Hello, friends! It’s WTF Wednesday! »
Are you watching as much reality T.V. as I am? I’m watching more trashy television than I ever have. Before you get worried, it is important to realize that I am categorically NOT watching anything that involves the Kardashians. That is strictly Allen territory. Allen and Ernie territory, actually. For anyone not familiar (which would be everyone), Ernie is what my father likes to call himself. He would also like you to call him that. At my last birthday party one of my friends mistakenly referred to him as Mr. Shrayber and my dad looked at her like she was crazy before loudly exclaiming “Who the hell is Mr.Shrayber, man? My name is Ernie!” in his thick Russian accent. My dad is hardcore. And he loves the Kardashians. And talking about the Kardashians with Allen. Which is good, because I was always worried that my father and my boyfriend would have nothing to talk about before Kim Kardashian’s sex tape came along.
Speaking of reality T.V., who else is enjoying the hours of cringe-worthy entertainment of Platinum Hit and The Glee Project? Honestly, I don’t even know how this Glee monstrosity is a thing; it should be a crime to put teenage drama club members on television. There is just so much crying and overacting and “feeling vulnerable” that I don’t know how the camera people are not constantly dropping their equipment to throw up. That’s got to be a liability lawsuit right there, and the worst part is that it would probably just give these teenspians (I just made that up! It is a combination of “teen” and “thespian”! Now I am going to write a book, just like Teresa Guidice!) more fodder. One insufferable young monster named Lindsey (aren’t they always?) would be all, “When Rodney dropped his camera and upchucked into the bushes, I knew that I was doing something right. He was obviously touched by my heart-wrenching and vulnerable performance of Katy Perry’s “California Gurls.” She is probably going to win.
There is a better class of reality shows out there, but you’re not going to find them on television. For instance, I am certain that not even Logo (which runs basically anything, if you’ve seen The A-List or Setup Squad) would air this delightful tutorial on how to give an opossum a pedicure, even though it is probably one of the most entertaining things you will ever see. The video features jokes (“I said hoary!”), admonitions to never put false fingernails on an opossum, and best of all, five minutes with Pearl, the creator of the video, whose backstory claims that she was raised by squirrels. After watching this entire thing, I am not sure it isn’t true. I am also not entirely sure that this isn’t just Mary Steenburgen playing an elaborate prank on all of us (favorite actress ever) but who cares? The "Opossum Pedicure Song" makes life worth living!
On a side note, I have no idea how this woman makes it so that the opossum lets her paint its nails. I used to have to give my rabbit a pedicure and let me tell you, that was an ordeal. I would have to first trick Ms. Cleo onto a towel or blanket, and then swaddle her in it as quickly as possible in order to disarm her and make sure she did not take huge chunks out of me with her claws and teeth—once she scratched the inside of my arm and it totally looked like I had tried to slit my wrists; I had a lot of explaining to do when Allen got home—before pulling out a paw to check for overgrown nails. And even then there was like a 75 percent chance I’d get scratched in the face. I was barely able to cut her nails, let alone file and paint them. How does she do it?
In case you don’t believe that animals can be incredibly evil, I introduce you to Animals Being Dicks, a compendium of .gifs that exhibit our furred and feathered friends at their very crankiest and most evil. I particularly like the video of the dog projectile-defecating on the woman who has just lifted his tail. Yes, very disgusting, and it teaches us an important lesson: one should not go around inspecting the private areas of another loving being without due cause. This I learned in preschool as I ran screaming from my friend Luyba as she lifted up her shirt to show me what she had under there while we were behind her house. I ran all the way home and told my mother, who forbade me from ever playing with Luyba again. Which was good, because besides wanting to show me things I had no interest in seeing, she was also incredibly mean, always finding ways to get me in trouble. Moral of story: private parts are private. That’s all for this week. Please send me links for next week and have a non-volatile Wednesday!