I warn you beforehand that a pissed-off rant follows. If you don't want to hear it, or your pretty little ears feel that this is an institution where rants are a lower form of communication, akin to grunts and genital-scratching, feel free to read something else. Or downvote the writeup. Otherwise, read on.
Two nights ago a hundred million idiots worldwide watched PopStars II: Fuckheads Unleashed, which they're calling American Idol.
Yeah, I can say that--I was one of them. I watched American Idol the way a person watches a car crash: waiting, waiting, waiting to see the gore and guts, but at once realizing you haven't the stomach, and in reality, it's disgusting and you're probably going to be traumatized for life. In this day of reality television and spoofs of spoofs of spoofs of reality television, I feel the need to gouge my eyes out with a fork. Media is a huge crock of shit. If these television show bigwig motherfuckers expect me to believe that they will fulfill my dream of being a world-renowned pop artist through this thoroughly and obscenely sickening television show, they can kiss my lily-white ass. Only the X-Files stops me from gunning down a Fox television office building for designing American Idol, and subjecting me to the whirling dervish of fuckery that was Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?
Seeing television shows like American Idols reminds me, however, that everybody has their fifteen minutes of fame--unfortunately, Kelly Clarkson is probably going to end up being quickly forgotten. I can't recall the name of the band that was spawned from the syphilitic loins of that PopStars show: it was an inane take on the Destiny's Child style of name.
During the American Idol finale, the only one I watched, Ms. Clarkson had this look on her face that said, yes, I'm damn good, and I already know that I've won. I shall henceforthly act as if I haven't won, and I will do it badly. The bile rose into my throat over the hour-long program, and by the time I watched her not-heartwarming final song, I was not moved to tears by her finale. I felt empty, sick and infinitely less intelligent for subjecting myself to the lowest form of television on earth. (I used to think that sitcoms were the lowest form of television, followed closely by the likes of Jenny Jones and Jerry Springer. American Idol makes me feel sick in my heart, as if there's no hope for humans, that we must be easily fooled into thinking that we're smarter than chimpanzees, when in fact we're slugs. I don't like feeling that way. To be clear: I feel deeply and profoundly sad because of American Idol.)
I hate to think that They believe us all to be drooling idiots, that we'll accept whatever meaningless media-gruel they put on our plates. Now, Survivor was an interesting premise: watch people survive out in the bush. But it got worse from there. Big Brother was served up next: let's all watch people live. There's more Fear Factor: let's watch people jump off stuff and eat weird shit. Then Popstars, which I've complained about. Hell, look at Dog Eat Dog: let's watch people do physical activities, to the tune of canned laughter and applause and horrific editing. Now, there's American Idol: let's watch and belittle people without musical talent, while taking people who do, and give those special someones a flash in the pan, run-of-the-mill music career in which they will be forgotten within minutes!
I hope that the world realizes that by creating and watching shows like American Idol, everyone loses. I've got ten bucks that says Ms. Clarkson is going to need some therapy down the road for how horribly she is going to be razzed, by the very same media that created her, just before she fades into the mundaneness of her former, perfectly respectable and wonderful life. So, you bastards who came up with the idea for this: thanks for nothing.
I can't say as I'm very sorry for this rant, either.