Fun with CNN Souvenirs - Episode 1

On a recent trip to Atlanta, I went on a studio tour of CNN headquarters. They took a photograph of all us tourists at a CNN news desk and if we purchased the picture, we got free bookmarks. What ensues is the result of my acquisition of said news desk photo, my Anderson Cooper, Sanjay Gupta and Soledad O'Brien bookmarks, and my depraved mind. 

**These episodes are solely a product of my own imagination. Any resemblance whatsoever to actual events is purely coincidental.

Fun with CNN Souvenirs - Episode 1

Me: Andy, baby, don't forget to buy toilet paper at the drugstore and some Preparation H - you know how your 'roids act up this time of year. You really need to take better care of yourself.

Anderson: Poopee, don't worry. I told you, I won't forget. I know how much you like to snort coke off my tight ass. 

Me: How did I ever get so lucky? 

Anderson: No, poopee, how did I ever get so lucky? I have the most beautiful, intelligent, talented, sexy woman on the whole entire planet. 

Me: Aaawww, Andy. Stop it. You're making me blush.

Anderson (grabbing my ass): Mmm... where?

Me: Not now honey.

Anderson: But when?

Me: When this retched antidepressant doesn't make my cooch numb and I can orgasm again. 

Anderson: When will that happen?

Me: When I'm not a needlessly depressed rich housewife anymore.

Anderson: What are you saying?

Me: I'm saying, let the pills kick in. When I'm not harboring this sickening feeling of standing at the edge of an abyss every time I have to sit through some yuppie dinner party, sipping expensive wine in my overpriced, tight-ass Ralph Lauren clothing, talking about our trips abroad like they're chips at a Black Jack table, betting on our social status, maybe then we'll have sex again. (pause) But the coke helps.

Anderson: Anything for my poopee.

   

Me: Baby, we're gonna get through this.

Anderson: Yes, we are. I'm not giving up on you. I remember a once vibrant, creative, happy, horny woman. I will find her again, if it's the last thing I do. 

Anderson: I'm gonna f*cking kill her, I swear.

Sanjay: Ouch, take it easy, I'm not used to being on the bottom.

Anderson: Oh, sorry.

Sanjay: You know, I hate it when you talk about her while we're making love. A little sensitivity please?

Anderson: I'm sorry. It's just that she drives me crazy. She's either crying or nagging or high.

Sanjay: Why are you still with her? 

Anderson: I don't know. Maybe I feel sorry for her. 

Sanjay: Feeling sorry for someone is no reason to stay with them. She's a big girl, she'll be fine on her own.

Anderson: I won't be - she'll take me to the f*cking cleaners.

Sanjay: You didn't sign a pre-nup?

Anderson: No.

Sanjay: Are you crazy?

Anderson: No, but I'm married to it.

Sanjay: Oh God...

Anderson: I know. It's a bad situation.

Sanjay: No, I mean, oh God, I'm gonna come, I'm coming!!!! Aaahhhhhhh!!!! 

Anderson: That is so hot.... oh God..... oh God....... Aaaahhhhhh!!!!!

(Both are lying on the bed, in post-coital bliss.)

Anderson: I have to leave her. 

Sanjay: Yes, you do. (pause) I love you, Anderson.

Anderson: What?

Sanjay: I said, I love you.

Anderson: But I thought...

Sanjay: I know what you thought. But I have feelings for you.

Anderson: Don't say that. 

Sanjay: I have to. I can't keep it to myself any longer. I think about you all the time. I miss you when we're not together. 

Anderson: I don't know what to say. 

Sanjay: Say you love me.

Anderson: I don't know if I can.

Sanjay: Why not? 

Anderson: There are things you don't know about me. Things I'm not proud of.

Sanjay: Nobody's perfect. 

Anderson: You wouldn't understand. (Anderson gets up and quickly gets dressed.)

Sanjay: What the hell are you doing? Don't go! 

Anderson: I don't have a choice, I have to go. 

Will we find out about Anderson's deep, dark secret? Has Sanjay been keeping a secret of his own? Stay tuned for the next episode of Fun with CNN Souvenirs to find out!

Why I'm the Bridget Jones of business travel

When I travel for fun, I'm not too concerned about how I present myself. I wear my comfy traveling clothes and my carry-on bags usually consist of backpacks or large purses bursting with trashy magazines and snacks. However, when traveling for business, I like to think I'm a professional, and I try to present myself as such.

