The Extra Short Orange Running Mate

Washed Up Reality Television Star Expresses Ambitions While Being Oblivious To Reality

New York (AP) With the Democratic National Convention getting started this week, and Hillary Clinton often going on and on about what she calls “her precious”, all eyes are on Philadelphia, where the party will be giving the former Secretary of State what she has always wanted- the nomination for the presidency and her ticket to power. There has been much speculation as to who Clinton would be designating as her Vice President. Some more cynical observers have noted that the Vice President would be far more important than usual given the inevitable impeachment of President Clinton (the Second).

Numerous Democrats have been jockeying for the position, while party operatives have been trying to push other names. Elizabeth Warren has been set aside, given concerns by the candidate that she would be constantly upstaged by “someone more likable than me.” Bernie Sanders, who gave Hillary a run for her money throughout the campaign before finally throwing in the towel, has been set aside as a possible contender, given the fact that the two dislike each other. Ultimately the task- and perhaps the future presidency- was given to Senator Tim Kaine of Virginia.

It wasn’t just Democrats trying to get the job. Last week, in the midst of the Republican convention, members of the press were summoned to a press conference in New York by an enigmatic invitation alluding to the Democratic Vice Presidency. Gathered together in a hall at the Javits Center, reporters speculated as to who might be trying to make their own bid at the proverbial second chair. Might Joe Biden be making a second go at the job? Or even odder, did Bill Clinton himself want the job? 

Finally a spokesperson came out on stage, calling for the attention of the assembled media.  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,” the woman said as she stepped up to the podium. “Without further ado, well, here she is. She really needs no introduction, because everyone knows her and loves her.”

The spokesperson stepped aside. Music started to blare- some sort of house music or hip hop; this reporter really can’t tell the difference. And out onto the stage walked a short woman with big hair and orange tanned skin. Reporters gasped, rolled their eyes, and found themselves wondering how a washed up reality show star from Jersey Shore could have managed to assemble them all together under false pretenses.

She was Nicole Polizzi, otherwise known to the world as Snooki.

Waving to the crowd, totally oblivious to the eye rolling, sighs of dismay, and shaking of heads, Snooki strode up to the podium, only to find that she couldn’t see over the top. “Damn it!” she blurted out, reaching up and managing to grab the mike. “Who the **** didn’t put a step stool here like I asked?”

Snooki came out from behind the podium, glared at her spokesperson, who stood at least a foot taller than her, and then faced the media, pasting on her vacant grin with the dimwitted expression in her eyes. “Hey there!” she called out, waving again. “Thanks for coming!”

“Are you just wasting our time?” one reporter inquired of her.

Snooki looked confused. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

“Because it’s a pretty reasonable assumption,” this reporter said.

“Look, no, no ****ing way,” she assured the reporters. “Am I the sort of person who’d waste your time? No, of course not. I mean, what am I, a Kardashian?” This reporter rolled his eyes, wondering what would be more tedious and annoying, sitting through this or sitting through a drunken ramble by one of the Kardashians. “By the way, are we broadcasting live?”

“No, we’re not,” one of the television reporters replied for all of her colleagues, looking at her watch, no doubt wondering, as this reporter was, how long she might have to put up with this sort of nonsense from a washed up MTV star.

“Well you’ll wish you were,” Snooki promised. “Because I’m here to announce my candidacy for the Vice President of the United States, on the Democratic ticket with my BFF Hillary.”

Reporters stifled laughter. One asked, “BFF? Have you ever actually met her?”

Snooki shrugged. “No, but what the **** difference does that make anyway?”

This reporter spoke up. “First of all, under the rules, a Presidential candidate and their team select a Vice Presidential candidate. A person doesn’t just come out of nowhere and say they’re going to name drop themselves as a Vice Presidential candidate. Second, you’re not known for politics. You’re known for a multitude of bad reality shows on a network that used to run music videos, for getting drunk and in trouble, and, to put it mildly, for being an idiot.”

“Hey, guido, don’t you call me names,” Snooki replied.

“Guido?” this reporter challenged the idiot.

“That’s what I call everybody. Guido, wop, douchebag, whatever slang term comes to mind,” Snooki explained. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I can bring the young beach going Jersey vote to Hillary for the big win in November. All she has to do is say pretty please, Snooki, and promise to let me be president one day out of every week. ‘Cause I’d like to send the Navy SEALS to bust up the Situation’s ass.” She was grinning with maniacal glee, in a way that suggested she wasn’t quite playing with a full deck.

“You can’t be serious,” another reporter objected.

“Of course I am,” Snooki declared. “And you know what else I can do as Vice President. Say Hillary needs Bill outta her hair? I can keep the First Dude distracted. Pretty much the same way Monica kept him distracted. I really am the perfect choice for the job. I’ve got attitude, street smarts, a great rep with all the hip people, and I’ve got orange skin. I can be the anti-Trump. Anyway, that’s my announcement. Hillary, have your people call my people, and we’ll do lunch!”

She left the stage, and reporters found themselves snickering, sighing, shaking their heads, and wondering if they’d woken up in some pocket universe where reality had gone haywire. Of course, with the other party fielding a candidate who’d spent his own years in reality television, the world had already gone haywire long before now.

