Now, in light of the bile that currently emanates from our boob tube, the Day of the Stooge seems such an innocent time. For in it's place, is a limitless supply of raw sewage provided by a new breed of stooge. Larry, Moe and Curly, I hope you are resting in peace, but fear you are turning in your graves as Maury, Steve and Jerry reign over the dark underworld of daytime TV.
My husband has a great job as the manager of a supermarket. The company he works for pays him well enough and affords good benefits which allow me to stay home with our children. Managing a supermarket means he works on Saturdays so he takes his days off on Thursdays and Sundays. This translates into weekly discomfort and a headache for me every Thursday as he settles in on our couch to bond with his "boys", the aforementioned Dark Lords of the Vast Wasteland.
Where do I start? I rub my throbbing temples and squeeze my eyes shut when I consider the sights and sounds which regularly assault me as I walk through the living room on my way to wash dishes or do laundry. (hint, hint Hubster) Would you, my Readers Dear, like to hear about all of the Baby Mama Drama on "Maury"? Where paternity tests are ordered as frequently as french fries at McDonald's, sometimes over and over to the same woman who can't find her "baby daddy" and sometimes to the same man who has been hauled in repeatedly in order to prove that he has fathered yet another out of wedlock child? Or perhaps I should tell you a tale about transsexual lesbian strippers who first sleep with their sister's boyfriends, then discard them after the family, and the doublewide in which they live has been destroyed, such as those who appear on "Jerry Springer". And here's something I KNOW you will enjoy--watch as Steve Wilkos first administers lie detector tests to and then throws off of his stage, child molesters, who, more often than not, have been accused of assaulting the little ones in their own families.
Maybe, no, definitely, I won't go into further detail. The brief, yet nauseating details I shared above are enough of an assault on the sensibilities of you, my Readers Dear. I want to take Maury's guests aside and beg them to please, please, please use a condom. My heart breaks for the sweet little babies who are shown backstage who will not only be raised without their daddies, but who will also be able to pull up on YouTube, the episode where daddy called mommy a whore and denied his own child. Apparently, a large portion of young Americans are out there indiscriminately having sex, ALL THE TIME, so much so they are unable to ascertain the parentage of the next generation. They take no responsibility for their own health or the lives of the children they create. It's disturbing and more than a little sad.
Also disturbing and sad: Steve Wilkos' "guests", who should be "guests" of the penal system in their respective states. I want to throw up when I think of how easily the story of the violation of a child is sold and shared for public consumption, not just consumption, but ENTERTAINMENT. These people come on the stage for the price of an airline ticket and an evening in a hotel to air their dirty laundry, dirty laundry that will never disappear, again, thanks to YouTube. The digital imprint of that episode will echo for years and years on the world wide web until the innocent child views it and experiences their trauma all over again, only this time with the knowledge that a million strangers have heard their story too.
And I just want to slap Jerry Springer.
What is our part in all of this? Those who consume this daily diet of junk TV with it's chemically imbalanced, spandex-wearing, mullet-sporting participants, do we bear any responsibility for the deterioration of American society? Are we merely smug voyeurs , with our DVRs and ring side seats? Or are we the root of the problem-active participants in the cycle of consumption? These shows would not exist without a strong viewership.
Osama Bin Laden is dead (allegedly-but that's a topic for another day) however, waiting in the wings are others like him, don't doubt it for it a minute , who rub their hands together in a mixture of glee and disgust, as they observe the crass, morally bankrupt TV viewing habits of the western infidel. No wonder they thought they could bring down the Twin Towers and in doing so, bring a great country to it's knees--they think we are either out reproducing like rabbits, molesting our nieces and nephews, dancing around stripper poles or parked in front of our TVs, sucking down Red Bull while eating Moon Pies.
Maybe Jerry Springer didn't bring down the World Trade Center, but is it much of a stretch to think he contributed to the tragedy? When we consider the televised destruction of an American family to be entertainment, surely the Apocalypse can't be far off.