A New Reality

I may pitch a new reality TV show on which I, and maybe some friends, sit around and watch reality TV shows and critique them.
I admit, I'm not up on all of these shows, but there's time, especially if I can make a living out of it. The obvious one to start with would be "Jersey Shore," but I haven't seen it enough to deliver much of a commentary. I'm sure it wouldn't take me long to adjust, though, once I started watching an episode. These people seem to have become part of the popular culture. I'm sure Snooki's book rivals Hemingway. The guys I've seen look like they're on steroids. What I really wonder about this one is who the fuck came up with the idea to have this show? Did people audition for it? To pass the audition, do you have to be an obnoxious asshole? So many questions.
I guess part of the problem is that we have so many channels and so much time to fill. Eventually you run out of "paid programming." That phenomenon likely gives rise to such shows as "Swamp Men," which is not to be confused with "Swamp Loggers," "Swamp People" or "Ax Men." Swamp is so in. In "Swamp Men," they basically move alligators around in a swamp run by the Seminole Indian tribe in Florida. "Nuisance" alligators, the ones that become acclimated to people and therefore pose a threat. Sometimes they drive around on ATVs dragging fencing or whatever over a field to disperse the water-buffalo shit. And the main guy, Ed, always has a dip in his mouth. And by dip, I mean Copenhagen or whatever, though you don't see him spit. At least I'm guessing it's Copenhagen, and not some pussy shit like Skoal pouches.
"Swamp People" shines a revelatory light on people making their livings off of the Atchafalaya River Basin swamp in Louisiana. Now, far be it from me to question people snagging alligators with a giant hook attached to a rope and then shooting them. If I had more leisure time, I might pursue that myself for shits and giggles. And they ain't discussing Shakespeare's sonnets out there. Or maybe they are but don't show it on TV. Don't want to ruin the image.
The guys on "Swamp Loggers," on the other had, basically retrieve underwater logs. I don't know shit about logging, but aren't there enough fucking trees aboveground to use for harvesting timber? The "Ax Men" do it. Does water-logged wood have more value for some reason? A quick Web search failed to provide a satisfactory answer. And these guys apparently have to watch out for alligators when they dive to attach a chain or whatever to a submerged log. Maybe they should have a joint episode of "Swamp Loggers" and "Swamp Men" in which the gator guys hook the alligators when they try to eat the loggers. Even more entertaining would be the gator guys hooking the logger guys. Or maybe the "Jersey Shore" people could go swimming, and the gator guys could hook them. I would DVR that.
I like "Billy the Exterminator." This guy Billy, also in Louisiana, seems decent enough. He dresses like a cross between a Goth and a metalhead or something. Sometimes he shows up at these houses in rural Louisiana or whatever, and the people look like, "What the fuck?" Of course, the reaction was the same when he hunted an alligator at a preppy-looking golf course. Sometimes his brother, Ricky, goes along with him. When it comes to snakes, Steve Irwin and Jeff Corwin they ain't. Ricky apparently has an allergy to bees. That must explain why he goes into a bee-infested shed in an effort to, well, exterminate the fuckers. Oh, the drama. As interesting as these guys are, even more interesting are the shit piles in which some of these people live. You didn't know your family-room ceiling was about to cave in because of the knee-deep expanse of bat shit in the attic? You really wonder why that brigade of rats is hanging around? Then Billy says something like, "Gee, I'm just really glad I could help old Mrs. Jones out." Yes, well, at least she won't have bat-guano-laced drywall falling on her head anytime soon. She'll just wallow in her own shit.
My kid likes "Pawn Stars." That show can be entertaining sometimes. Can Chumlee really be that retarded? Those two fat asses don't look they want to work too hard. That's part of the charm, I suppose. The crusty old man, the personable-but-fed-up-with-the-young-people father and the two lazy fat asses. Yes, shows are edited. Maybe those guys aren't big slackers and just play the roles. "Pawn Stars" spawned a spinoff, "American Restoration," in which this guy Rick fixes up old gas pumps and the like. Maybe someone will film me refinishing a piece of furniture. "Shut that damn dog up," I could yell when my German shepherd squeals at the garage door. Wouldn't that be a scream?
The guys on "American Pickers" go around buying old shit from mostly old people who wear overalls and sport less than a full complement of teeth. These people must have gotten rejected by "Hoarders," so the guys get in their van and snap up old Coke signs. Fascinating. If I were trapped in a van with either one of them, I'd try to buy a gun at the first stop and blow my fucking head off.
Probably my favorite reality show is "Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew." Even though it takes liberties with the word "celebrity," I can't turn away from the impending train wrecks. Can you tell me who Frankie Lons is? How about Jason Davis, Janice Dickinson or Rachel Uchitel? Everybody knows Leif Garrett, of course, and Jeremy London. Nobody tops Eric Roberts, though. It's a long way from "The Pope of Greenwich Village" to "Celebrity Rehab." I'm not mocking anyone with an addiction, especially someone trying to get it under control, but why play it out in front of the camera? For some of these "celebrities, I guess it's their 15 minutes.
I've provided a less-than-exhaustive rundown of reality shows. I know "real" housewives exist. Alaska alone has "Gold Rush Alaska" and "Alaska Wing Men" and "Alaska State Troopers." That bounty-hunting dog is tracking down bail skippers, some girl is 16 and pregnant, rednecks are getting married and Fitty Cent is doing something. I just don't have time to watch them all. Not when the gators await snagging.