Neil Patrick Harris did a great job at the Emmys.  Granted, I have never, not-once seen the Emmys before, but from what I hear, they usually suck.  Maybe not, but probably — most award shows do.  Regardless, I found Doogie quite entertaining and to me, the whole event was educational, as I have no idea who more than half the people who won are.  There was, however, one awkward moment where I found myself questioning all things right with the world: the reality TV segment.  I know that award shows often feel like Hollywood patting itself on the back, but giving time to “honor” the best in reality TV feels like Superman giving a keynote presentation on the awesome power of his Kryptonian erection to a group of male high school students, it’s just going to make everyone feel awkward and impotent, and it’s not really anything special, it’s just a matter of circumstance.  Superman (reality TV) didn’t do anything to earn his super-dick, he just happens to be at the right place at the right time, but there he goes, blabbering on about how awesome it is, and how his penis could puncture steel if improperly aroused.  I think I lost track of my metaphor somewhere…let’s back up a bit.

And Timmy went to his own fortress of solitude…

Reality TV has been around for a while, but the reality TV we know and love began as a result of the Writer’s Guild Strike of 1988.  Can you guess what show came out of that desperate need for programming?  COPS.  Quite frankly, I think COPS is awesome.  I love watching the crackheads, pimps, hos and drug dealers scramble and run around like animals in a zoo.  The only thing better than that is when we get to see white trash in some podunk town rolling around in his own feces holding tight to a six-pack of PBR screaming out about how much he loves his cousin.  Bless you COPS, bless you.  But COPS isn’t the type of reality TV I’m ’bout to get all flavors of rowdy on…

I blame Paula for this.

I understand the draw for some of these shows, I really do.  Take American Idol.  I know it’s fun for people to get together and vote on who they think is the best singer, essentially making that person rich off of their talent without having to work for it like other truly talented singers — it’s a god complex thing.  That’s cool.  But the problem is this:  Why is it that everyone from California to New York is all abuzz about Paula leaving as a judge and lesbEllen taking her place, when only 1/3 of the American population can name the three branches of our government?  I feel like every single fan of American Idol would live like the fat twats in WALL-E if they could, as long as they were given proper entertainment.

Like cattle…

How about Survivor?  I realize that the title is alluring to the fact that these people have to survive each other, and not the location they are in, but what the f*ck?  They won’t die and all they really do is bitch about each other the whole time.  If I wanted to be entertained by people fighting each other and talking sh*t behind each others backs I’d just go to my family’s house for dinner.  There’s no story being told and at the end of the show nobody watching it is any smarter than they were before, so what is the entertainment value?  And more importantly, why is it eligible for a f*cking Emmy?  For what?  Filming people being people in a place where people don’t live?  Oooh, innovative!  You can try and defend it if you want, but Survivor is one of the biggest mistakes our civilization has ever endorsed.  If you take every fan of survivor and asked them how to spell bug, they’d probably stare at you waiting for tribal council to vote you off the island like a mesmerized twat.

These shows are everywhere:  Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County, The Amazing Race, Project Runway, America’s Next Top Model, Fear Factor, Wife Swap, The Apprentice, Big Brother and Dancing with the Stars… This sh*t has taken over my TV.  I can’t switch through more than five channels without seeing an ad for one show more “real” than the next.  But what are they, really?  I think that giving the general public an insiders look into the lives of crab fishermen is fascinating, I really do, but why do we need to know about bored, rich, white women with nipples under their jaws, more make-up then some geisha-clown monster, glowing orange from fake tan spray?  There need to be a line!

And you know why these shows are on the air, don’t you?  Because of all the stupid dopes in the world who would rather live life vicariously through the boob-tube than getting on with their own.  Put down the remote and try learning the guitar!  Read a book, or a comic book (preferably Mythoi)!  Walk your dog!  Or, heaven forbid, spend time with your family and friends!  Hey, I know, get a lover and make your own reality show!  Who gives a fluorescent-flying-f*ck about who voted who off of which island, boat or house?!  If you said, “I do,” then I need you to do me a favor:  I want you to hold your breath until everything turns black.

The Emmys has a category for reality TV.  Hollywood has been selling us bullsh*t for quite some time.  I, like many of you, allow myself consumption of said feces when the trade off between my time and the entertainment provided is acceptable.  At some point, we let those bastards sell us pictures of ourselves under the banner of “reality.”  They figured out that they can entertain us without great writing, action or directing (aka $)…  They have only to let us see each other — then they cash their six-figure checks.  And now, the Emmys have a category for reality TV.  It used to be that Hollywood danced when we paid for it.  Now, we (the patrons of television) all stand in a room naked, jerking each other off, letting the cameras catch everything — then we pay Hollywood to see it.  And now, there is a damned category for reality TV at the damned Emmys.

*Sigh.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go check out Superman’s boner.

Mr. Wolff