Yesterday this years uk* "I'm a celebrity get me out of here" started. I don't know how many of our colonial cousins know what that is, so I'll try and explain. 10 people, get dropped into two clearings in the australian jungle, and denied food, for prolonged periods of time. Then they are made to compete for a meal, in a "sticking a potentially poisonous snake up your arse the fastest" competition. The camp of whoever sticks the most potentially poisonous snakes up his/her arse, gets to eat that evening, simple! actually, it's not quite that simple, because after a couple of weeks of hunger and sleep deprevation (brought on by rats crawling around the rectangular patches of mud they sleep on, and 1960's popstars snoring all night, while some married woman who's sister is a vetinary surgeon to the queen, has an infra-red fumble with some ex-member of a boy-band we all thought was gay), the public get to vote them "out", one at a time, being voted "out" means they lose, and have to sleep in a hotel bed, and eat beef wellington for breakfast while they wait for a first-class flight back to "old blighty", or alternatively, they can make a big dog's arse of themselves, until their dogs-arsery reaches such notoriety that they no longer need to fan the flames of publicicy by drinking koala piss, and they can say the immortal line "I'm a celebrity get me out of here"**.this is a risky strategy, as demonstrated by that fella whatshisname who said it so prematurely, his own mother wouldn't recognise him.
The winner is the one who can wallow in his/her own shit the longest. oh yeah I forgot to mention that we, (the british public) get to choose who is going to take the "having cactii dragged across your nipples" challenge. The beauty of this is, that the british public are, on the whole, a bunch of the most evil bastards ever to have roamed the earth, and will, almost to man, elect to send in the person least suited mentally and/or physically to perform the task in question. I'll tell you what, we are like hyenas, One sign of weakness and we are on it like a rash! if a "celebrity" breaks his wrist today, the great british public will vote for him to bare knuckle fight with a rabid kangaroo tonight, And if he cries out in pain, and fails to bring home the bacon (kangaroo meat), we'll vote for him again tomorrow,and we'll keep voting for him until the population of his camp starts to waste away due to mal-nutrition, and things start getting a bit "lord of the flies". It's not that we brits like to see people fail, we like to see people DESTROYED. If my 49 pence(roughly 0.75€ or $650,000,000 us), can help get a seventies supermodel stabbed in the throat while she sleeps, by a starving alchoholic ex-footballer, purely because she wouldnt suck a witchity grub out of a wallaby's arse, well pass me that phone toot-sweet.
It's like a fly-on-the-wall documentary without any walls and the fly is dinner. or maybe It's a reality show that's built on the lie that these people are celebrities, and that they want to get out of there. or maybe It's like celebrity big brother, with crocodile sphincters instead of celebrities. mind you, this year Martina Navratilova, (sporty spice) and the japanese guy from star trek are on it, they are entitled to write "celebrity" on their tax forms already as far as I'm concerned. All the rest are just pikeys and nearly-rans. one, for example, who is famous for being chas and dave's alien love child, (I call him "ginger spice") says to sporty spice "the czech republik! I've been there! is it near Prague?" although that does take a special kind of stupid, it doesn't make him a celebrity, not yet anyway. I think maybe he over-heard "mr Sulu" saying incredulously to some ex-copper who was about to jump 5000 feet into the jungle, strapped to a bloke he didn't know, because he just happened to have a parachute, "you spent 30 years fighting lethal killers,"(lethal killers are the worst kind of killers), "but your nervous about jumping out of a light aircraft"! what? it never ceases to amaze me how some people will run with the bulls in Pamplona, but they're scared of diving face first into a bacon slicer! That same ex-copper's claim to fame is that he ran, (without success) for the post of mayor of Blondon, DESPITE BEING GAY! if that's not celebrity, Then I don't know what is! actually, I do, because I looked it up during the adverts, celebrity means "a well known person", which means I'm a celebrity round here, but then you knew that eh. There's some bird who is ENGAGED to a footballer! she's not even a footballer's wife! now as far as I'm concerned, SOME sports people could be awarded celebrity status, and if a small percentage of the spouses thereof, also bask in their limelight then so be it, but I did feel a tinge of embarrassment for her when the contestants had to tell us who they were and why the were household names that no-one had ever heard of, ("were" being the appropriate tense In most cases),and she said, "I'm engaged or something to some footballer or other ,I can't remember his name at the moment, but I think he plays for chelsea or manchester or something". fortunately the pressure was lifted from her anorexic shoulders by ginger spice who oggled her tits and said, "I've been there! is it near Engerland?"
I must confess, I think I watch it for all the wrong reasons. I'm not going to pretend I look away while some prima donna ex talent-show runner-up is forced to suck the cornea out of an ostriches eyeball through a shitty straw, and when miss "why don't people take me seriously as an actress?" soaps down her 38' fff sacks of bath sealant, in the longest, slowest shower in australian history, (not a difficult feat), my eyes sometimes dry out from not blinking. but what I really like is the production and the cynical editing. Tony Bliar's wife's half-sister (I'm not even joking), was on there last year, one day she said her brother-in-law is a murderous oil thief, that her half sister was a snot sucking mutant, and then added "ooh I do hope they're going to edit this out". having played her only card and delivered all the goods she was prepared to offer,she had her screen presence faded out, untill she got sent back to no. 10 in a plain brown envelope. I bet christmas dinner was a bundle of laughs round their place. she maybe could have got a few more days if she had slept naked, but the editors had an extra-marital affair, and a post menopausal feud to run with, so nothing short of a vagitrian threesome would have got her to the final. Hopefully this year will go the same way, I dont really care who wins, as long as the coverage is biased enough for me to throw peanuts at the screen, and as long as the viewers are fickle enough to vote for all the wrong reasons, I'm happy!
*in the germing version of the same thing contestants are forced to drink warm water and compete for sun-loungers.
**not really the rules, but rules is for sissies.
4 doo-doo heads could no longer suffer in silence.:
I think these shows would be much better if they dropped off the celebrities and then left. Not fake leave, but really leave for good. Keep the cameras rolling and see what really happens when they find out nobody is coming back.
I reckon we should put their nearest and dreariest into an artificial coma, and give them 10 minutes of oxygen for every telephone vote they get, see how entertaining they can be with the sword of damecles is hanging over their 12 year old daughter's face!
you know the world would go round much faster if we just ignored them. It's all because of your fascination for 38'fff and vagitarian threesomes that we're in this mess in the first place.
Blink, goddammit!
me blinking could cause the earth to spin of it's axis! what kind of evil genius are you?
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