I really miss Mr. Rogers.

I started reading D.J. Paris’ blog this morning.  He is a snarky, well-intentioned, self-confessed dork (honestly, who isn’t?) with a literate and waggish blog.  He made an otherwise unproductive morning even less productive—but at least I had a giggle.

I have my own snark to vent this morning.  It is simply this: hey, internet—stop making stupid people famous!  It’s like television executives are at their weekly meetings saying, “Hey—that’s a thing.  Let’s make a show about it!”

I swear to Christ, I will be overjoyed when I stop seeing the damn Kardashians on every magazine cover.  Never has a family with less moral fiber and more inanity been put on public display.  I am no model of moral turpitude.  Honestly, y’all, one of my lifetime goals is to piss enough people off to have the Westboro Baptist Church protest me.  That would be awesome.  But I digress.  I am convinced that the fame (infamy?) of the Kardashian clan is one of the seven signs of Armageddon.  I tried watching an episode of the Kardashians.  My brain started crawling out of my ears in protest. I had to watch four straight episodes of Into the Wormhole in order to regain a sense of proportion and keep my grey matter intact. The only saving grace in this whole surreal non-reality is that previous overrated fame whore Paris Hilton seems to have stepped out of the limelight.

And Honey Boo-Boo—WTF?!  The child is seven, for the love of God, and she has a hitherto-unknown version of English.  I live in Georgia.  I have a brain (at least that part which I didn’t kill off with collegiate, alcohol-fueled antics) and these idiots are some of the scariest ambassadors for an already beleaguered state. We could have televised a biography of the many brilliant and capable people that hail from Georgia; for example, Deforest Kelley, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Ray Charles, or Alice Walker.  Nope.  We chose an illiterate exemplar of Southern humanity instead.  Way to go, TLC.  What exactly are we supposed to learn from this show?

Jersey Shore, My Super Sweet 16, Bad Girls Club, ad nauseum.  When did it become not only normal, but desirable, to act like a succubus in heroin withdrawal?  Most of these people just need a good ass kicking.  Or maybe we can make justified homicide legal, a la The Purge.  It wouldn’t be so bad if there were just a few of these inaccurately-labeled “reality” shows on television.  The problem is that there seem to be more and more of them every season.  

There are a few of these shows that have some artistic or entertainment value.  I will freely admit to being a Top Chef whore.  Partially because Michael Voltaggio is frankly yummy (if a bit of a tool) and partially because the cheftestants (barf) must possess actual talent to be considered.  I also have a minor Deadliest Catch and American Pickers addiction.  But as television goes further and further into the land of heinous crap moronic buffoonery, I will dive further into Doctor Who, House of Cards, and Downton Abbey reruns.  I know I am not alone. At least, dear God, I hope so.