Day 122
I think I’m getting old.
By this, I don’t mean that my hair is thinning out, my stomach is becoming more pronounced, I make creaking noises when I get out of the bath…er…hang on, maybe this is an argument I shouldn’t explore until I’ve thought it through a bit more.
Anyway, the reason for my consternation is something far more worrying…
Modern television programmes.
I just don’t understand them any more and have concluded it’s due to my age.
I’ve briefly touched on this subject in earlier entries but there is a genre I saw tonight that simply defies belief.
Reality shows.
Now, correct me if I’m wrong but the one thing these programmes don’t have is any kind of link, however tenuous, to reality.
I endured one tonight called “The Apprentice”.
I know this is shown on both sides of the Atlantic but I can only comment on the drivel that’s broadcast in the UK, although I suspect it’s more or less the same across the pond.
The idea is simple: a group of self-centred, smug morons with the combined charisma of a carrot try to get a job with a major industrialist.
In Britain its Alan Sugar, one of the most brilliant businessmen of modern times so I can only assume the show is a public relations vehicle aimed at increasing his profile. He comes out with an enhanced reputation and they emerge looking exactly what they are…fucking hopeless.
They’re given a series of tasks that they complete with varying degrees of incompetence and the one who shows even one iota of business acumen wins.
Once “employed” they’re probably tucked away in a corner of his business empire where they can cause the least damage with a group of handpicked employees who are self-controlled enough not to inflict any kind of physical harm on them.
Then there’s “Big Brother”.
This show has a slightly different format. The producers round up twelve absolutely revolting individuals, stick them in a sealed environment for a few weeks under the constant scrutiny of closed circuit television cameras and the one with the least repulsive personality gets a hundred grand.
This isn’t as easy as it sounds.
As they are all living advertisements for sterilization and/or euthanasia it’s too difficult for the programme's makers to choose one themselves. The audience is therefore required to dial a premium rate telephone number in order to vote for the dipshit who should be ejected, thereby relieving the executives of the task.
I’ve got a better idea, why not have a phone poll on leaving the bastards in there?
I’d be dialling show so fast I’d rub the numbers off the keypad.
As this is beginning to sound like I'm uncontrollably ranting, I think I should address the poker before I turn my attention to something like beauty pageants.
Just one freeroll was entered today as I figured there was no way I could improve on yesterday’s performance.
Oh yes I could!
I got through to the first break with just over 15,000 chips, avoided doing anything stupid and only called the all-in donkeys when I’d hit the board.
The second break came and went with my stack increased to about 60,000.
By the third I had nearly a quarter of a million.
To cut a long story short, I made the final table and at one point was chip leader with sixteen million. At this point I got bored and went to get a beer. On my return I was heads up! This was more than enough for me and I effectively gave them away and finished second.
For anyone watching it must have looked like I could actually play poker properly and knew what I was doing.
I only hope I can repeat the feat on the cash tables for my sponsor.
I shall return briefly to the subject of crap TV entertainment before I sign off for the day.
I remember a time when there were proper television programmes. Cop shows with implausible storylines, cartoons with talking cats, female newsreaders with large breasts and their male counterparts with shocking hairpieces.
With these nostalgic thoughts and, if any media executives are reading this, I have an idea for a show that will bring back the good old days.
It’s a talent show where contestants make sounds using parts of their bodies to reproduce well-known tunes and pop songs.
I think it’s a winner.
It’s also something that anyone can have a go at with enough practice.
A friend of mine can tuck his hand under his armpit, flap his elbow up and down, make a melodic fart sound and play “I Will Survive”. Not to be outdone, I’m able to rub my arse cheeks backwards and forwards across a window pane and do a pretty good “Smoke On The Water”.
Imagine someone with a Jennifer Lopez sized arse doing that. I bet she could do all four verses of “God Save the Queen”.
...including the drum roll at the beginning.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.48
By this, I don’t mean that my hair is thinning out, my stomach is becoming more pronounced, I make creaking noises when I get out of the bath…er…hang on, maybe this is an argument I shouldn’t explore until I’ve thought it through a bit more.
Anyway, the reason for my consternation is something far more worrying…
Modern television programmes.
I just don’t understand them any more and have concluded it’s due to my age.
I’ve briefly touched on this subject in earlier entries but there is a genre I saw tonight that simply defies belief.
Reality shows.
Now, correct me if I’m wrong but the one thing these programmes don’t have is any kind of link, however tenuous, to reality.
I endured one tonight called “The Apprentice”.
I know this is shown on both sides of the Atlantic but I can only comment on the drivel that’s broadcast in the UK, although I suspect it’s more or less the same across the pond.
The idea is simple: a group of self-centred, smug morons with the combined charisma of a carrot try to get a job with a major industrialist.
In Britain its Alan Sugar, one of the most brilliant businessmen of modern times so I can only assume the show is a public relations vehicle aimed at increasing his profile. He comes out with an enhanced reputation and they emerge looking exactly what they are…fucking hopeless.
They’re given a series of tasks that they complete with varying degrees of incompetence and the one who shows even one iota of business acumen wins.
Once “employed” they’re probably tucked away in a corner of his business empire where they can cause the least damage with a group of handpicked employees who are self-controlled enough not to inflict any kind of physical harm on them.
Then there’s “Big Brother”.
This show has a slightly different format. The producers round up twelve absolutely revolting individuals, stick them in a sealed environment for a few weeks under the constant scrutiny of closed circuit television cameras and the one with the least repulsive personality gets a hundred grand.
This isn’t as easy as it sounds.
As they are all living advertisements for sterilization and/or euthanasia it’s too difficult for the programme's makers to choose one themselves. The audience is therefore required to dial a premium rate telephone number in order to vote for the dipshit who should be ejected, thereby relieving the executives of the task.
I’ve got a better idea, why not have a phone poll on leaving the bastards in there?
I’d be dialling show so fast I’d rub the numbers off the keypad.
As this is beginning to sound like I'm uncontrollably ranting, I think I should address the poker before I turn my attention to something like beauty pageants.
Just one freeroll was entered today as I figured there was no way I could improve on yesterday’s performance.
Oh yes I could!
I got through to the first break with just over 15,000 chips, avoided doing anything stupid and only called the all-in donkeys when I’d hit the board.
The second break came and went with my stack increased to about 60,000.
By the third I had nearly a quarter of a million.
To cut a long story short, I made the final table and at one point was chip leader with sixteen million. At this point I got bored and went to get a beer. On my return I was heads up! This was more than enough for me and I effectively gave them away and finished second.
For anyone watching it must have looked like I could actually play poker properly and knew what I was doing.
I only hope I can repeat the feat on the cash tables for my sponsor.
I shall return briefly to the subject of crap TV entertainment before I sign off for the day.
I remember a time when there were proper television programmes. Cop shows with implausible storylines, cartoons with talking cats, female newsreaders with large breasts and their male counterparts with shocking hairpieces.
With these nostalgic thoughts and, if any media executives are reading this, I have an idea for a show that will bring back the good old days.
It’s a talent show where contestants make sounds using parts of their bodies to reproduce well-known tunes and pop songs.
I think it’s a winner.
It’s also something that anyone can have a go at with enough practice.
A friend of mine can tuck his hand under his armpit, flap his elbow up and down, make a melodic fart sound and play “I Will Survive”. Not to be outdone, I’m able to rub my arse cheeks backwards and forwards across a window pane and do a pretty good “Smoke On The Water”.
Imagine someone with a Jennifer Lopez sized arse doing that. I bet she could do all four verses of “God Save the Queen”.
...including the drum roll at the beginning.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.48