As we’ve pointed out before, Hell’s Kitchen has become, to us, a necessary evil. I stated watching since season 4. I don’t remember why. Some combination of being drunk, bored, and… well, that’s really it.
Whatever the case, I was drawn in. Maybe, it’s because I enjoy seeing dumbasses getting their chocolate chutes stuffed with Gordon Ramsey‘s shoe. Maybe, it’s because of the occasional cute female contestant.
One thing I’ve noticed, over the seasons, is that there are a few enduring contestant personality types. No matter how many seasons the show has aired, these fuckers don’t learn. It’s like they go on the show without ever have actually seeing it. I’m not even sure how that shit is possible. Doesn’t it make sense to do a little research on the company that’s about to interview you? You want to know everything there is to know; especially who their ideal candidate is. Above all, you don’t want to make the same mistakes previous applicants have made. But, fuck that. If you’re going to crash and burn, do it Hindenburg style.
The Over Confident Douche
Confidence is important in many avenues of life. It shows that you know what you’re doing and, at least, have half of your shit under control. However, when you don’t have any of your shit under control, it’s down right ridiculous. If you consistently and constantly fuck up there is no reason to be full of yourself. OK, I’ll concede that (most of) the chefs wouldn’t be on the show if they at least didn’t know their ass from a stock pot. Even so, their ass-chappingly outrageous hubris smothers their talents like a fat man on a scooter.
One second they’re on the “confessional” cam talking up their mad skills and referring to themselves with bat-shit retarded nicknames (See: K-Greese from season 2 above). Sure, they have the world by the balls, until it’s go time. Then see how fast they go from “I can rock this shit!” to crying in the fetal position.
The Pretentious Asshat
Over confidence is one thing. Being an outright fuck-tastic asshole about your skills is another. Fine, you’re a good chef. Maybe you’re even one of the best ones in the contestant pool. Stop being a condescending bastard about it. Take the chuckle head above, Benjamin from season 7. This guy ended up with a god complex Bill Gates would envy. When not belittling the skills and ideas of others, the little turd actually tried to usurp control from sous chef, Scott. That’s sort of like making a grab for R. Lee Ermy’s bullhorn.
The other thing that irked the piss out of me was his incessant use of the word, “Oui.” Fucking say YES like every other human being in LA! That, alone, justifies a colonoscopy with a rusty pipe.
The Clueless Wonder
As good old Bonnie from season 2 shows us, Hell’s Kitchen is chocked full of clueless dipshits. They wander around from station to station in the kitchen with a perpetual “Huh?” look stamped to their faces. These people can’t tell time, remember what they’re cooking, and consistently confuse Chef Ramsey with someone who gives an ape shit.
Think back to high school (assuming you graduated/attended). If you’ve ever taken a science class with a lab assignment there’s a good chance you were saddled with a clusterfuck partner with a perma-duh expression. Maybe YOU were that kid. Hey, I’m not judging here. In any case, these dopes are less than dead weight. In the event of a nuclear attack, we can cram ourselves into their thick skulls to stave off radiation.
Oh, and there is NO way I’m not mentioning the waste of precious oxygen and space, Lacey from season 5. The pant load shuffled from station to station, hoping no one would notice that everything she did turned into a steaming pile of suck.
The Delusional Dipshit
This dillhole refuses to accept reality. No matter how many times they get a verbal beatdown or a vocal raping, they honestly believe that Chef Ramsey wouldn’t have done so if he didn’t “see potential.” OK, so you set fire to the kitchen, accidentally ground Ramsey’s dog into pate, and took a dump on the fish station. You’re only getting yelled at, because he BELIEVES IN YOU!
“Chef Ramsey wouldn’t take the time to read me the riot act, call me a donkey, then throw my raw fish in the air where he proceeded to shoot it like a clay duck with a .45 pistol he conveniently on him, because I’m a walking fuck nut. I KNOW he see something in me. He wouldn’t have shot my raw fish if he didn’t care.”
