Marinating in Television’s Stomach

I have the uncanny ability to become pissed off with the manners of television. On the other hand, you want to learn about a culture look at its television. I’m going to do a public service to you, my readers. I’m going to let television swallow me whole. I’ll travel into its stomach, scream in agony from the burning of the gastric acid, slowly absorbed in the colon, and finally pushed through the anus into the toilet. A mind numbing experience not for cowards, so I’ll sacrifice myself in order to bring insight into our lives. I may be gone for a while.  

It began with the narcissistic lives of melodramatic soap operas. Days of Our Lives has captivated the minds of many women for over fifty years: a proud boast advertised on mundane commercials. I couldn’t keep up with the storyline because of the meaningless self-indulgence provided by each character. My brain was already seeking an exit. It was an antagonizing thirty minutes of whining, intense stares, and dull dialogue. I believe it involved a pregnancy or the serial killer was someone’s long lost relative. At the end of the episode, I wondered…what the hell did I just watch?  


As I flipped through channels, my eyes were yanked from their sockets by the claws of reality television. Re-runs of Jersey Shore appeared on screen–nothing like pretentious, tan Italians fueled by booze with an addiction to clubbing. This vicious rampage lasted for six seasons, but the tyranny of other reality shows continue to reign supreme. From the Kardashians to Real Housewives, these shows are mediums for individuals to revamp themselves into monstrosities called reality tv stars. It’s a non-stop arms race between attention-seeking mouth-breathers; I don’t care who the victor is. 

I don’t know what it is about these multiple television sitcoms on cable networks. I can’t even comprehend how many are on nowadays. Even if I compiled a list of them all, I barely would scratch the surface. Usually, they’re about an average American family with dramatized lives and hilarity ensues. The standard definition of American family features a lovely white family; despite that, to break the cycle, a bit of culture is added to display the different colors of America. If that doesn’t work, dash a bit of religion with a sprinkle of sexuality for a complete savory series bound to attract fans.  

What happened next mangled my soul; the scars are still fresh from the traumatic incident. This is where the faint of heart shouldn’t read any further. I witnessed the lives of beloved celebrities on entertainment news. I learned these new bits of information: Caitlyn Jenner is getting a reality show, Taylor Swift and Katy Perry are feuding, Kanye and Kim are welcoming another child, and Miley Cyrus is bisexual. I can’t believe so much shit bombarded my mind! Maybe I should go to rehab? All the celebs are doing it, so I have no choice. Many hands have been used to create our “Fabulous Freaks of Hollywood.” All eyes are on these caricatures of “perfection.” There’s people out there eating these celeb’s vomit and asking for seconds. I finally turned off the television.

 I apologize for such a generalized review; I couldn’t take it anymore.

Television is a Pandora’s Box of our culture: repetition of Greek tragedies with no ending. We’re drenched in the sweat of fear and loathing. We hate ourselves but love ourselves. Although I wanted to watch cartoons, I want to keep them sacred. I still believe children are the future. We were children once and we turned out alright.  


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