Questioning the Reality of Reality...

 "Reality exists in the human mind and nowhere else..." -- George Orwell, "1984"

Note: There are some projects I've left hanging as of late due to a host of issues -- 'puter problems, house sale, trying to get Mrs. Overlord her Wuhan Flu shot (a tale that WILL be told!), and other stuff. Later this week, we'll have another installment of Cuomo Watch and there's a new-and-improved Douchebag of the Week a'comin'.

Mrs. Overlord is a connoisseur of what some people choose to call "Reality Television". She watches this crap all day, every day, and has for years. The brain damage that such prolonged exposure invariably produces has manifested itself in various and sundry ways, but this is not the subject of the diatribe to follow. Let's stipulate that Mrs. Overlord, after several hours of exposure to complete garbage, emerges from the experience with both the thought process and the synaptic responses of a comatose guinea pig. Not satisfied with frying her own brain, she then turns on me to discuss the filth she's just watched, to engage me in deep conversation upon it.

As if I want to.

And while waxing philosophic about someone's sub-cutaneous growths, 80-pound scrotum, morbid obesity, strange and destructive fetishes and the problems that come with being a pampered, entitled, usually drunken suburban hausfrau with an extremely wealthy husband (whether pro athlete, some high muck-a-muck of the entertainment business, genuine Captain of Industry, makes no difference) does have a certain appeal to my inner child, I would rather have my eyeballs scratched out by a rabid wolverine covered in human filth.

Speaking of human waste, this is largely what appears on "Reality Television", so that for those of you who often complain that I am a misanthrope I would retort that if Reality Television is, indeed, an accurate portrayal of Reality, then I'm not only right in assuming that most people are dumber than a wet bag of dryer lint. I'm also entirely justified in assuming we'd all be better off if most of them were forcibly sterilized, or maybe even killed and harvested for organs (except from the fat chicks).

Because these people are generally truly disgusting in one way or another.

Let's start with a delightful little program called "My 600-lb Life" in which we track the trials and tribulations of people who are so grossly obese they should have a harpoon stuck in them. Some have serious issues -- these typically revolve around serious childhood trauma or depression, and I do not mean to make...ahem...light of them -- but some of these clods are just plain stupid. They have grown to elephantine proportions by their own dumbfuck and don't seem to realize it.

For example, there is invariably some poor soul who believes that eating a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, a loaf of bread complete with a pound of butter, to be followed by a box of Twinkies, all  washed down with a 64-oz. bottle of Diet Coke in a single sitting is "a disease". No, it is a lack of discipline. It is a matter of impulse control and if you got some psychiatric help early in the process, you wouldn't be so fat that the only way the Fire Department can get you out of your house is to cut a wall out and remove you on a flatbed tow truck.

These people are in search of a quick fix in the form of gastric bypass surgery, which is provided by a doctor who looks like the Pakistani version of a Cabbage Patch doll. The cameras follow them about as they begin their odyssey of weight loss, where we learn several salient details about the sorts of lives these human trash disposals live. In seven cases out of ten, we learn the following:

1. They are female.

2. They have relatives/spouses who enable their binge eating for reasons ranging from fear that they might leave a marriage if they got too attractive, or just to avoid having to fight with them. I.E. Fatty McFatass is a pain in the ass to live with.

3. They will eat junk food from the moment they wake until the moment they fall back asleep (assuming they don't pass out from lack of oxygen after a prolonged fart) and never leave the bed or couch that is straining mightily to support their enormous bulk.

4. All have mental health issues that, frankly speaking, are easily fixed and at a much-cheaper cost than gastric bypass surgery. It is a mystery as to why doctors or other loved ones around them do not make this point. Or, perhaps they have, and the point can't penetrate the seventeen layers of whale blubber between ears and brain.

5. Every last one is a "victim" of something, except being a fucktard.

One would think that the very first day you cannot leave your home because you can no longer squeeze through the front door, you might realize that you have a problem and do something to correct it. But no.

When one considers the enormous amount of medical resources that are being deployed to "help" these folks, it staggers the imagination. It all has to be fantastically expensive. You begin to wonder how many others could be treated for their health problems and to what better use all that surgical and medical talent could be put -- how many lives could be saved beyond a single individual -- if they were not dedicated to de-flabbing someone who probably could have been previously helped by a good therapist twice a week, and who is liable to resume their lifestyle of gluttony more frequently than we imagine. We don't get to see the failures.

Incidentally, the three people I personally know -- or I should say, knew -- all died within 3 years of having the surgery. The trauma this extensive surgery produces on the body is probably worse than all the clogged arteries and high blood sugar combined.

But, it gets worse, for not being content to watch people whose weight can be measured in hundreds of pounds, Mrs. Overlord watches another show entitled "1,000 Pound Sisters", which is the Hee-Haw version of "My 600-pound Life", only with fewer teeth. As an added bonus, you get to watch these two eat their body weight in anything covered in sugar, fat, cholesterol and carbs with regularity -- which is something I doubt either of them experiences.