While we’re at it, let’s kick over a few corpses and look at each season’s clusterfuck who has destroyed everything he’s touched. I’m talking; everything was raw, except for the things that were SUPPOSED to be. He sneaks undercooked meat into the microwave with fingers crossed to fool the chefs into thinking it came out of the oven that way. Oh, my personal favorite, absolutely knowing what he’s doing is wrong but attempts to make some sort of Vegas casino Harry Blackstone shit to slide his monstrosity across the hot plate. Then, during their confessional sessions, they tell the audience how he rocked the service or challenge. He’s going to be the winner hands down! Christ, people! You fuckers as supposed to be chefs. The third time you bring a piece of meat to the hot plate, still cold and horrifyingly under cooked you need to get the fuck out of Hell’s Kitchen and never walk into any kitchen again. March straight to a doctor and get tested for autism or cholera or something. There has to be a physical reason for that much stupid.
This fucker is a combination of the delusional dipshit and pretentious asshat. On one hand, he knows he’s a cooking abortionist. On the other, their ego won’t allow them to admit it. So, in order to succeed, this slap happy fart knocker has to throw a monkey wrench or two into the works.
This joker has thrown so many people under the bus he might as well be charged with serial homicide. It’s not just that he Bill Clintons his way around the rules, it’s that this sick bastard actually gloats about it on camera. Hey, numb nuts, you think you’re super cleaver, right? Has it ever occurred to you that Chef Ramsey could be watching the dailies of the show recording?
The Near Dead
For the love of all that is holy, if your ass can’t walk up a flight of stairs without needing to camp out midway and finish the trip the next day DON’T FUCKING WORK ON A REALITY SHOW! Hell’s Kitchen has been a sad parade of the morbidly obese, infirmed, and plaque ridden. Many a season has had a contestant that needed to go to the emergency room for some sort of debilitating issue. Robert had to drop out of the finals in season 5, because he was two steps away from a full on heart explosion. In season 6, this portly summabitch almost passed out when peddling some sort of bicycle contraption. Season 2’s Larry didn’t even make it to the first dinner service before his ass was bounced to the hospital.
Don’t get me started on Tom from season 5. This hapless turd had to have come from 15th century England, because he had a constant and inexplicable case of sweating sickness. Let’s just say he put a little bit of himself in every meal.
*Side note: Being sweaty is perfectly forgivable in certain cases.
This sexless wonder-tard unleashes a never-ending barrage of sexist comments, but doesn’t understand why women think he’s a pig. Take Jason up there from season 4; this whiny, snail-like, Humpty Dumpty motherfucker had enough problems cooking Spam and not shitting on the floor. The sexism is really the only quality the series could showcase. Take a look for yourself to see this train wreck of a ball sack at the 1:55 mark.
In an effort not to be a one hit wonder, Tom from season 5 joined the “I hate bitches” train. Sweaty got all pissy when he was chosen to be on Virginia’s team in the finale. But, what did he care? That handsome son-of-a-gun could get any woman he wanted.
Finally, we’re at the most entertaining, albeit banana sandwich nuts, Hell’s Kitchen personality. Whether this window licker is talking to the voices in his head, getting into a karate fight with imaginary friends, or just plain losing his shit one thing is clear– they’re all making sandwiches without bread.
Let’s take Matt from Season 4. There were more than a few times when it was completely conceivable this fucker could have gone completely ballistic and wore someone’s pancreas as a hat.
In, not surprisingly, his last appearance as a contestant, this simple bastard started what can only be described as a nuclear grade meltdown. Check the video, below. At the 3:07 mark he starts smacking himself on the head and whimpering. Not crazy enough? At 3:39 he makes an oh so subtle death threat to Christina. NO? You fuckers want blood. Alright, how about at 3:05 mark where he can be seen going through a range of pants-shitting emotions, all of them insane?
Then, there’s Raj from the current season (8). It became quite evident after his third karate fight with the refrigerator that he was destined for the laughing academy.
But, the elite of the giggling shit-flingers is most definitely Joseph from season 7. This chuckle head went through too many obstacle courses without a helmet. Not only does he seem completely incapable of answering a question without going completely John Rambo, he decides that this whole Hell’s Kitchen thing is bullshit. It’s time for motherfuckers to throw down!
Hey, I’m all about throwing a dash of UFC into Hell’s Kitchen. That’s appointment TV! But, Joey comes off as a slightly retarded steroid popper. This whole scene was so goofy-stupid, yet enthralling. I’m still not sure it wasn’t completely rigged.
