Tuesday, April 12th, 2011
On my recent trip to New York, I tuned into MTV and all my questions about today’s yoof were answered in one fell swoop. Why is it that the very people the station are trying to target are portrayed on this channel as teenage mothers, insanely spoilt rich twats or people on a permanent vacation from life? MTV, I need you to do better.
Tuesday, September 7th, 2010
Me: Waddup Father, forgive me for I have sinned, it’s been a long ass time since my last confession.
Father McBangs: And what would you like to confess, my child.
Me: Well first off I’d like to confess that I’m gonna need you to get some comfier seating and put the kettle on, ’cause I might be here a while.
Father McBangs: Get to the point.
Me: Alright, are you ready for this Father? ‘Cause it’s kind of a biggie. I don’t know if you’ve heard of a show called Jersey Shore, but I’m pretty much addicted to it.
Father McBangs: And the problem with this is…?
Me: So, clearly you haven’t seen it. It’s about a bunch of Guidos who just party and fist pump and argue and throw punches, get wasted and sometimes sit down for nice ‘family’ meals.
Father McBangs: You lost me at ‘Guidos’.
Me: You know, they’re like the new breed of Italians. The guys are all ‘juiced up’, meaning most likely on steroids and they just work out all the time. Well, to be precise, their actual schedule consists ‘Gym, tanning, laundry’. They’re on a constant quest to get as much ass as possible on a daily basis. And they use an abnormal amount of hair products. And the girls are all like crazy, stupid tanned and have big hair, hideous make up and gaudy jewellery. They’re amazing.
Father McBangs: Sounds like quite the crowd. Why are you confessing this?
Me: Because Father, don’t you see? As you know, I’m a shining beacon of good taste amid a sea of shit.
Father McBangs: Watch your language.
Me: My bad. I can’t actually tell anyone I like this show Father. It could be the end of me.
Father McBangs: Tell me more about this ‘fist pumping’
Me: That’s how they dance, to outrageously bad techno music in clubs. They punch the air repeatedly like it did something wrong. It’s a sight to behold.
Father McBangs: Like this?
Me: I can’t see what you’re doing, but there appears to be a distinct lack of techno music in this church, so I’m going to assume you’re doing it wrong. But let me tell you about the girls. There’s a girl called Sami, who has a really annoying voice, like that of an eight year old and she constantly breaks up and makes up with her juice head boyfriend Ronni, who no one seems to have figured out is a complete coke head. Then there’s Snooki, who is 4’2″ and so tanned it actually defies belief and she has a weird obsession with pickles. Then there’s Angelina, who’s just pathetic and the best of the crew is JWOWW – like, she seriously calls herself that. I want JWOWW to be my friend. She has these giant fake tits that just defy the laws of physics and she will fight anyone, anytime, any place and often for no reason. I wanna be friends with her more for security reasons than anything else, I’ll be honest.
Father McBangs: Tell me more about these fake tits.
Me: Father! I’m absolutely Ru Pauled that you just said that! Listen, can we get back on track here? What am I to do? I mean, I can’t give up watching the show and I don’t want it to get out that I actually do, but the guilt I feel after watching it – I have to shower afterwards.
Father McBangs: Well let’s see. There’s clubbing, excessive drinking, possible drug use, excessive swearing, fighting and promiscuity. Yeah, the people on that show are going straight to hell and you’re going with them, in a hand basket.
Me: Dang Father, that’s way harsh dude. Can’t this just be a few Hail Marys’ and an Our Father-type sin? Can I at least get some rosary beads?
Father McBangs: Get out.