Television shows are primarily worthless crap. Networks are riddled with every concoction of cheap reality TV show imaginable.
Americans are fascinated with reality TV. We have become a bunch of voyeuristic Peeping Toms getting off on other people’s drama and conflict.
Hopefully people will soon start demanding higher quality entertainment. Judging from the popularity of Honey Boo Boo and Walmarts, I suspect that reality shows are not going anywhere any time soon.
I am jumping on the reality TV gravy train, and pitching a show to all of the networks. My seven member family is 85.7% female. I would be foolish not to take advantage of our hormonally imbalanced composition, and the public’s shitty taste in amusement, to make some revenue for our household.
Here’s the promo for my reality TV show:
Mom Boss: Morning Motivation for Bunch of Hustlers
Mom Boss follows one stay-at-home mom providing the morning motivation her four school age daughters need to get out the door in twenty minutes. Watch as this Mom Boss uses threats and bribery to control and mobilize her bunch of hustlers.
I will present the details from two of our hectic mornings to seal the deal.
April 7, 2014 – 6:40 am
Me: Hurry, hurry, hurry!!!
Everybody is in the car.
We are headed down the lane.
Me: Good job ladies. You are all going to be professional hustlers someday.
My mind pauses for a moment to allow the reality of what I’ve just said to fully sink in.
That’s right. God has entrusted me with five futures, and the best I can offer are petty criminals and prostitutes. I am sorry America.
April 9, 2014 – 6:30 am
Husband is in bathroom; door is locked. My glasses & contacts are inside.
(my contacts are -4.25 = no quite legally blind)
The four daughters are getting ready for school. I make two requests: first, for husband to bring my glasses out with him, and second, for ladies to watch the clock. We need to leave by 6:40 am.
After what feels like only a moment later, blind me asks what time it is.
Me: Hurry, hurry, hurry!!! (Squint eyes, grab coffee and run to car.)
Surprise! We got a frost. I take deep breath and embrace the challenge. Make sure all ladies are inside car. Open driver door, stick blind head out, proceed to drive down lane, listening to ladies exclaim, “We’re gonna die!”
I am squintingly focused on my mission. Halfway down lane, fear hits me. I slow down. Tell the girls that I am not so sure about this. Daughter No. 3, Ellie, age 8, reassures me, “You are doing so well, Mommy!” I mentally note her proper use of the English language, and I suddenly feel brave again.
About two-thirds of the way down the lane, through a frosted windshield, I see fuzzy flashing orange bus lights at bottom of lane. Put vehicle in park.
I shout, “Get out!” Ladies all scramble out of the car, and run down the lane.
Now, our lane is a little muddy; and, by a little I mean that it could qualify for a dirty run race. I see fuzzy commotion. Someone has fallen or dropped something. Most likely one of the younger daughters is now a muddy mess.
I wait until the bus pulls away. Turn car around, reverse squinty lane adventure. Go back into house with coffee. It now occurs to me that I should have used my coffee on the frosty windshield.
I go into the house, and notice that my husband has managed to leave the bathroom. Give husband extra squinty glare and thank him so much for his help. He notices that I remembered to take my coffee. I ask him how he is enjoying breathing.
What I have learned from all of this: (1) I should consider LASIK eye surgery, and (2) some of my Ladies are going to be dirty little hustlers.
Reality TV may never be the same. Could it really get worse?