As long as this damn show is on, I’ll watch. It’s a long spiral to hell. I don’t want to watch it. I’m an educated man. I know better. But, it’s like a traffic accident on the interstate; no matter how gruesome it is, I simply cannot look away.
We’re too quick to stereotype in this country, especially when it comes to television reality shows. Half of that is the intentional fault of the producer. They edit and fudge each scene to push the image the audience is meant to see. MTV did this shit all the time with the Real World. In the early seasons, it actually fooled a lot of us. Fast forward 1oo years later and we totally expect this this sort of bullshit filter. Kendra Wilkinson must be an airhead, Sig Hansen must whip his crew, and Gordon Ramsey must constantly make grown men and women cry. Not everyone on reality television is what they appear to be.
Perhaps the biggest stereotype of them all is the “gay” fashion designer. You know who I’m talking about. Tune into Bravo, E!, EVERYTHING Tyra Banks is involved with, and just about any Lifetime network made-for-TV movie and it’s a virtual Where’s Waldo of gay stereotypes. Now, I’m not making fun of the gays. Personally, I’m a lesbian trapped inside a man’s body (that was a great line in the 90’s and still is, damn it). But, that’s neither here nor there. The fact is that we’re used to (and even expect) the image of the dainty little pile of fabulous wearing a big bow tie and belting out Liza Minnelli tunes while tricking out a fashion model’s hair. There’s little room for a big, burly, heterosexual lumber jack of a man that happens to like musical theater. You’re born with the talents God gave you. You want to fawn all over runway models’ dresses, but drink Guinness and bang chicks. My friend, you have a hell of an up-hill battle. There are thousands of little Jack McFarland wannabes out there cramming the doorway of the boutique.
Some would say in order to get a chance in any traditionally flaming gayified field one would have to pretend to be homosexual. Ridiculous, right? Hold on a second. FWTC conducted countless hours of research and found one famous fashion designer/model consultant/goofy wig wearing dude that’s living a lie. The only way he could break into the business was to play the part of the stereotypical fashion queen. The problem is that he’s done such a good job, he can NEVER be who he truly is. On the condition of anonymity, this widely recognized person agreed to grant us an interview. This just may be the article that gets us the Pulitzer, people.
Tresckow: Thanks for agreeing to an interview. We know it must take courage to finally speak out.
Anonymous: I can’t stay long. They have people everywhere, on every corner, watching and waiting.
Anonymous: The Fashion gestapo. You think everything is OK, then one day you accidentally reach for a beer instead of a Cosmopolitan at an after-shoot party and BAM! You wind up buried in the concrete foundation of a Saks.
Tresckow: Harsh. Well, we’ll do what it takes to keep your identity a secret. If we have to, we’ll unleash Ren and her whiskey fueled Irish rampage.
Anonymous: (Shivering) Whoa! Let’s not jump the gun. You can’t unexplode that bomb.
Tresckow: Alright, fuck it. Let’s get down to business. Why did you want to break into the fashion and design world in the first place? Ya stupid or something?
Anonymous: Um, no. I just have always had an affinity for frilly garments and teaching models how to power-walk.
Tresckow: So you sold yourself out? Betrayed who you are? What the fuck is that all about?
Anonymous: Look, it’s a difficult situation. It’s like Yentl. Only that instead of being a woman disguising myself as a man to learn about Talmudic Law, I’m a straight guy pretending to like vermouth and prancing.
Tresckow: Dude. Yentl? Seriously? And you’re NOT gay?
Anonymous: No, it’s just an example.
Tresckow: Uh-huh. I dunno, man. Referencing a Barbara Streisand movie is pretty gay.
Anonymous: Look, can we get back to the interview? I mean I’m doing you a favor, here.
Tresckow: Okay, okay. Fucking Yentl. Anyway, walk us through a typical day at work for you. I imagine there’s a lot of limp wristed hand flailing and man makeup going on.
Anonymous: You don’t know the half of it. It starts before I leave my house. I have to leave all evidence of heterosexuality behind. I wake up and try to get into character by watching the Today Show and listening to Judy Garland. I practice saying “FABULOUS!” and make sure I have my “light in the loafers” walk down. I mean, if I’m off one beat, it’s a horse’s head in my bed for me.
