Our network does a reality chat show; and plainly put, it sucks my proverbial ass with realistic vigor. Some of the day's guests, like Jeff Lewis from Flipping Out (Yeah, I kinda love him a little... OK, maybe a lot!) and the Last Comic Standing eliminees, are great. They're sweet as network starlets and as easy breezey as a beautiful Covergirl. But others seem to be hoisted upon me, delivered from Dante's 8th circle of Hell.
Take, for example, my lead guests this AM, the cast of MTV's latest and not-so greatest semi-reality but mostly script 10-spot show, Newport Beach. How in god's anti-good name has the process of natural selection not weeded these braindead boys out of our gene pool?! When did survival of the fittest give way to survival of the prettiest?! And why... why god, why... do I still find them strangely charming and SexyBack-able?!
Don't hate me because I'm superficial. (Hate my because I'm a 13-year-old girl trapped in a 26-year-old gay man's ever-hormonal body!)
WeLCuM 2...
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