of the repeats of Big Brother!"
"Ah," said Mr Weeble. "You need a special card to pick up any of the decent channels."
"Ok," I said, "And where is the slot into which I can insert this card?"
"You bought the £50 box," he said, "So you don't have one."
I tried to push him over, but he just wobbled around for a bit, before returning to his upright position.
So it is, that I am currently flicking from channel to channel, seeing nothing but desperate wannabes and has-been D-list "celebrities" demeaning themselves in various manners all in the name of fame. Those crazy Dutch have pushed the bar even lower this week, with news of Pimp My Life, a show in which they give a tramp all the pickings of a millionaire’s lifestyle, then take them away again and say "do it on your own now, fuckchops." Rather unsurprisingly, they are finding it difficult to find any contestants with the psychological stability to be put through such turmoil. If you think about the character-assasinations that some of the theoretically 'stable' Reality contestants have had to go through in the past, imagine having to go and live on the street through it all as well!
I've got an idea for a Reality show. All the production team swim to the bottom of the Atlantic, then film each other as their lungs give out - the winner is the last corpse to float to the surface. They could call it "A Fish Out of Water" (the irony works on so many levels...)
"What's the difference between the £50 box and the £100 box?" I asked.
"The £100 box has got a red light on it," he replied.
The information retention of these people is nothing short of incredible. As I smugly walked out of the shop with my box, sans red light, I thought about all the hours of quality TV I was about to be subjected to - channels and channels of highbrow entertainment and groundbreaking documentaries. Sadly, this wasn't the case.
"What gives?" I cried, returning to Mr Weeble the next day. "All they show is repeats of Big Brother! Then the highlights of the repeats of Big Brother! Then the analysis of the highlights of the repeats of Big Brother!"
"Ah," said Mr Weeble. "You need a special card to pick up any of the decent channels."
"Ok," I said, "And where is the slot into which I can insert this card?"
"You bought the £50 box," he said, "So you don't have one."
I tried to push him over, but he just wobbled around for a bit, before returning to his upright position.
So it is, that I am currently flicking from channel to channel, seeing nothing but desperate wannabes and has-been D-list "celebrities" demeaning themselves in various manners all in the name of fame. Those crazy Dutch have pushed the bar even lower this week, with news of Pimp My Life, a show in which they give a tramp all the pickings of a millionaire’s lifestyle, then take them away again and say "do it on your own now, fuckchops." Rather unsurprisingly, they are finding it difficult to find any contestants with the psychological stability to be put through such turmoil. If you think about the character-assasinations that some of the theoretically 'stable' Reality contestants have had to go through in the past, imagine having to go and live on the street through it all as well!
I've got an idea for a Reality show. All the production team swim to the bottom of the Atlantic, then film each other as their lungs give out - the winner is the last corpse to float to the surface. They could call it "A Fish Out of Water" (the irony works on so many levels...)
posted by Matt at 12:34 PM
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