Open Letter to Reality TV

Dear Reality TV:

Fuck off. Seriously. I get fewer than a dozen channels, and you’re on most of them tonight. CBS? Reality TV. NBC? Reality TV. ABC? Reality TV. The Weather Channel? By default, it’s Reality TV. PBS? Well, it too is largely Reality TVish.

Reality TV, you’re not totally to blame, of course. I turn the TV on, after all, and after I cringe after passing each channel, I often keep the TV turned on. It’s sort of like voting in an election even though all the candidates are douchebags, some just infinitesimally less so than the others. I pick the least bad of the worst, at least, when you’re my only real television option.

But I’m so tired of seeing you. Last night, I watched The Scholar, for crying out loud. You know the show, of course, Reality TV, because you are its perpretator, but just to refresh your memory (filled up as it surely is with the detritus of five solid years’ worth of Reality ™), the show details the journeys of high school seniors trying to showcase their various merits and win a full ride to the college of their choice. It was the season finale. C’mon, Reality TV. Did you think more than ten people would actually watch this? Even The Littlest Bachelor was better than this show.

But I did watch it, Reality TV, and I think what we’re seeing here is evidence that you’ve really gotten under my skin. You’ve colored my judgment. In a way, it’s as if you’re stalking me (you’re fucking everywhere) and I’ve resigned myself to the fact and have decided to accept you. I hate you, Reality TV. But oh I love you so.

Reality TV, I’m going to ask you for a big favor here. I asked it in my first sentence, but now I’d like to be a little more delicate about it because you don’t always get your way when you’re blunt about things. I need some space, Reality TV. Now I want it to be clear that this is about me and not about you. Actually, it’s partially about you, but it’s mostly about me and my lack of self-control. See, it’s that lack of self control that should reassure you about giving me some space, because it means that I’ll keep watching TV. I’ll keep watching the commercials that pepper whatever shows you make way for, and let’s be honest: It’s my commercial-watching that really attracts you to me (although I think there’s some truth to your saying that you found my sense of humor and boyish charm to be a draw). So give me a little space, Reality TV. I think you’ll find that doing so will make you happier, and I know it’ll be better for me.

You know, they say that if you love something, you should let it go, and if it comes back, it’s yours to love forever. Let’s test out the saying for ourselves. Let me go, Reality TV. Do it for love.

With Much Affection,

Joe Couch Potato

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