Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
FOX has been trying to “revolutionize” the reality television market as of late with such hits as Hell’s Kitchen, The Swan, Wife Swap (wait, was that on ABC? I forget), and a plethora of other crass, tasteless televisual brainkillers.
I’ll be honest though. I find Hell’s Kitchen to be kind of decent. I mean sure the main chef needs to get on some kind of medication for his anger management problems, lest he suffer a stroke or an aneurysm (high blood pressure must already be in his system — have you seen the crinkled lines of fury engraved on his forehead?) But unlike most reality shows, it’s a show where people are coming from different backgrounds and trying to accomplish something — something — using skills and obeying orders. Hell’s Kitchen actually had a semblance to reality.
Now. Tonight saw the premiere of the god-awful Princes of Malibu. And once again, I’ll be honest. I was watching because the promos that played during The Simpsons were showing Brody (is that the main son’s name?) flashing lots of skin. I like skin. But, the premise of this show makes me drive a railroad spike through the person who decided, “Hey! Kids want to see other spoiled kids do mundane things! And it’s okay if we glamorize the spoiled kids because they look hot.” The first episode consisted of them trying to break down their living expenses and when pressed by Daddy Moneybags to start up a business, they had bikini-clad sluts — or I guess, their “friends” (right, no roofies here…) — washing the cars of total strangers. The only remotely redeeming factor of the episode was the face time one pissed off Chaka Khan registered. Oh how I love divas.
It’s amazing how idiotic these creatures are and how insulated from reality they are. I would’ve loved to see their dad — if he was really interested in forcing them to take responsibility for their spoiled asses — cut them off and drop them off in like a middle class part of town and not allow them to trade on his name for job potentials. Oh yes, the apartment would have to be empty. I’d love to see them navigate their way through little burgs like Chinatown or a flea market.
Oh and would it be bad of me to hope that one of the brats, in a season finale episode, brings home a stripper to fuck her and in the morning, discovers that she’s robbed him blind? Or how about, their landlord evicts them and they have nowhere to go? Maybe one of them delivers an unhealthy addiction to chocolate and gains weight and they somehow write him out of the reality show because he’s just not pretty enough to be on screen. Oh! How fabulous would it be if one of them ended up sleeping with a man because they were too damn drunk to know better?
FOX, darlings, if you want me to watch reality shows, give these little goats a real challenge. And give me some entertainment that I can watch while sipping my Rubicon. Or honestly, if you want to occupy a half hour’s worth of timeslot space on your schedule with complete shit, seriously, just buy some Indian soap opera. That stuff will probably cost you next to nothing and at the same time, people will love it. Or maybe not. But you’ll get some press for airing something that none of the other networks would do.
Oh and one more thing: if any girl kisses the boys on the show, rest assured that they’re floozies, not princesses.