Yesterday, I made my way from Ottawa to Atlanta and demonstrated, on numerous occasions, why I'm the Bridget Jones of business travel. It all started out well. I got to the airport, checked in, and my colleague and I made our way to the lounge to wait for our flight. I even bought an "intellectual" magazine, Lapham's Quarterly, instead of my usual People or US. 

Leaving the lounge, I almost left my very business-like carry-on bag behind which my colleague kindly pointed out. Then, on an hour-long flight from Ottawa to Toronto, I managed to read all of three pages of my "smarty-pants" magazine, which was quite fascinating indeed - it's a historical, cultural and intellectual analysis of celebrity. It's the smart person's People. But my God, it was so much more demanding to read than my usual gossip rags. 

I think I'm becoming dumber with age. I came across proof of this not too long ago when I found some dissertations I wrote in university, attempted to read them, and realized I could barely understand what I myself had written. Apparently, at one time, I was quite the intellectual. Of course, that was before The Bachelor, America's Next Top Model and Wipeout. But I digress.

Then we arrive in Toronto for a connecting flight to Atlanta. For some reason, my fairly sleek carry-on bag on wheels manages to collide with or get stuck on every post, wall, elevator door and escalator stair I pass by or come in contact with. This does not jive with my cool business travel persona which evidently, only exists in my head, not in reality.

Boarding the plane to Atlanta, I realize there is no room for said carry-on bag in the overhead compartment over my seat. So, I decide to walk back a few rows to find a spot for it. I managed to find some free space only to discover that my carry-on would not fit into the overhead compartment on this smaller plane. Sweet Jesus.

Imagine, if you will, a salmon swimming upstream, against the current. This was me, trying to get back to my seat, against the tide of passengers still boarding the plane, in a too narrow aisle, with a small suitcase in my hands. I decide to shove it with all my might under the seat in front of me and rest my feet on the still protruding portion of my bag. I also had my very business-like attache bag with me. 

At one point, the flight attendant noticed the small mountain of luggage under my feet and told me this was unacceptable. I explained that my suitcase did not fit overhead, so she very politely took it away. Luckily, she was quite nice, or sympathetic to my plight, and found a spot for it somewhere else on the plane. 

Of course, when we landed, this meant I had to wait for everyone to get off the plane before a flight attendant could retrieve my bag and I could head into the airport. Good times.

Imagine, if you will, a girl trying to act casual but ending up running, arms flailing, scarf flying about, shoulder bag slipping off occasionally, and tugging on a piece of luggage on wheels that always seems to get stuck on something.

Yep, that's me, trying to be a professional business person.

If The Bachelor contestants were animals...

The name's Brad Womack. Yeah, this is my second time on the show because I rejected both finalists during Season 11 but don't be afraid ladies, I've been in therapy for the last three years, workin' on my shit, y'know? I'm for reals this time. Are you ready to get serious with some sweet Southern ass?

 

Contestant Ashley H., 26, a dentist from Philadelphia, PA: Like, oh My God! I am such a happy, bubbly person! And I love to have fun! Our first date at an amusement park was like, so much fun! I just love to laugh and be happy! That is, until you started dating other women. Now I'm getting like all emotional and stuff, and crying a lot because, oh my God, it's getting so hard now. I'm like, starting to freak out a bit.

 Baby, you gotta hang in there. Don't you give up on me. My fragile ego can't handle rejection. Even if you have to watch me make out with lots of other hot chicks, it doesn't take away from our special moments together.

Contestant Emily, 24, a children's hospital event planner from Charlotte, NC: So, here's the thing Brad. I really don't know if you can handle this, I mean, it's kinda crazy, and probably hasn't happened to anyone else ever in the history of mankind. And, I'm so scared to tell you because I think you'll reject me but I'm going to tell you. I'm a mother Brad. Can you handle that? It gets worse. The father of my child was the one true love of my life. He died in a plane crash when I was 18. Then, I found out I was pregnant, and I named my daughter after him. Can you handle that shit? Can you?

  Emily, you are so effing beautiful, that if you told me you had a whole slew of illegitimate children tucked away in a trailer park somewhere, I wouldn't care. Yeah, that's just the kind of guy I am.

