Dear Reality Television,
How dare you, and where do you get the right? We have had a long and rather rocky relationship, and this is where I call it quits! I have a question for you, and I would love to hear your explanation. What the hell happened to you?
You promised me the world. You were so mysterious and almost majestic when we first met. How could I resist your charm? When you first came around, I had a feeling that you could do anything! "I want to expose the truth," you said. "I want to change the way people see the world, make people want to help everyone around them." Like a fool, I believed you.
I will always remember the first time we met. You were in a house with seven strangers following their journey in "The Real World." I could hardly wait to see what raw truths you would bestow upon us simpletons on the other end of the old boob tube. And see What eye-opening things you would show us to make us really understand what happens in the real world.
Well guess what? Your perception of the real world and mine strongly clash, my friend. The real world to me consists of working a minimum wage job, and figuring out what I might have for dinner. Your idea of reality, on the other hand, consists of late night outings, booze-filled days and hot tub threesomes. Regardless I still had faith in you.
I still thought you had the fire and inspiration to create poetic justice in a world that desperately needs it, but as time passed you grew into a monster that could not be stopped.
Instead of a platform for common folk to show the world their hardship and beauty, you became a breeding ground for washed up pop idols to date 20 of the filthiest, STD-ridden women on the face of the planet.
It's a skill, really, to be able to degrade so many people, take the art of creating quality television and beat it so hard that the light at the end of the tunnel becomes brighter and brighter until finally its dead.
Reality TV, while you read this " if you read this " I want to make one thing clear: You disgust me and if you were to die tomorrow, I would not shed one single tear. Instead I would rejoice to the thought and finally sleep at night knowing that perhaps one day the quality of TV will be restored and your days of mischief and mayhem will become a distant nightmare.
P.S. Tila Tequila's shot at love