(unfinished post)
Hmmm. Guilty pleasures, there’s really no better kind. I think the problem with the pleasures from which I partake, is that I have no guilt over them. Maybe I have transcended the plane of existence in which guilt and pleasure intermingle. Maybe I no longer fear a thrashing by the Bible belt (or maybe I would really enjoy it). Or maybe I just fully embrace one of my life’s most profound mottos: “I just don’t give a fuck.” Either way, you will find me hard-pressed to feel guilty about my Love of Lady Gaga, my aptitude for picking up strange men in a bar, or my willingness to laugh when someone hurts themselves. It doesn’t make me a bad person. Well, maybe a little…
So, the one thing that is closest to a guilty pleasure on my plate is VH1 Celebreality TV. Sure, many people can claim that Reality TV is their biggest guilty pleasure, but other than Fox, no one can take the cake on this genre the way VH1 does. The combination of washed-up child stars, drugged-out porn stars, and watered-down idiots who gained fame by wanting to date shriveled up members of the California Raisins all form the perfect storm of fucking train wreck television. And I find it masterful. Scrumtrulescent if you will.
There’s the herpes-infested contest for hair metal “hottie” Bret Michaels: Rock of Love and the follow-up Rock of Love Bus.
1 comment:
Reality TV is ALWAYS a guilty pleasure, but I like that you don't feel guilty. Saucy.
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