on Scream Queens, LA Ink and Jersey Shore

so, in these long summer days without a car (or any other mode of transportation), i have discovered this little monster called reality television.

we all know what reality television is boss in the corporation of the Aughts (best word ever? i think so.) no RT junkie could ever go without, considering there are entire channels dedicated to the documentation of the outrageous behavior and self-destructive tendencies of people who otherwise have no productive skills (snookie.) and, nowadays, even the most intellectual of us fall trap to the sheer guilty pleasure that is bad reality TV. here are my thoughts on the least embarrassing.

Scream Queens

now, i love me some bad actresses. they're funny to watch and make for some inneresting drinking games (apple cyder, of course.) and i also love horror movies. so this show immediately caught my slippery attention. and of course i watch the soup, so i knew what to expect:



(and by expect, i mean vagina.)

this show, in my opinion, is possibly the worst reflection on the modern media outlet to date. its basically saying fuck you to all the actresses who had to work their asses off just to get an audition for a B horror flick with these spoiled, pampered little bitches walking on set and participating in completely ridiculous acting exercises for a role in one of the biggest horror franchises in the last ten years. no, girls, you shouldn't be aiming at the Oscar or anything. just spread oil all over yourself and scream till your blue in the face and your golden. self respect is for chumps.

anywho's, each and everyone of these chicas are extraordinarily confident in their abilities as an actress which, if you couldn't tell, are mediocre at best. but then again, do "scream queens" really have to be good at anything?

LA Ink

back story: i love tattoos. i take pictures of them, i oggle friends who have them, i tell elaborate stories about especially elaborate tats weaved from my own hyper-active imagination: (see face tattoo dude below). tattoos, to me, embody everything right with the world (that is, rebellion and artwork.) some of the best drawings i've ever seen my entire life have been tattoos. imagine if da vinci was a goddamn tattoo artist. you could be walking around with the fucking Mona Lisa on your back right now! chya.

so, i've been watching LA Ink since it's inception (as well as the predecessor, Miami Ink). while i was hella disappointed that the original cast had been replaced, i was still stoked to see what type of shenanigans the artists of High Voltage would get themselves into this season. as of recently, however, the entire programs been more annoying then anything. and by program i mean Liz, the pompous, backstabbing bitch from hell.

liz whatshername joined the cast mid-season, after Aubry from Rock of Love was fired from her position as shop manager. she came into the interview with a blazer and a cocky smirk, spending the entire fifteen minutes of airtime pumping up her already bloated ego. if this weren't enough she, um, doesn't have any frikken tattoos. hello, kat von d, are you wearing your stupid face today? do you not see that she is not a nice person?

against my (superior) advice, liz (im tempted to nickname her jizz, but I'm better then that) is hired. and immediately she lives up to her nickname (jizz). she (jizz)'s all over every one's chill, taking her first day as an opportunity to snake under kat and cory's skin and stomp all over everyone else's. she has this huge-ass issue with being trained, whining about how she's too overqualified to be taking stock of the merch, flirting with kat's clearly uncomfortable brother, whining about having to work alongside three other shop managers, and lying her ugly little face off to the point where cory is prompted to quit and causing him to pretty much end his friendship with kat.

it's just...ugh. take a look:



Jersey Shore

first we had miley cyrus. then we had the snuggie. now? we have Snooki.

my friends have been obsessed with this show for the last six months. they've been poofing their hair and discoloring their skin and adopting Brooklyn accents and the fact that we all live in Jersey is not helping. but so far, i've resisted. through countless marathons and news bulletons, i have avoided the Orange Brick Road like i would Anthrax (the airborn disease, not the band...actually, yeah, the band.) but last week, i lost this battle. i have officially succumbed. ya'll can go ahead and kiss the future adios.

but in my defense, come on. it's just so silly. it's silly how disgusting these people are, how we all know this like we know the sky is blue yet we can't stop watching. it's like a tan, herpes-infected car wreck. i can't look away.

what gets me, however, is how the boys in the house take it upon themselves to decide what a woman should look like. i'm guessing a "grenade" is a fat girl, even though these "grenades" are so not fat they actually make me want to hop on a treadmill. and even if they were fat, does that mean your allowed to treat them like shit sandwhiches? are you any better looking, Mr. Situation? (spoiler: your not.) and once more, have you looked at snookie? she is the chunkiest, wierdest looking oompa-loompa i have ever seen in my entire life (and I LIVE IN NEW JERSEY, GUYS.) misogynistic and, yes, revolting. fuck you, MVP.

ugh. america doesn't stand a chance.