Tresckow: A gay horse’s head?
Anonymous: I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter.
Tresckow: Are we talking “My Little Pony” or a horse that belonged to Clint Eastwood?
Anonymous: It doesn’t matter! Whatever. A Clint Eastwood horse.
Tresckow: (Checking cell for Sons of Anarchy spoilers) Ah, very interesting. Especially if it was the horse from Pale Rider. You know, considering Eastwood was a priest in that one.
Anonymous: Okay. Fine. Can we move on? Stop web surfing on your phone, damn it! I thought this was going to be a quality interview.
Tresckow: Sir, I assure you, the Fuse Was Too Cold is nothing but a highly regarded journalistic site. Did you see our piece about the Winter Olympics in Vancouver? We must have received at least three comments about that. That was awesome. We cracked open the Night Train for that one!
Anonymous: Yeah, congratulations. Actually, I’ve never heard of you guys.
Tresckow: That’s great! Fuck you. Anyway, please go on describing you day at gay work.
Anonymous: (Angrily) Fine! I put on my best and most outlandish afro wig and sparkly culottes and take my bright pink hybrid to the office.
Tresckow: Damn. A hybrid. That IS gay.
Anonymous: Exactly. Just before I walk into the building, I rub perfume samples from magazines on my face and crotch. You know… to seal the deal.
Tresckow: Well, what are the odds that someone would smell your junk?
Anonymous: Seriously? Have you ever seen America’s Next Top Model or Project Runway? You can’t go ten minutes without one of the hair dresser pixies sticking their beaks in your crotch. It’s just how things are done.
Tresckow: Alright. (looking at my crotch, wondering if I should cologne it up) Aside from making your twig and berries smell like Cosmo Magazine, what are some of the other pieces of this charade? Taking it in the pooper? Oral? Nail painting?
Anonymous: Um, no. Even gay workplaces have human resource regs. Well, some nail painting. Maybe a little bit of hair braiding…
Tresckow: And no one suspects a thing?
Anonymous: Hell no! I do my damnedest to keep the illusion alive. Even to the point of cringing when the models change in front of me.
Tresckow: Wait a minute. Change in front of you:? Like boobies and all?
Anonymous: And a lot more.
Tresckow: Boobies AND the danger zone?
Tresckow: How the hell can you play through that? I’d either have a stroke or a…
Anonymous: Yeah, I get where you’re going.
Tresckow: a stroke. HA! Get it? See what I did there?
Anonymous: Awesome. But, yes, it’s rough. I do what I have to; cold pack down my pants, mental pictures of Ke$ha or Bea Arthur naked..
Tresckow: (Standing up, suddenly) Back the truck up, comrade! We don’t stand for defamation of Bea Arthur’s character. That woman is a national treasure, goddamnit! Dead or alive! And, I’m not talking about shameful 80’s group that gives me nightmares to this day. Spin me around, right around… my ass! (taking the beer bottle I chugged, smashing it on the table, and waving the jagged shard, wildly)
Anonymous: (Putting his hands up in defense) Okay. Easy! Be cool. I take it back.
Tresckow: Yeah, you’re damn right you take that shit back. Ain’t NOBODY gonna dis Dorothy!
Anonymous: It’s cool. You know, the gay fashion world… that is to say, the fashion world… LOVES The Golden Girls. The show is practically our bible.
Tresckow: (Regaining my composure) So, we were talking about boobs. Like, boobs being all uncovered and shit. They don’t think twice about stripping naked in front of you?
Anonymous: Nope. I’m “safe.” The “gay” dude isn’t a threat. Boobs and…
Anonymous: Yeah, alright… va-jay-jays. Boobs and va-jay-jays are the last thing a gay guy wants to see. So, I’ve got to act the part and die a little inside.
Tresckow: Don’t you want to, you know, touch? Grab?
Anonymous: Damn right I do…
Tresckow: Grasp, feel, hold, palm, fondle…
Anonymous: Yes! I get your point.
Tresckow: (Cracking open a bottle of Jameson) Damn, man. So close, yet so far. It’s like boobs are the forbidden temple. You can never go in, but have to look a it every day of your life. You’re fucking nuts. I’d be all like, “Two boobs, two hands, no waiting…”
Anonymous: Tell me about it.