Contestant Michelle, 30, a hairstylist from Salt Lake City, UT: Baby, you can tell all the other girls to go home. I've been around the block a few times. The rest of these bitches are little children compared to me. They can't give you want you want. They can't give you what you need. But I can, baby. I can. And I'll continue to rudely interrupt your time with the other girls and pull hissy fits to get attention until you realize that we were meant for each other. 

Michelle, I love that you're a f*cking wack job and that you're clearly obsessed with me in an unhealthy way. That is so freakin' hot. 

Now former contestant Madison, 25, a model from Brooklyn, NY: Yeah, I didn't take this whole "Bachelor" thing too seriously at first, and decided to wear my fake fangs for the first couple episodes just for kicks. Then, I heard Emily's story of unimaginable woe, and thought to myself: I can't take away her chance at love. She NEEDS this. I just WANT it, and I can't  trivialize such an unsuccessful process to find a lifelong partner.

Madison, don't leave before we've even had a chance to get to know each other! You're killin' my ego here! You're messin' up my mojo! You're throwin' me off my game! You're supposed to ADORE me and chase me until I reject you. That's how it works. Don't make me look like I'm not worth the public humiliation of vying for my affections along with 29 other women. 

I'm sorry Brad. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me for seeing the error of my ways and the utter futility of trying to find love in a manufactured, illusory environment.

Super awesome and super sucky Golden Globe moments

OF COURSE I'm blogging about the Golden Globes today. Was there really any doubt? This year, my boyfriend and I actually sat through the whole show - a rarity since it gets incredibly boring, incredibly fast. But I'm glad I did because now I can recap some of my fave and not so fave moments. 

Super-duper awesome Golden Globe moments:

1 - The red carpet pre-show: I think it may be more interesting than the actual awards ceremony. 

2 - Ricky Gervais as host. I love this guy. He just goes for it. Some of his jokes last night were met with resistance from the audience, such as his reference to certain prominent Scientologists being secretly gay. I cherished those moments. It was akin to an episode of Family Guy.

3 - Michael Douglas attending the Golden Globes cancer-free. To see Michael and his gorgeous wife, Catherine Zeta-Jones stroll down the red carpet hand-in-hand was a beautiful sight. It warmed the cockles of my cold, cold heart.

4 - Robert DeNiro's acceptance speech after being presented with the Cecil B. DeMille lifetime achievement award. Robert followed in Ricky's footsteps. Some of his jokes were off-colour, the audience hesitating to react. Needless to say, I loved it. He steered clear of a schleppy, smarmy, boring speech. It was thoroughly entertaining. Kudos to you Mr. DeNiro.

5 - Paul Giamatti's freakin' awesome shout-out to the city of Montreal and to Canada, calling it a "great nation". As a Canadian, this was a proud moment. President Bush didn't even thank Canada on Sept. 11, 2001 when thousands of American airline passengers were diverted to Canadian airports. Paul Giamatti - you f*cking rock.

6 - Steve Buscemi's Best Actor win for Boardwalk Empire. Ever since I saw Fargo, I've had a special place in my heart for Mr. Buscemi and seeing him win was indeed a fine moment.  

7 - Colin Firth's Best Actor win for The King's Speech. It's Colin Firth. Need I say more?

Super sucky Golden Globe moments:

1 - Any award that was given to cast members and to the show Glee. I'm sorry but the 2nd season of Glee sucks ass and in every category it won, the competition was WAY better. I was incensed, to say the least. 

Chris Colfer's win for Best Actor in a Supporting Role: Colfer's character this season has done nothing but whine and play the victim. All he's been good at is being thoroughly irritating. I loathe these types of "poor me" story lines, and to be rewarded for it reeks of victimhood worship.

Jane Lynch's win for Best Actress in a Supporting Role: As much as I adore Jane Lynch, her character on Glee is one-dimensional, hasn't evolved in the 2nd season, and wasn't deserving of a Golden Globe, not when she was up against Julia Stiles for a riveting performance in Dexter's 5th season and Sofia Vergara of Modern Family. 

That Glee won for best comedy/musical against the likes of Modern Family and 30 Rock is preposterous. Glee isn't remotely in the same league as those brilliant comedies. Dear Hollywood Foreign Press: get your head out of your ass!

2 - The Kids are Alright being placed in the category of "Comedy or Musical". Did the Hollywood Foreign Press even see this movie? It IS NOT a comedy or a musical, not even remotely close to being either of those two things. It's a DRAMA, people.

