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The Ultimate Reality Show

By Brian | August 6, 2009 | Share on Facebook

Sorry I’ve been away so long – its been a combination of being busy with non-blog things, a dearth of short, pithy things to say, and a host of longer, meatier topics that I’d like to discuss, but haven’t had the time to write about. I’ll try to strike a better balance going forward…

So, while I’ve got a few minutes today, I thought I’d flesh out an idea that I had a while back when I walked by an advertisement for Dance Your Ass Off, a TV reality show that seems to combine Dancing with the Stars and The World’s Biggest Loser. Apparently, this new reality show has contestants performing dances, after which they are judged not just on how well they dance, but on how effectively all that dancing makes them lose weight.

Brilliant! If we combine these shows together, then there can be less of them, right? And then we’d be able to avoid them more easily, right? Certainly, this is an idea worth pursuing. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I present you my idea for. . . (cue theme music) . . .

The Ultimate Reality Show

One hundred overweight men, one hundred super-models and one hundred aspiring chefs are simultaneously stranded on a remote island just off the coast of Africa.

On odd numbered days, the men are split into tribes and asked to compete in physical and mental challenges, for which they receive either small rewards or immunity from future elimination votes. Meanwhile, most of the super-models are made to live in a dormitory-style house in which all the rooms (but especially the bathrooms and the bedrooms) have a camera. They are periodically sequestered and interviewed so that they can complain about each other’s personal idiosyncrasies. The rest of the super-models are made to stand on a stage holding cases filled with random amounts of money, while the chefs take turns picking cases. They are required to consistently turn down six-figure offers in order to continue ogling at the super-models, eventually settling for cash rewards totalling less than a hundred dollars each.

On even numbered days, half of the men and super-models are paired together to learn complex dance routines, which they miraculously perform with Las Vegas-like levels of competence, despite never having received any formal dance training prior to the show. The other half rehearse performances ranging from singing popular music to performing high-school talent-show style stunts, such as juggling flaming meat cleavers while whistling Yankee Doodle, or singing Les Miserables songs while caring for a dozen house cats. The chefs, meanwhile, are put into groups and assigned small business-like activities by a real-estate mogul with a bad hairpiece, each of which will raise enough money to pay them their prize money when they lose the above-mentioned “choose a case” game.

In the evenings, those who sang and danced are made fools of by a sardonic British man, an ultra-hip African American man, and an ephemeral, female, former pop-star who compliments them on their appearance and “inner spirit” despite hating their performances. Those who were trapped in houses or competed in challenges sit in a circle around a fake campfire and backbite each other, each feigning shock over the others’ attitudes before acting exactly the same way themselves when questioned by the host, Ryan Seacrest (for those who are unaware, Ryan Seacrest is legally required to appear on every new show on television, as mandated by President Obama’s latest stimulus bill).

Those who competed in the small business arena are berated by the real-estate mogul while his adult children sit around and watch. He calls the vast majority of them incompetent wastes of space, despite the fact that they earned just $10 less than the winning team at exactly the same task. All the while, no one mentions the real-estate mogul’s inability to keep a casino out of bankruptcy in one of the country’s two largest gambling epicenters.

When the judging is complete, all of the men and super-models are forced to eat meals prepared by the chefs. The chefs are given impossible time limits to prepare each meal, after which there miraculously appears multiple servings of each, as if the kitchen has some kind of Star Trek-like replicator stored way in the back. The contestants eat the meals and give hyper-critical reviews of each.

After all the food has been eaten (including a mandatory, high-calorie dessert), each contestant is forced to strip down to an unflattering bathing suit and is weighed on a scale with giant numbers, all set to dramatic music. The fattest men are then sent out on dates with the thinnest super-models, after which the super-models are asked to opine on which man is their ideal husband, despite his inability to lose weight or run an obstacle course, not to mention his obvious stupidity, as evidenced by his willingness to appear on this show in the first place.

Finally, millions of viewers are strongly encouraged to call or text in votes for their favorite contestants. None of these votes matter in the least, but serve as a convenient way to advertise AT&T’s text messaging services. Then there’s a results show, in which the previous week’s shenanigans are relived through highlight footage, a B-list celebrity makes a special guest appearance, and then all of the most-hated, least-talented, lowest-profit making, poorest-cooking, smallest-weight losing, and least-desirable men, super-models and chefs are eliminated from the competition.

At the end of the season, the last remaining man and super-model are given a million dollar prize and are married in a live, two-hour finale, with the wedding that is catered by the last remaining chef and presided over by a newly ordained Ryan Seacrest.

Oh yeah, and someone wins a car…

Topics: Primetime TV, Random Acts of Blogging | 2 Comments »

2 Responses to “The Ultimate Reality Show”

  1. Ilya says at August 7th, 2009 at 5:29 pm :
    Brilliant! I don’t think I’m going to watch but still, brilliant!

  2. Brian says at August 7th, 2009 at 7:53 pm :
    I wouldn’t watch either, Ilya. But it certainly feels like that’s where we’re going, doesn’t it?!?

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