Deconstructing Reality

I’ve been sunk in work up to my neck but I reached the end of back to back shows and for the first time in two weeks I’ve been able to indulge in some crappy television.

Reality TV.

The epitome of modern America culture.

The Idiocracy in effect.

I was sleep-deprived, overworked, eyes numbed by staring at scripts for 15 hours straight. My thoughts drifted in and out, and my hand was too tired to press the buttons on the remote.

Hogan Knows Best was on.

The whole family was disguised as white trash. Surely they must have grasped the irony of this.

Hulk was riding a Hoveround and had a scraggly fake beard and crappy fisherman hat. Brooke had her hair in an ugly wig with bulky glasses and fake zits. The mom likewise. Nick, ah, who cares?

They seemed to be conducting a social experiment of sorts, ala Tyra, and it looked to be going bad for them. Brooke complained of nobody gawking at her and taking pictures. The wife whined of not being allowed to cut in line at the hot dog counter. Hulk pretended to be a drunk and fall out of his handicap moving wheelchair do-hickey. It was like a moving M.C Escher painting.

This is America: White Trash watching White Trash acting White Trash.

Over on The Pickup Artist:

Mystery was putting it down.

His Zen-like approach to predatory dating is pure compelevision in action.

Forget his ridiculously tall, fuzzy hat, the fact that he wears goggles on his forehead and paints his nails black. The guy is a master, makes the ‘get the bunny’ philosophy from Swingers look like Kindergarten hour.

(This is why I love Wikipedia; while researching Mystery, I came to find out there are notable members of the ‘seduction community‘ — such as Neil Straus and Juggler — and one of the most famous techiniques being the ‘cocky and funny’. Real deep!)

Mystery’s sage advice has turned former nerds into Casanovas, apparently… they tell us. He deconstructs the art of macking to girls in clubs, it’s all in the mind… apparently. Mystery teaches us that confidence is appealing and supposedly women are easily guiled by psycho-babble.

Still, it’s better than watching Hulk’s stupid ass and his soul-sucking family act better than his fellow Americans, most of them probably his fans, mocking them for the cameras, the ratings, and the cash.

At the end of the show the Hulkster gave his family permission to whip off the wigs and peel off the makeup and strut around the park like imbecilic royalty. Brooke had her bleach blond hair flowing and teenage boys drooled because she’s on MTV and oiled down and the moral of the story was if you’re going to be vapid and spoiled it’s best to be famous.

The best part was when Brooke-in-disguise asked a boy if he thought Brooke Hogan-from-the-boob tube was fat, and the boy replied to her, “not really.” She grimaced, because even though she’s a touch daft, she gets that that means he thinks she’s kinda fat.

• The Internet is chaos theory at work.

That was unexpected.