3 - Scarlett Johansson's hair. She looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. 

Ummm.... no.

All in all, a mildly entertaining evening. Of course, we missed a new episode of Californication last night, which should have been nominated for best Comedy/Musical, and its star David Duchovny, for Best Actor in a Comedy/Musical. But to compare Californication to the insipid Glee would defile its excellence.

Also, note to self: must see The Social Network.

How Don Johnson ruined my acting career

A little over a month ago, I was in our basement tracking down a kickboxing certificate my new dojo required since I started up again after a three year absence. Anyhoo, I located this certificate in a Rubbermaid crate full of other memorabilia, including diaries I kept as a young girl. 

I thought I would briefly look through said diaries. An hour or so later, the blue tinge of my bare feet on the cold basement floor indicating that it was time to go back upstairs, I vowed to share my story with the world of how Don Johnson ruined my acting career. 

You're probably thinking: "But Sassy, what's the correlation between your diaries, Don Johnson and your non-existent acting career?" Well, I'm getting to that because I know you're dying to find out. I came upon a diary I kept for a few months when I was 12 years old. In it was depicted my intense crush on Don Johnson, watching Miami Vice and my brief stint in a drama class. 

You see, I was enrolled in a drama class at the local television station that started at 9 am sharp on Saturday mornings. Miami Vice aired at 10 pm on Friday nights. I just HAD to watch Miami Vice because of my obsession with Don Johnson. However, doing so made it terribly difficult to get up the next morning for my class. 

Therefore, my mother told me: "No more Miami Vice." To which I apparently responded: "No more drama class." Yes folks, I quit the drama class after a few weeks so I could watch Don Johnson on TV on Friday nights. (Insert snide remark here.)

Below are selected excerpts from my childhood diary, depicting what can only be described as a strange, deluded state of mind, addicted to fictional characters on TV.

January 17, 1986:

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry I didn't write to you last night. I was so tired I just went to bed right after Miami Vice (my favorite T.V. show). But I won't be seeing it for a while because my mother wants me to go to bed earlier because my drama class starts at 9:00 and Miami Vice finishes at 11:00. I'm sure gonna miss Don Johnson. I found out that Don Johnson has a son and a girlfriend. Well it's really depressing but I still like him. 

It gets worse people...

February 4, 1986:

Dear Diary,

I want to talk about something. My dream. But I just want to tell you that I had an O.K. day today first. Now, you see I'm depressed because you see I really really want to meet Don Johnson but I know it's never going to happen. I have his address but if I write him a letter he probably won't have time to read it. I don't know what's happening to me sometimes I just can't stop thinking of him. Well, I won't die until I meet Don Johnson.

A mere 11 days later, notice this entry describing a typical Saturday morning.

February 15, 1986:

Dear Diary,

I had a good day today. First, I got up and watched cartoons, ate breakfast, did my toilette and my mother brought my sister to her gymnastics. 

Watching cartoons!!! That's what I was doing instead of perfecting my acting skills! Watching cartoons and nursing my crush on Don Johnson. Things could have been so different for me... I could have been a movie star by now, goddammit. 

I am however impressed with my use of the word "toilette", a fancy French word meaning I actually bathed that day.

Damn you Sonny Crockett and your hotness.

Black Swan = eating crow

Here's where I poo-poo another Oscar-buzz worthy movie. If you'd like to read my scathing review of last year's Best Picture Oscar winner, click here. 

About a week before Christmas, my boyfriend and I went to see Black Swan, Darren Aronofsky's take on some seriously psycho ballerina shit. It got rave reviews and I was totally stoked to go see it, especially since Aronofsky also directed one of my all-time favorite movies, Requiem for a Dream.

In a surprisingly packed movie theatre, we settled into our seats and prepared to be blown away by Aronofsky's latest cinematic creation and the brilliant performances we were promised were contained therein. 

My first clue that things were not going to go as planned occurred about two minutes into the movie when I noticed that it must have been shot with the ironically-named "Steadicam", à la Blair Witch Project. Tight, shaky shots. Unfortunately, watching a movie that's filmed in this way makes me nauseous - it's like motion sickness.

It then dawned on me that I would have to sit there, trying to repress the urge to toss my cookies, for the duration of the movie. This did not bode well. So, I tried to make myself as comfortable as I could, still thinking I would see cinematic greatness unfold.