Tresckow: Alrighty, so… um… tell us about the real you. What are you like at home?
Tresckow: I mean, boobs! Right there. RIGHT THERE!
Anonymous: Yeah… you got it. Right on the nose. OK, so I’m completely different when at home. As soon as I get into the door, all that poofy, pink, and frilly shit goes to the wayside. I’m a flannel shirt, jeans, and work boot man, myself. I turn the TV to a monster truck rally or a football game… you know… something that involves broken bones and severe burns. MMA is a favorite of mine. Gotta love the Playboy channel, too.
Tresckow: Yeah… bones. Monster trucks. Flannel. Seriously, man. Boobs? Like the top comes off and, hello, there they are?
Anonymous: Are you still on this?
Tresckow: I mean, Ren usually ends up topless at some point during a bar crawl… but I’m in a different time zone and all. I don’t see the boobs. I just hear about the boobs.
Anonymous: Ren may have a drinking problem…
Tresckow: No shit? Thanks for tuning in. (by this time a third of the whiskey bottle is gone) I hear she totally puts out too…
Tresckow: Like those pants go down after the tenth beer…
Anonymous: I’m not sure we should be discussing this.
Tresckow: It’s like the fleet came in and she’s the only woman on the dock.
Anonymous: Wow. Okay. Any more questions?
Tresckow: Just one. With all the prejudice facing people of all walks of life today, what are your thoughts on.. Come on man! You never even copped a quick feel? That’s just a waste of a bare boob. They’re right fucking there! It’s like wandering in the desert with a cooler full of Gatorade and refusing to open it.
Anonymous: Look, I only agreed to do this interview, because I thought it was a good place to tell my story. Explain my struggle. Reveal the lengths I have to go through in order to be accepted in the fashion industry. Now are we going to stop the shit or not?
Treskow: HA! I bet you want to reveal your length to those naked chicks.
Anonymous: Okay. We’re done.
The world is in a paranormal reality show death grip. Flip through the channels. There’s a good chance you’ll run into one of an ass load of ghost searching, alien seeing, bigfoot humping pseudo-documentaries. Why? Because, as a species, we love seeing half-assed programs run by people with no formal scientific, technical, or basic high school grammatical training. Does this stop me from watching this shit? No. So what? I’m part of the problem. Fuck off.
I bet you’re going to say it all started with Ghost Hunters; spawning a dozen copies. I actually blame Ripley’s Believe It or Not. That was pretty much a bullshit freak show. Who wouldn’t try to pass off a monkey head sewn to a fish body as a mermaid? Jack Palance, that’s who. As the original host of Ripley’s Believe It or Not, the viewer could tell, without a shadow of a doubt, that Palance didn’t give a shit one way or the other. His eerie, asthmatic “Believe or Not,” was his way of telling the audience to eat shit; he was getting paid either way.
After careful study (drinking and watching TV) and follow up research (drinking and surfing the web) I identified a few common rules that every one of these shows obeys. After that, I celebrated (more drinking).
Rule 1: Paranormal activity is light sensitive
I don’t recall the Ghostbusters ever turning out the lights. Then again, the movie came out when I was a fetus, so I might not remember everything. Somewhere along the line people got it in their noodles that the only way to seek and (rarely) find ghostly activity is to make the entire area shitacularly pitch black. Why? Are you afraid the ghosts will see you? Do spirits really comprehend the difference between night and day? Have there been no ghost sightings in daylight?
It sort of makes sense for Destination Truth, even though at least one of the cast is going to careen off a cliff at some point for lack of adequate lighting. But, when you’re searching around for Blood Feast Island Man you’ll want to shut the lights off. I guess. I don’t know. Does Blood Feast Island Man like the dark?
Rule 2: Did you hear/see that?
Worst offenders: Ghost Hunters franchise, Destination Truth
Every episode and I mean EVERY mother fucking episode, the question “Did you hear that?” or a variation thereof is uttered no less than a thousand times. Guess what the answer is? NO. No, no one heard that. No one is ever going to hear that. The audience doesn’t know what the shit you’re talking about. We hear jack shit.
