“Honey, grab the shot gun, the kids, the dogs and let’s head for the hills. It’ll be safe there. They won’t be able find us. We’ll be safe — I hope. Oh, and I better unplug the TV.”
“Be careful.”
“I will. I promise. But if I don’t make it out of the living room in five minutes leave without me and tell the kids, I love ’em.”
* * *
It’s as if we’re living in some 1950’s science fiction thriller. “Attack Of The Reality TV!” And, there is no escape. None. We are all doomed.
Doomed to an ever-increasing dose of “reality” thanks to our big brothers and sisters in TV-land. Everywhere I go, I hear otherwise sane and intelligent people talk about the previous night’s reality television show. (All-right, I eavesdrop. Hey, I am a reporter type, I’m supposed to listen to other people’s conversations without their prior consent and/or knowledge. It’s okay, I am a professional.)
What started out as something small and innocuous as, “Survivor” has turned into a multi-tentacled monster. On the World Wide Web, I found a list of reality TV shows in the United States. Guess how many shows were listed for the good ol’ US of A. Get ready: over 150 reality TV shows have been watched in these here parts.
And, none of them have to do with “reality” as I see it. If there were, there would be shows where dads go on great adventures with their boys. Adventures like the time Shamus and I went treasure hunting for a penny — in a bowl of “Number Two” he produced, which could have been titled, “Adventures in Poo” (if Disney would give us permission to use their orange bear’s name). Nothing called, “Out of Touch,” about reaching for a roll of toilet paper only to find none and knowing the only place to find said necessary roll is in a closet that is out of the room down at the other end of the hall, 25 feet away.
There were no shows called “Keeping Up With The Jones,” where every family in a neighborhood tries to outdo others in yard manicuring or decorating. Nothing about the race down to the post office on April 15, to make sure your taxes are turned in on time. Nothing called “A Slave to Big Brother,” involving January’s through May’s paychecks going to pay taxes.
Nothing about reality.
I did see titles like:
“Are You Hot?” from ABC.
“Cathouse” — an HBO show about what happens between clients and prostitutes in the Bunny Ranch in Nevada.
“Bridezilla” — a show about horrendous acts committed by brides to be, brought to you by the FOX network.
“Who Wants to Date a Hooters Girl?”, “The Real Beverly Hillbillies,” “Dog Eat Dog,” from NBC, MTV’s “Sorority Life,” “The Real World,” and “WWF Tough Enough.”
And, lest I forget, don’t you forget to tune into “Man Versus Beast.” MVB is must see TV for “reality” junkies. It’s a FOX show. Last week a band of merry, short men — dwarves, I mean, midgets, I mean little people — went up against an Elephas maximus. The object was a daring bit of television history, who could pull an airplane the furthest the fastest.
Riveting.
Sensational.
Exploitive . . .
Of course, I say all these things, and then, as I perused the list I found shows, labeled “Reality TV” that I have actually watched: PBS’s “Frontier House,” “Trading Spaces” and “While You Were Out” from The Learning Channel.
Like I said, nobody is safe. We’re all doomed. Science fiction, bah! Reality . . .
Comments for the prude Rush can be e-mailed to: dontrushmedon@aol.com