Big Brother vs. God

If I had any street cred at all, I'm 'bout to stamp it out like a smoldering Marlboro butt. I watch Big Brother. Notice I didn't say 'I'm a fan of Big Brother.' 'Cause I'm no more a fan of this particular reality show than a junkie's a fan of the needle. But every season, I vow not to become ensnared in this game which rewards those skilled at lying and manipulation. Yet most every season, I fail to resist. My only defense is that I watch no other reality TV (though The Surreal Life has occasionally blown my skirt up, and that one where streetwalkers pulled each other's hair fighting over Flavor Flav was kinda funny), and I began this addiction with high hopes that Big Brother would be a fascinating psycho/social experiment. Instead, it's turned out to be no better than the rest. Screechiness is rewarded, combatives get the screen time, and the most dishonest among the contestants, by virtue of their dishonesty, wins.

I know reality TV is anything but. And I've known a couple of people who've been on reality TV shows, so I understand producers instigate much of the discord. But on Big Brother, I do believe I'm getting a realistic view of the participants' personalities. And brother, these are some skeevy peeps. There is but one contestant on Big Brother 9 I've found to be truly human (the now gone pink mohawked ex-gay porn dude Crazy James Zinkand), but the rest? Ick. And the ickiest? The one who mercifully got voted out last night.

Natalie. This blow-jobs-for-Jesus chick (tell me that's not Gilligan with a bad boob job) is by far the most pathetic character ever dug up by CBS. The multiply-abandoned, bible-thumping, face-humping, ex-stripper, ex-Hooters girl succeeded through use of such Christian tactics as showing the gang her post-abortion lactation trick and analyzing game rules to determine that while striking another player is illegal, spitting on them is allowed. She serves coffee in a bikini for a living and says she shows her body because God created it. The sweater meat, however, is the work of Dow Corning. The benevolent "I just want to help people [bust their nut]" chica took time out from sucking it in, pushing 'em together, and darting her eyes around the room to found "Team Christ," an alliance with a meat-head racist (as his also-a-contestant girlfriend announced to the American viewing audience), a googly-eyed poster child for circumcision without command of the English language, and an aging Penthouse pet who talks all the time and never says a thing. (Also boasts the biggest, weirdest bush I've seen outside of Hustler's Anniversary Hirsute Issue. And no, I'm not linking to it.)

With barely enough combined IQ points to strike a match, Team Christ's primary activities involve reading the Bible (lips moving) and scratching their crotches on camera. And as near as I can tell, this group is responsible for Big Brother, after nine seasons of free flowing alcohol, to have to limit its availability. Some of the churched up fights over the last beer are Must See TV.

But just when I was about to really give up on my embarrassing habit (honest!), Natalie's plan to dry hump her way to the top got derailed. So now the show's 20% less annoying and 30% less sad. But probably 70% more boring.

I need to take up knitting. Or a 12-step program.

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