People, I’ve strained to “hear that.” I’ve paused the DVR and listened to the same scene a dozen times. I NEVER hear what the hell they’re talking about. It’s not just that the sound of the what’s-it-fuck paranormal noise is too soft. Microphones can only pick so much up. It’s the bullshit post production that renders us deaf. That leads me to ….
Rule 3: Deafening background music
Is there a damn reason the mood music has to be so ungodly ear drum raping loud? Of course no one watching is ever really going to hear shit. The fucking volume of the music is turned to 11.
The cynic in me says that the reason for this is to make it impossible for the viewers to hear what may or may not have just happened. The only indicator that some netherworld beast coughed, farted, or uttered, “A loser says what?” is when they use that stock smashing the piano keys sound. That’s the producers telling you that something was heard. You don’t need to hear it for yourself. Just trust them. Would they lie?
Rule 4: Use bullshit gadgets
It seems like anything can be bastardized into a ghost hunting tool. In the beginning, it was innocent enough; MP3 recorders used for EVPs, camcorders to capture mist on video, and such. Then, it all got weird. They started using custom built tools and misusing existing equipment to sense vibrations, speak to dead people, or… I don’t know, measure dick size.
The main issue is that there is no scientific evidence, whatsoever, that any of this shit does what it’s supposed to, let alone actually work. Take the Ghost Hunters’ K-II meter dealy. It’s supposed to measure the electromagnetic field of a given location. That’s great. So what? How in sphincter’s name is that really supposed to help? No one knows if EMF readings mean monkey spank. There they are, waving this blinking piece of crap around and having virtual orgasms because it lights up from time to time.
Rule 5: Manly fist bumps
Worst offender: Ghost Hunters
I’m not even going to pretend I understand the fist-bump to begin with. It’s like the lazy man’s high-five only gayer. Whatever the reason, it’s almost exclusively a guy thing. I guess that’s why Jay and Grant brush knuckles at the end of every cotton picking show.
Alright, it’s the way the two manly men express accomplishment. That doesn’t make it any less retarded. It beats giving the Nazi salute or the stink palm.
Rule 6: Inexplicably hot cast members
I’m not really sure the above should say “worst offenders.” This is a God-given reward for all the horse hockey we have to put up with. That being said, it’s a baffling phenomena. In the sea of fugly chuds you’ll find an island of hot. GHI has Ashley Godwin, a girl I would definitely want to do more with in front of the camera than look around for shadows. What? Was that too corny? I’m saying I’d go down on that. Understand now?
Susan Slaughter. Well what’s to say? She has raven black hair, a hot little body, and a sultry voice that makes Momma need to change into a clean pair of undies. What? WHAT!
Truthfully, Kris Williams is pretty much why I watch Ghost Hunters. I mean, look at her! She’s a friggin model for fuck’s sake. Go on, click on that link. Lord knows, I have. Kris’ presence on Ghost Hunters messes with my head. I passively watched the show in the past. One night, this tall, statuesque, brunette with a nice rack was in the scene. I’ve been hooked ever since.
Alright, so I’m only naming the ladies. That’s sort of not fair. Well, on the other side of the gender fence there’s…. um… dude, I got nothing. Sorry, there’s not much to choose from. Aside from the strange clique of people who want to bone or be boned by one or all of the male cast, I dare say not one of them is bangable. No. Josh Gates only works if you’re into lumbering Frankenstein-esq guys. Now, this makes total sense:
Rule 7: Fail to account for your environment
Here’s the thing; if you’re doing an investigation in the woods at night (Jersey Devil) or in an old, abandoned whoopee cushion factory, you probably should do a little research as to what creepy crawlies are already hanging around. Ghost Hunters does this off and on, but I think they do a better job at factoring this stuff in after the fact. Destination Truth, however, sucks on toast.
OK, Josh Gates and company are looking for some hairy fanged beast in the forest somewhere. Every mother-chucking moment they hear a noise or see something on the thermal camera they freak the fuck out. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggggggggggggggg!!!!
Here’s the deal, you’re in the woods, chuckle heads. Of course you’re going to hear and see all sorts of shit. Things fucking live there! Chances are you heard a deer skipping through the underbrush or a cheetah slowly stalking you for death. Either way, calm the fuck down. Unless it’s the cheetah. You’ll want to freak out a little for that. Make sure you get that shit on camera, though.