After a long two hours battling low-grade nausea, the movie was over. It wasn't a completely horrid film but it left me feeling disappointed, like something was missing. "Meh" is the most appropriate word I can think of to convey the emotion this movie evoked in me.

Sure, the performances were solid. Natalie Portman did a great job portraying an uptight ballerina spiraling out of control when awarded the lead role in Swan Lake. It just goes to show: be careful what you wish for, you just might lose your marbles when you get it. 

Mila Kunis and Vincent Cassel also deliver, respectively, as a laid-back ballet dancer parachuting in from California and a hard-ass, perverted ballet choreographer. Barbara Hershey ramps up the creep factor as an overbearing ex-ballet dancer "mommy dearest" type opposite Portman's character. Even Winona Ryder has a small yet memorable role as the ousted prima ballerina and former object of Vincent Cassel's affections. 

However, the weakness of this film lies in its failure to rise above classic stereotypes of how to make great art and be a great artist. There is general, if perhaps unspoken, consensus that to be a truly great artist, one must be completely mad, a belief strongly upheld in Black Swan. Only in the absence of sanity can truly staggering heights of artistic genius be attained.

If that's the case, I may as well retire my proverbial pen right this instant and give up my aspirations of becoming a great playwright. I'm way too f*cking normal. 

Vincent Cassel's character can almost be pardoned for a sexual assault on his prima ballerina in the name of making her a better dancer. This is also a lame stereotype. Yes, a director should try to extract the very best work out of his/her performers but most certainly not by being abusive and manipulative. 

Also, the much touted girl-on-girl make-out scene between Natalie and Mila felt superfluous and didn't, in any way, advance the storyline. It was a predictable end to a predictable scene of ballerinas gone wild in NYC.

All in all, a disappointment - a celebration of sorts of humanity's deepest and darkest neuroses, all in the name of ephemeral, aesthetic perfection.

Life-saving tips I learned from watching TV

In honour of the long-awaited return of Californication (the 4th season premieres on Sunday, January 9), here are a few things I've learned from the previous three seasons:

1 - Sex may be enhanced by punching your lover in the face.

2 - Masturbating at work is not a good idea.

3 - Sleeping with your ex-wife's fiance's under-age daughter is an even worse idea.

4 - Writing about sleeping with your ex-wife's fiance's under-age daughter, then having the manuscript stolen by said daughter who claims it as her own, then is found out to be a fraud, then you beat the crap out of the daughter's agent who could expose you, may land you in the slammer.

5 - Sleeping with a student is ok if she's a stripper.

6 - Sleeping with a married woman is ok if her husband already cheated on her and she's owed a "freebie".

7 - Don't snort blow if you have a deviated septum - it'll burn like hell.

8 - Rick Springfield is a slut.

9 - If you sleep with a porn actor, chances are you'll probably get an STD.

10 - Not only the young and pretty are horny. 

I can deduce from number 7 that watching TV pretty much saved my life. I suspect I may have a deviated septum since one nostril is bigger than the other and my nose was essentially smushed to one side during birth, making for an interesting "first photo". Why the need for a snapshot immediately after birth? I was obviously not looking my best. Give me a chance to clean up for Christ's sake. But I digress.

I had no idea snorting coke could be so dangerous for someone with a crooked nose. Not that I plan on doing blow anytime soon but if, sometime in the future, I decide that this is something I want to try, I'll know not to sniff it up my schnoz.

In all fairness, this program is not all soft porn. The writing is sublime - it's witty and intelligent and the acting is solid. David Duchovny is superb as Hank Moody, a middle-aged man child trying to get it together but not quite succeeding. 

Evan Handler, who plays Charlie Runkle, Hank's showbiz agent bestie, also deserves a mention (Evan may be better known as Charlotte's husband, Harry Goldenblatt, on Sex and the City), as does Pamela Adlon who portrays Charlie's wife, Marcy. Lovable, despite their many flaws, one can't help but root for these three characters.

The supporting cast also surprises and delights. In Season 3 alone, Kathleen Turner, Peter Gallagher, Rick Springfield and Peter Fonda all made unforgettable appearances. Needless to say, I'm quite looking forward to Season 4, if only to gain more life-saving tips.

