Reality television is amazing. Reality shows are the kind of shows where, if you can make it through two and a half episodes, you’re hooked for life. I could watch a camera trained on a wombat’s arsehole as long as there was suspenseful production music and an ad break right before he laid a turd every time. Sure, the wombat’s arsehole would probably have to be competing against a few other marsupials’ arseholes to really keep me coming back, but as long as the producers stuck to the formula and the wildlife ate some brightly-coloured berries and called each other bitches every now and again, I’d be suitably transfixed.

Yet hard as it is to believe, there’s a downside to reality television. I know. I’m sorry. I know.

Oh My God

You’re going to live in a mansion. You’re going to have a celebrity come and visit. One of those celebrities will be the very host of this very show. You will be woken up early one morning for a surprise challenge, although none of the challenges will be a surprise, will they, because you’re on a REALITY SHOW. Someone will go home before their time. Someone may even quit. You will definitely go interstate, and probably overseas.

These things have happened in almost every competitive reality show since reality shows were drawn on cave walls in ochre by firelight. These things should not be a surprise to you.

STOP.

SAYING.

OH MY GOD.

Buffering

There’s a joke that tells of a guy who stops dead still in the middle of having sex, and when his partner asks him what he’s doing, he says “buffering”. Similarly, thanks to reality television, I now find it impossible to make any crucial cooking decisions in the kitchen without setting a big letter ‘M’ on fire. I’m starting to feel like nothing is even properly suspenseful anymore without an ad break in the middle of it.

STOP.

TELLING ME.

HOW TO FEEL.

Dumb Rich Sluts

I really hate it when dumb rich sluts get famous, because then people might start to think that all you have to do to become famous is be a dumb rich slut.

STOP.

MAKING SHOWS.

ABOUT DUMB RICH SLUTS.

Except totally keep the ones about bony scrags wanting to be models, okay, because that shit is BOSS.

Drama, Drama, Drama

This is the pinnacle of the competition. This is make-or-break time. This is a turning point in my career. This is the most nervous I’ve ever been in my entire life. This is it. This is it. This is it.

Except it’s not, is it. You’re putting a fucking almond and thyme fucking crust on a fucking chicken breast. You’re singing a fucking Rihanna song. You’re re-upholstering a fucking kitchen chair. You’re fucking deciding whether or not you fucking wear a fucking blue bikini or a fucking red bikini.

My guess is that you’ll pull through.

The Word ‘Journey’, Delta ‘Emotions Barbie’ Goodrem, The Phrase ‘Bringing My A-Game’ And Watching People Drive From Place To Place In Barinas

Nup.