Rule 8: Painfully scripted dialogue
I’m not suggesting that the entire show is scripted. In order to time things right they surely have to make some sort of a loose list of cues. This would, especially, be true for the live Halloween shows. They don’t have the luxury of post production to edit the shit out of the footage. If Dave Tango walks into a wall, he walks into a wall and we’re all better for having seen it.
Rule 9: Misleading smash cuts before a commercial break
Worst offenders: Ghost Hunters franchise, Destination Truth, Most Haunted, Ghost Lab
A successful show wants to build the tension level just before a commercial break. It’s their way of making sure you either make that trip to the keg quickly or hit pause before you go to the can for a monumental dump. CSI, Fringe, Castle, and a butt-ton of other shows have made this into an art. The difference is that these shows have a full fledged script and reward you for hanging around.
Before every god damned commercial break on ALL of these ghost/mystical beast shows someone exclaims, “Oh my GOD!” or “What was that!?” Then the big time suspense music gets jacked up and we go right into a tampax commercial.
But, we constantly get duped. It’s all bullshit! It always ends up being something completely retarded. OMG WHAT WAS THAT??!! It was a mouse taking a shit. It was a spider web making Steve piss his pants. Any way you slice it, it’s complete and utter moose piss.
Rule 10: The investigation can only last a few hours
Worst offenders: Ghost Hunters franchise, Destination Truth, Most Haunted, Ghost… fuck it… all of them.
How, exactly, are you supposed to prove or disprove paranormal activity by devoting a whopping 12 hours to the investigation? Shit, the IRA peace process took decades to hammer out. Alright, so that looks like it’s going to shit, but imagine how much worse it would be if they crammed everything into six hours.
Spending a few hours in a “haunted” museum or the New Jersey Pine Barrens looking for the Jersey Devil isn’t going to do jack. Sure, they catch the odd piece of evidence here and there (something Ghost Hunters is a lot better at), but they just don’t devote enough time for a thorough investigation. I’m pretty sure the ghosts at the Winchester Mansion aren’t going to show up all at once just because Jay and Grant have a tight window.
All in all, these shows are doing pretty well, even though what they’re doing isn’t an exact science. Frankly, lots of it is just plain batshit nuts. Still, there’s more truth to these shows than anything on E!
Far be it from me to associate myself with Roode or any of his articles, but I felt the need to expand upon his Earth Day piece (of shit). It got me thinking. No, not thinking about how Roode has kept out of prison for this long. Not this time. I started thinking about how, exactly, would society have to tackle environmental issues in a way that matters. Then it occurred to me, most of the big changers would never be done, because society is only willing to go so far. Sure, some will toss a plastic bottle into a recycling bin, but you bet your ass someone will drive a block to buy their lottery tickets and cigarettes instead of undertaking such an arduous journey of walking.
So what would the Earth’s population have to sacrifice to make a dent? I have a few ideas. But, we all know none of them are ever going to happen….
1. Make Country Leaders Give Up Personal Jets
Right out the gate I’m taking a swing at politicians. Well, sort of. I’m not talking about government policies. I’m talking about the non-stop, gas guzzling trips made by most of the world’s leaders. General air travel has skyrocketed after that pesky Luftwaffe was grounded in ’45. The “lower prices” and bigger airline fleets made air travel a practical reality. Until the early 21st century, that is. Now it’s nothing more than nickle and diming, TSA strip searches, and big shiny targets for terrorist groups.
Our world leaders need to be able to travel at a moment’s notice. They have to tour earthquake areas to acknowledge that, yes, buildings have been reduced to rubble. They need to attend state funerals for people they never knew for PR and, during election season, be able to drop themselves in whatever state they need to whore themselves in for electoral votes. But, isn’t this all outdated and nonessential? Let me answer that for you. Yes. Yes, it is.This is the modern age, you silly pillack. Everything’s virtual or digital… and other things that end in “al” I imagine. First, invest in a Skype or WebEx account. You don’t have to physically be everywhere to give your partisan speeches. Pipe that digital goodness into the Brazilian government‘s multi-purpose room. You don’t see Bin Laden jetting all over the West to distribute his messages of death and infidel fueled rage. It’s all recorded, baby, and posted online. Yes, he’s got a blog and their whole operation is hiding in a cave!
