by Joni Abilene
I was thinking this morning (and mind you, not using all my brain cells at one time) about this stupid show called The Bachelor. How and why is it always on TV these days? Do people really enjoy watching men and women act like complete idiots all the time? Apparently so. I know, I know. Relax, have a little fun, don’t be so serious.
But I can’t help it!
I think when the show first started airing people were probably more genuine in how they conducted themselves. But now . . . it’s as if there’s some sort of prerequisite for horrible, and I mean, HORRIBLE, behavior. As a writer I often try to pick minds, seeking motivations for every little action. But I see no motivation in presenting yourself as a bimbo or a money-hungry macho jerk, prancing around like a primate with roses as a token prize for a sexual butt-sniffed selection. Are we cavemen again? Is a woman supposed to get drunk every night and chat her silicone flappers off, then tell her man—when she gets a moment alone with him—how great she is, and how they will have the best, most awesome plastic surgery enhanced fake-tanned life together, EVER? Oh God. I feel sick. Really sick. No wonder the world is so messed up these days.
If there was one ounce of genuine romantic value in the show, of real true, honest-to-goodeness humanity, I’d swallow this entire post with a jigger of Jack Daniels. Happily.
But it doesn’t look good. Humanity is too busy preening for their Warhol fifteen minutes of fame. I’d take none, in such context.