This slice-of-redneck-life drama follows the rip-roarin' exploits of two horrifically rotund sisters from rural Kentucky (depression capital of America!). I will say this for the program; compared to the depressing, moribund, just-plain-sad subjects of "My 600-lb. Life", at least these two landwhales have personality. It's annoying personality, but it's there, all the same. We are now at the point where the sisters are beginning to diverge on different life paths -- one has lost a significant amount of weight and become pregnant (God help us!), while the other is still chewing on everything that doesn't move and inviting strange men into the house in order to get laid.

Yes, it does get laid. There are men out there who like their ladies thicker than a Snicker's bar, and there's probably a pathology for that, too.

I'm just wondering if that brave (or retarded) man had to roll her in flower and then search out the wet spot in order to get the deed done.

Just to make the show really, really REAL, fatter sister just recently announced that she is Pan-sexual (I think she meant frying pan) which was a detail that a) everyone probably could have done without and b) makes me think that she's just playing for more attention.

Because if there's anything these two love more than a box of honey-glazed donuts, it's attention. One gets the impression they enjoy being fat because it gets people looking and talking about them.

For pure gross factor, my vote goes to "Dr. Pimple-popper", which is a show about a really smokin' Asian dermatologist who seems to get a kick out of removing all sorts of growths from people's bodies.

Mostly this involves filming her squeeze some sort of semi-solid pus out of some kind of skin sack, or cutting same from the body. Occasionally, the growth turns out to be cancerous and you can feel something of relief for the poor douche who has carried this lump of crap around on his body for a decade that he's FINALLY had it removed.

The repeating motif, however, in most of these stories is that the patient has had this growth for many years, often decades, and though it has made certain aspects of their lives difficult to near-impossible for all that time, they never get medical help before the thing becomes either serious or simply unbearable. At which point, we get to watch the doctor pretty much cream and squeal with delight every time she successfully removes what is basically an ingrown zit. Which makes you wonder how she would be in the sack and what sick shit she might be into there.

But for sheer fucktard nothing matches the (often staged) competitions for marriage and romance that attends shows such as "The Bachelor" and "The Bachelorette", or "90 Day Fiancé".

Something that always puzzled me is that whenever you browse one of those "Dating Sites" (The Overlord tried those a few times in the past) is that everyone advertises themselves as a diamond. You will frequently read the same things over and over and over: fun-loving, marriage-minded, outgoing, intellectual, varied interests, financially-secure, adventurous, sweet, affectionate, athletic, outdoorsy, and the accompanying photo is often (but not always) of an attractive person, to boot. Which begs the question:

If you're that good, then why are you advertising yourself life a used car? Why hasn't someone scooped you up, yet?

The answer, of course, is that they're lying. To give the benefit of the doubt, they may not even be aware they are lying because most people live in a constant state of denial.

Suffice to say, if you truly are good-looking, marriage-minded, sweet and affectionate, etc., etc., etc., and you're still lonely, you probably aren't.

If you've been divorced more than once and still consider yourself a good catch, think again. There's only one common denominator in all of those failures...see if you can guess who it might be.

From personal experience, the reality never matches the profile. You either get damaged goods or a psychopath.

It has become customary in our present degeneration that we can take something as simple as the online dating profile and turn it into a televised extravaganza. Mostly because there's an audience of retarded women and gay men to watch this shit, I figure. Like why figure skating and gymnastics are still on TV.

But, if you have to resort to putting yourself into a often-degrading competition with two dozen or so others in order to grab the attention of one person (who is usually screwing everyone, by the way) it absolutely reeks of desperation and probably is a indication of why you ultimately had to go this route in order to find wedded bliss: you're high maintenance, but not worth the effort. You need constant attention and you don't care what you have to do or how ridiculous you look doing it, to get some.

This is not attractive. It's quite disgusting, really.

Speaking of competitions, Mrs. Overlord is always up for any show that brings a subject no rationally-thinking person gives a fuck about into the public consciousness. Some of her favorites have centered on competitive weight loss ("The Biggest Loser"), outright gross ("Fear Factor"), phony survivalism ("Naked and Afraid"), anything that has to do with what passes for music, these days "X-Factor", "American Idol". "The Voice"), competitive dancing ("Dance Moms", one of the biggest disasters to ever hit the airwaves, , "So, You Think You Can Dance?"), special effects make-up ("Face-Off"), second-rate, rip-off capitalism ("Shark Tank"), and the fake-as-all-Hell, virtue-signaling CEO on "Undercover Boss", where at the end we're treated to tear-jerking kindness for the struggling single mother, parent of a crippled kid, or somesuch by a wealthy executive who only undertook the ordeal in order to discover where they lacked the competitive edge as against their counterparts and what their employees are saying about them.

Taking all of this as a measure of the taste, intelligence and discernment of the American public, it is apparent that the people are largely lacking in all three.

Taking all of this as a measure of the taste, intelligence and discernment of Mrs. Overlord, I will respectfully decline to comment....for obvious reasons.

If this is the measure of the current state of reality, then I'm ready to colonize Mars.