Second, downgrade the bollocks out of the fancy pants transportation. Air Force One, do you really have to be the size of a jumbo jet? I’m thinking more of a Cessna or a Piper Cub. What? It’s just as secure as a gigantic jet aircraft. In fact, it’s even better. Everyone knows that small planes are infinitely harder to hit and easier to land when damaged (The Big Bopper thing was a fluke). Cram the president’s entourage into one of those things with a WiFi ready system and, Bob’s your uncle!
What about the children? Surely, they need transportation to school. Why bother? Each generation is getting progressively dumber. Society might as well admit defeat now and end schooling of any kind. Not only would it save billions of dollars, it would finally usher in the downfall of society we’ve all been waiting for.
3. Stop using electricity. Everywhere.
You read that right. I’m not talking about simply turning the lights out when you leave a room. I’m talking about turning the lights out forever. Do you know how much fossil fuel is used to generate electricity to run our televisions and industrial strength wall outlet powered marital aids? Neither do I, but I’m guessing it’s a lot. Imagine the money your average Joe would save by jumping off the grid. Citizens of nations everywhere would save thousands of dollars a year without electricity bills! Alright, so some of that money would have to be invested in glow sticks. I suppose most households would have to find an alternative heat source, too. Our ancestors managed without electricity. They used fire for warmth, light, and cooking. What’s that? Burning wood is still polluting the environment? For fuck’s sake! You can’t have your cake and eat it too.
Kicking electricity to the curb may even enrich our society. Without electricity there will be no computers. Without computers there will be no blogs. It will no longer be easy for any half-witted dipshit to vomit typed out dumbassary for the masses. It will be like the old days, the sheer expense and effort weeding out the posers. We’ll have to go back to reading actual books and newspapers. I hear you, an increase in newspapers means the death of more trees, yadda, yadda, yadda. Well, society is going to need to wipe their asses with something. Newspaper is one hell of a multi-tasker! Just be sure to read BEFORE you wipe.
4. Wipe out big chain stores.
Nothing embodies the crushing of the very soul of world commerce like the Wal-Mart or Target empire. Mom and Pop stores went the way of the Utah Raptor and Hammer pants. At first, we all cheered. Finally, there is somewhere to go for our economy sized enema needs! Want to buy a pair of boxers and a head of lettuce? At the same store? Well, my friend, you can do that. Never again will you have to make multiple trips to buy condoms, baby lotion, and duct tape.Well, I guess you’re not really serious about healing the planet, then. These gigantic chain and bulk stores are generating enough waste and energy consumption to make Mr. Burns blush.
According to this article, states have accused Wal-Mart stores of polluting their water with shitty construction practices. Do you know how much electricity retailers need to refrigerate food, power lights, and operate the exit theft alarms that go off for no apparent reason? Our research tells us it’s a shit load . Even when the store is closed the energy consumption keeps trucking on. Do we really want to hurt our environment for a cheap 12 pack of socks and a case of Dr. Thunder? Well, I’m fine with it, but that’s just me.
Bring back the Mom and Pops. Not only will that diversify the market, it just might bring scurvy back in style. Quick, it’s the middle of winter in northern Saskatchewan and you want an orange. Tough luck. I guess you should just get used to those bleeding gums. Mom and Pop stores, although romantic and quaint, probably won’t be able to carry anything out of season. Your average corner shop may never be able to buy and stock anything outside of an affordable geographical radius. If a store owner was lucky enough to get a hold of a crate of Spanish clementines, they would have to jack up the price to, about, $10 an orange. Scurvy is cheaper.
5. No more concerts, rallies, or protests.
How many of us have a brilliant sexual, drug, or cop beating concert story to tell? Maybe at that Screaming Trees concert the midget next to you projectile vomited so hard at he actually propelled himself through the air. Or what about that rally/protest for something or other you’ll remember for the rest of your life? There’s nothing like showing up somewhere, en mass, to support/protest the troops/president/lactose/soap…. Seriously, there are rallies for anything these days. You don’t really have to know what you’re protesting about.
It’s nice to know that people out there are willing to express their opinions and use their right to free speech while punching the environment in the face. The millions of people around the world that go on pilgrimages to see Winger live are also killing the environment. Well, in addition to murdering musical taste.