One has to accept that life is reaching all new lows when you find yourself sitting in front of Joe Millionaire rooting for your favourite hot girl. What’s worse still is when you’re wishing that the stupid curly-haired bastard actually works out which of the bitches plan to fuck him over so that he can inturn fuck them over first and send them on their way sans necklace. One third of the women on the show are utter shockers in the looks department, not that I’m shallow but a spade is still a fucking spade my friend. Another third of the contestants are total arrogant bitches, it’s a tragedy when hot-girls realise that they are in fact a hot-girl – if a lady knows she can get whatever she wants via only the battering of the eye lids then its time to pack up your gear and move on to the next one as she’s a lost cause that’s not worth the maintenance. The remaining third are of course a little more iffy and could actually go either way depending if they play their cards right and put on some slutty night-gowns. The show lacks any potential what so ever and is nothing but a non-stop moron-a-thon! At least with 'Chains of Love' there was a good chance of copping a glimpse of tit or a pinch of the arse - but poor old Joe ain't going to cop anything but a big wet fish right up the royal back-door. Why do people watch this crap?!?!? Why do people care if some dirty, stench ridden brick-layer from Arkansas can pick up a chick while under the hollow premise of being a millionaire?! Have the general public never been to a seedy nightclub and heard the even more ridiculous lines guys use to pick up chicks? They should have at least made him a millionaire who’s been on the moon twice, found a cure for cancer, and danced the wild tango with the late great Queen Mother – its certainly a technique that has worked wonders for my co-writer John Cutter and has never required a trip to the Le’ Carre’ horse stables in Paris. You follow up a story like that with some funky BeeGee’s disco moves on the dance floor and you’ve got a guaranteed winner for little Elvis in the downstairs pantaloons.
But to the point, what is more disturbing is the fact that I was actually watching this crap, and not only that but also likely to tune in same time next week. I hate the show, I hate the people, all I want to see is somebody getting kicked in the back of the noggin by a rampaging rogue stallion, as well as the inevitable fake water-works to be put on by next weeks big losers! I don’t care who wins, I just want to see them all lose – which will be fantastic when those snotty nosed bitches find out that their knight in shining armour is nothing but a yobo brickie in a Holden Kingswood ute!
Is my desire to see these women getting kicked and dumped some sort of subconscious feeling of vengeance?! Do I have a hidden hatred for women who believe that their up-pointed nostrils are the cutest thing on earth this side of Kenny the fuzzy-wuzzy koala. After watching Joe Millionaire should I seek professional counselling or just go straight to the hardcore prescription medication as I believe something is not quite right with my boggled cognition…
Its been a mad and distressing past few days and I think I’m getting the grey hairs to prove it. Dealing with a one gavin-joel has proved to be more than the usual challenge. Trying to help a friend who refuses to help himself only ends in embarrassingly loud discussions at busy food courts, which is never a pretty scenario. I keep getting told to take the hard-line approach which is fine to me in theory - a point has to be made as continuing on at the current pace is doing nobody any favours – but in practice it’s a lot harder to enforce. I don’t want to leave the sorry son of a bitch destitute, but he’s got to learn that he can’t treat his friends like absolute utter shit and then expect them to pick him up, buy him diner and shout him to a free movie with nothing but a smile on their dials. Accepted he hates talking about his fiscal situation, but the shit ain’t going to work itself out if we sit back and make a joke about it while knocking down a bottle of coke and large pizza I had to pay for because he didn’t even have 97 cents to his name after buying credit for his phone and two worthless CD singles for his overseas mistress. We’d all like to bludge on Clarky’s couch and talk to Canada. Its fucking shithouse trying to find work that just ain’t out there. Its depressing, its annoying, it leaves annoying rashes in weird places, but its what we’ve got to do! You can’t throw in the towel just because your in a bad mood or PMSing or whatever.
And while on the subject what’s the fucking deal with that?! I’ve always been troubled by the psychological hysteria caused by the monthly trickle but when you start seeing young men behave identically it raises much concern. I’ve noticed increasing numbers of men who decide to stomp the foot down and put on the cranky face as if it’s the worse day of their life and the Naprogesic’s just aren’t helping!! Is PMS contagious? Has the evolution of man-kind adapted such that the male species is slowly turning either female or flat out gay (which is actually one common theory for the extinction of the dinosaurs. Some of the buggers actually changed physical sexual orientation [from male to female, genitals and all] as if they were a member of the Pet Shop Boys or *NSYNC). Should we be ignoring the possible anthrax attacks and the lack of vaccine stores available and instead place more research into the continuing growth of oestrogen in the common males blood stream. Will Osama Bin Laden cease sending express-post bags filled with deadly anthrax spores and instead replace the toxic white powder with some dirty second hand tampons and sit back and watch as the men of America start PMSing over a bucket of ice-cream and a copy of Steal Magnolias. Just something to think about.
Sincerely,
Jake Jameson
