Reality TV: Where mental illness, alcoholism and obesity are IN

Image via mylot.com

For realz. Reality TV is one of those genres that you really have know idea what kind of “creative” forces are working behind it, and this bugs me. Normal TV has writers, actors, directors, a story board, producers, etc. But reality TV is a little trickier. It’s supposed to lean a little to the documentary side of things, but that shit hit the fan after they realized alcoholics with rage issues who like to dance make reeeeeeeally good TV.

My Strange Addiction is nearly every first world problem you could ever dream of. Image via tlc.howstuffworks.com

My main problem with scripted reality shows are that they are fucking lazy. Seriously, were the big wigs over at studio xyz just super cheap fucks who didn’t want to pay for writers, directors or talented actors anymore? It’s gotta be suuuuper cheap to produce a reality show. You barely have to pay the “talent”, probably because they’re busy defecating on all the rented furniture. That shit adds up.

And forget writers! The producers probably get blasted on coke vodka redbulls and sloppily piece together ridiculous story lines, such as, “peeing on dancefloors“, “mental illness mambo” and my fave “alcoholicism is fun and not at all a serious problem!”

Image via locatetv.com

From watching hours upon hours of the Kardashians on Netflix (embarrassing, but whatevs) it is SO obvious that barely anything is spontaneous. The storylines just fit a little too perfectly, and everyone always seems to have a smirk on their painted on mugs that all but reveals “yeah, this is all bullshit. But you’d probably let Ray-J pee on you too if you had  my paycheck, filthy commoner.”

Is reality TV like meth?

In terms of reality shows, I’ve gotta say those dating shows like The Bachelor, Temptation Island (T.I. is sick as fuck) and whatever the fuck Tila Tequila has been in are pretty much the rockiest rock of all bottoms. Way more rock bottom than say, My Strange AddictionI’d gladly hang out with anyone who ate cigarette ashes and had a sexual relationship with their car over anyone who has ever been on a reality dating show. (The “Where Are They Now?” section of the MSA website is fucking platinum speckled GOLD. “Did therapy and help from friends convince Mary to stop eating cat treats and change her ways?” )

I’ve seen better turds in my toilet after a night of drinking than any Bachelor. Fuck, I could find better men on public transit. And if you’ve ever been on public transit, you know that’s a bold statement.

Also, the weightloss shows make me sad.

Yep folks, it seems as if the big, bad corporations have got this reality TV smut down to a T. Put alcoholism, mental illness and obesity on TV and you’ll be richer than all the Kardashians combined in like 5 minutes. I’ve got it! OCD Happy Hour Confessions: I Ate My Family. TLC is picking it up as I type.

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