Help Me. Help Us All.
I love it when the media blatantly panders to the average (and I mean “average” in a bad way—Don’t get your panties in a twist; I’m referring to myself) American, as if you couldn’t have already figured that out from my horrible, wretched reality TV addiction. So imagine my glee when I came across this. Please don’t rush to conclusions: I only watched The Anna Nicole Show, like, three times last season, and I was horrified each time (and yet I could not look away). But I truly cannot help but be riveted to my television every time I catch a glimpse of her. It’s like a train wreck. Don’t any of you remember way back in the early 90’s when she was a bombshell? I was in high school, and all the guys I knew were lusting after her. And now the pathetic existence which is her life. Maybe I’m glad that none of that happened to me. Sure, I’ve gained weight since I was 16, but at least I can still form a coherent thought. Ahhhhhh. There it is. The very same reason that I watch all reality TV: to make myself feel better about, well, myself. Oh God. I’ve gotta get a new hobby.
