I'm sorry but I just happened to turn on the telly and the Amazing Race Whatever Number It Is Now was on. Now, I used to watch a couple of the episodes only because and when they featured some city I found fascinating. However, I really hate the voyeuristic unpleasantness of the contestants' gripings, follies and tribulations so have given such programmes a wide berth.
Any inclination to change this mindset was obliterated within 15 minutes of an apathetic laziness to reach for the remote control. The grating screeches of two bovine-looking, blonde women made my leap for the remote control an Olympic winning event. In the time I managed to locate and use the remote control, they exhibited such incessant, harpish levels of audio defilement that banshees everywhere wept in shame.
I remember these two women in some of the persistent trailers. Claiming to be America's glamazons, one was inclined to snigger unkindly yet admire their self-confidence and high spirits. From the brief 10-second introduction on the trailer, I was willing to give them a benefit of the doubt and tag it to a self-deprecating sense of humour - something I identify with and appreciate.
However, the 15 minutes of utter hell today truly mangled my sensitive ear drums and made every nerve in my body cringe and shrivel. It convinced me that these two women had to be the loudest, crudest, most senseless, self-absorbed, delusional and silly women since the Bennetts (sans Elizabeth, of course). If I ever wondered why so many men turn gay, these two laid those questions to rest.
Perhaps this is criminally unkind and one could blame the evil producers who deliberately seek to create villians on reality TV for ratings. But I am unwilling to test that theory to self-inflict further cruel punishment from America's gratazons.
Categories - Rambling Prose