I’ll admit it: I’m all about the fiction. I mean, I exist, in reality (as far as I can tell), but I really don’t get what’s so great about real people. I prefer fictional constructs. I would much rather be sharing a packet of crisps down the pub with Daisy from Spaced than I would share breathing space with any of those twats from Made in Chelsea. I’m like Abed from Community. I’d rather be hanging out in the Dreamatorium with Inspector Spacetime.
Maybe this is because I’m a writer, and often my daily tasks include stealing all my favourite personality traits from real people, and applying them to fictional ones. Have you ever had a crush on a character of your own creation before? It’s a little narcissistic, I can tell you.
So imagine my horror when every time I enter the living room, a member of my family is watching something about real people. And you know the problem with real people, (besides the fact that they never travel by phonebox or mysteriously appear alive after jumping off a building), is that they bitch and whine about everything.
The Apprentice should be renamed ‘I’m a Backstabbing Bitch who Undermines Others for Money, but it’s Okay Because I’m Ambitious’. Not so catchy, but much more truthful. Big Brother (which will be returning far too soon for my liking- seeing as I thought it should be relegated to the toxic waste dump of television, along with everything else on Channel 5) should clearly be called ‘Non-Important People Hate Other Non-Important People for Thinking They’re More Important.’
No-one cares that you have a lower back tattoo and call yourself Bunny. No-one cares that you got three girls names tattooed on your arse and your personal signifier is having stupid hair. No-one cares that you’re Irish and can’t sing. NO-ONE CARES.
Except, here’s the problem- people DO care. Who these people are, I don’t know. I assume they have brain matter dribbling from their ears, and merely require the squawking and screaming these shows afford them in order to interact with the nice television box.
The dancing shows? Fine, okay, at least people are learning stuff. And if it’s on ice there’s a good chance that a moronic ex-Hollyoaks actress will get a blade to the skull or something. It’s dangerous, that flamboyant ‘sport’. But it’s still a popularity contest for semi-famous has-beens. It should be advertised via agencies like this: ‘Is your actor or presenter getting a little older? Not quite getting the offers they used to? Then try Dancing on Ice! For all your comeback needs!’
And then it becomes a popularity contest anyway, so the has-been who’s the least appealing will get voted off first and probably go off to commit suicide. Or realise that acting isn’t all that, really.
What else? Oh yes, some singing show. Is it X Factor? Is it Britain’s Got Talent? Is it The Voice? Is it, quite simply, another marketing scam designed to destroy the music industry? Stop worrying about free downloads and start worrying that we’re going to end up in the post-apocalyptic society as outlined in We Will Rock You. I am tired of listening to this teeny bopper crap. I am tired of watching as average-to-fair singers get made over, given a sob story and made into ‘superstars’. It is all about marketing and manipulating the public, and if you’re not getting sick of the pale white lighting and the use of ‘You Raise Me Up’ whilst some attractive person declares they’re doing it for their dead mum/adoptive father/cancerous uncle/slightly depressed poodle then you’re clearly NOT PAYING ATTENTION. And this is your fault.
Please, please, please could we stop watching this shit? And then they would stop making it. And then we wouldn’t have Blah from Season 4 of The Apprentice appearing on Celebrity Big Brother 90 because she’s trying to launch a singing career with Boring from Britain’s Got Talent series 45, who she met doing Dancing on Ice.
We don’t need more Z-list celebs. Stop propagating bad music, bad television, and bad people who think their inane thoughts on whether or not it’s appropriate to pull down someone’s trousers in public are LIFE-CHANGING.
Fiction tells stories. And they’re good stories. You could watch an array of excellently made fake people do things that real people do on plenty of television shows, but BETTER, with well-conceived dialogue, and a storyline and a POINT TO THINGS.
Please, please, please.
Look- see, Mad Men has come back! There’s a reason not to watch this shite! Really! Also, it’s spring, it’s getting sunny out! Go outside and meet real people. And then come back here when you realise how awful it would be to watch them on television.