Whip out the octagon - a married couple is fighting

Not that this reality show could top Toddlers and Tiaras on the "will cause me nightmares for months to come" scale, but it deserves an honorable mention. 

A few months ago, we started watching The Marriage Ref. Apparently, it got some lukewarm reviews but we stumbled upon it one evening and the celebrity panel of "advisers" on that particular episode convinced us to stick with it.

Imagine, if you will, Larry David, Madonna and Ricky Gervais doling out advice on marital issues to Tom Papa, the hilariously entertaining marriage ref. My boyfriend and I are convinced we saw Tom open for Jerry Seinfeld, but we can't be sure. We were either sitting too far from the stage to distinguish facial features or we were very drunk at the time. But I digress.

For the most part, The Mariage Ref is entertaining. The celebrity panel and ref watch videos sent in from married couples detailing their "problem du jour", mostly trivial domestic spats, the panel discusses it, advises the ref on it, the ref makes a final decision and informs the married couple who "won". 

This is all good and dandy except that my boyfriend and I started noticing a disturbing trend. Most of the women in these couples were nagging bitches while the men seemed generally accommodating and sweet. Of course, there were one or two exceptions where the guy was a douchebag but it was rare. 

What we were witnessing were not relationships but power struggles. This got me thinking... Is this what most relationships/marriages are like? One of the two people involved basically bosses the other one around, treating them like a family pet while the other tries to fulfill his/her partner's needs until he/she is pushed to the point of utter exasperation?

Dude, that is harsh. The very word "relationship" implies a balance of give and take. We are living "in relation" with another being. A relationship shouldn't be a space where you act out your childhood issues - that's what therapy is for.

I suspect there's also a common misconception among women that to express their "girl power", they need to outwardly display their dominion over the relationship. That is a fallacy. This type of sophomoric "do what I say or I'll withhold sex" (for example) is using force which is not the same thing as personal power, meaning your sense of control over your own life and decisions. 

Exerting force in a relationship may get you what you want in the short term. However, in the long term, it will succeed in pushing people you care about out of your life. Cultivating a sense of personal power has nothing to do with controlling others - it has everything to do with getting to know yourself and deciding what is best in any given situation, for you and, here's the kicker, for OTHERS as well. 

Personal power is about finding out what your "buttons" are and disabling them so others can't easily "push your buttons", it's about working on your shit and becoming a better person. It's about not blaming everyone else, namely your partner, and looking inward instead. 

Unfortunately, it seems women have placed men in one of two categories: doormat or misogynist. In our post-feminist world, I fear the pendulum has swung too far the other way. Yes, women were horribly oppressed for a bazillion years but now, ladies, it looks like we're doing the oppressing. 

We need to find that middle ground again. Man is not the enemy, and trying to control anyone besides ourselves is a useless endeavour, one that usually leads to deep-seated resentment and alienation of affection by the very people we claim to love.

A pedophile's paradise

I know, I know... It's been a while since my last post. But, unless you live under a rock and hadn't noticed, it was CHRISTMAS TIME, and I have a LIFE people. Jeez... 

Well, now that we've got that out of the way, my "life" over the holidays consisted of numerous opportunities to watch heinously bad TV. I mean, even I had to lower my already egregiously mediocre standards to be able to withstand one particular program that assaulted even my moral sensibilities. This is saying a lot since, basically, I HAVE NONE.

The program in question is titled Toddlers and Tiaras and airs on The Learning Channel, the same illustrious network that airs Sarah Palin's Alaska. "Learning" channel my ass. This network seems to pride itself on displaying the most perverse and disturbing human behaviour, couching it in the guise of "learning". Yeah, learning what it takes to be a circus freak. No, wait, I like circus freaks. These people are far worse.

Imagine, if you will, morbidly obese, middle-aged women and men, some claiming to be former beauty queens (Ahem...), spending thousands of dollars to sexualize their infants and young children, dressing them in provocative outfits, fake hair pieces, fake teeth, spray-on tans and tons of makeup and hair spray. 

And as if this wasn't enough, drilling into their children (both boys and girls alike) that winning is good and losing is bad, and winning is predicated merely on physical attractiveness, greatly enhanced by fake appendages. I feel dirty writing this, that's how disturbing this show is. 

It's tantamount to child abuse, is what it is. These fat, ignorant f*cks are working out their control issues on their children in some totally whacked out pervy fairy world. 

Stop looking at me like that, I'm like, five.