The last word goes to an unnamed member of the Clinton campaign, a distinguished older fellow using the codename El Cigaro. He laughed off the offer by Snooki. “You know, as much as I’d enjoy being distracted... I mean, as much as Bill would enjoy being distracted by Snooki in that fashion, her bein’ the Vice Presidential candidate? It just isn’t gonna happen. Hillary, or the ol’ ball and chain as I like to call her, shook her head, said something like, Hell no, and then started muttering, my precious, my precious, it’s mine, they stoles it froms us. You know, between you and me and Monica, she might be gettin’ a little bit obsessive about the whole thing. Don’t tell her I said that, okay? She’s got me by the short hairs.”

My Money Is On Urkel To Die First

Some links to see to first off. Take a peek at Norma's blog for a couple of things she's mixed up in at the moment, including a contest and a giveaway. At Bondi Resort, there's a post about a place in central Ontario that I've never seen before, but you have to see it to believe it. And check out our joint blog for a Musical Interludes post that asks a question about a familiar Christmas song. Also, click on the photo-kitty to the right; tomorrow is City Daily Photo Theme Day, and I'll have a post ready to go before morning. Now then, every once in awhile I write something that makes me wonder, "oh, dear God, have I gone too far with this one?" Judge for yourselves...

Network Crosses The Line In Announcing New Celebrity Reality Series

Los Angeles (AP) Pundits and experts in ethics are discussing a new series announced by NBC for the summer season. Concerns have been raised that the new series, entitled Celebrity Hunt, may be lowering the bar for reality television even lower and delving into profoundly unethical grounds. Reporters gathered for the unveiling of the new series this week, an announcement by Ryan Seacrest, otherwise known for being famous for no actual reason.

Seacrest flashed that big smile of his as he stepped up to the podium. “You know, before we bring our cast out, I’d just like to thank the networks for giving me work. I mean, I’m worth millions of dollars, and for the life of me, I don’t know why. And I’d also like to thank the California legislature for passing the Removal Of Liability For Incidental Reality Television Deaths Act last week. It’s made Celebrity Hunt possible. Without it, the studio would never stand up under lawsuits for wrongful deaths. And since I’m one of the forty seven producers for this series, I’d be liable to be sued too!” He smiled again, as if expecting applause. There was none.

“Okay, this is taking things in a bold new direction for reality television, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve already seen things out there like Survivor, Temptation Island, The Bachelor, Who Wants To Sleep With A Billionaire, Duck Dynasty, Celebrity Apprentice, and Dancing With The Stars. Well, this one’s going to leave them all behind. This series is going to push the envelope for how far you can go, because you can never go too far. This winter, Celebrity Hunt is going to be on everyone’s minds. People will talk about this for decades to come. And I get to be host! Isn’t that great?”

Again, he seemed to be waiting for applause. None of the reporters clapped. “Well then, the concept is very simple. We’ve got ourselves a large tropical island, and the infrastructure already in place. There are cameras all over the place that will film everything. We’re going to drop our celebrities all over the island so they can be ready for the game to begin. Now without further ado, let’s start bringing out our cast. They are the cream of the cream of celebrity life, a real A-list of talent. First off, you loved to be annoyed by him when he played Urkel in Family Matters. Please welcome back Jaleel White!”

Jaleel White stepped out on stage… not dressed like his former geek character, fortunately. He looked around at the reporters, joined Seacrest, and muttered, “I really needed the work. There are these guys who are gonna break my knees if I don’t pay them back their hundred grand in sixty days.”

Seacrest laughed. “Isn’t he just a joker, folks? Next, from The Jersey Shore, we bring you Snooki, The Situation, and Jwoww!”

The trio of overly tanned obnoxious MTV rejects came out on stage. To be more precise, they stumbled out. The Situation bellowed, “Where’s the booze?”

“It’s coming, it’s coming,” Seacrest promised. “Next, ladies and gentlemen, say hello to Johnny Knoxville and Tom Arnold!”

The former Jackass star and the ex-husband of Roseanne Barr came out on stage and stood with the rest of the group. Looking around at the other reporters, this reporter saw the same look of disdain and befuddlement on their faces that he felt. How could such people be considered the A-list? “Do I have to throw myself off the stage while on fire?” Knoxville asked. “Because my doctor tells me the next time I do anything remotely resembling a stupid stunt, it might well kill me.”

Seacrest shrugged. “Next, we’ve got Hulk Hogan!”

The reporters sighed and collectively rolled their eyes. The former wrestling champion came out on stage, flexing his muscles and tearing off his shirt. “Whatcha gonna do when Hulk Hogan… what was the rest of that line again?” He looked at Seacrest. “I might have a lot of debts to pay off since I got hosed in the divorce, but there are limits to what I can do these days, brother… I mean, my knees are shot from years of being thrown out of the ring and bodyslamming four hundred pound guys.”

“Oh, come on, Hulk, you’ll be just fine!” Seacrest assured him, and Hogan took a place with the others. “Now then, for our cranky older person, we thought of bringing in Professor Stephen Hawking, but his creepy computer voice told us to go to hell, said he had important things to do, and seemed to think that reality shows are a blight. So we went with Plan B. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Joan Rivers!”

The octogenarian comedian came out on the stage and took a bow. “Hey, how are you? Can we talk?” She stood with the rest of the cast.

“And if that’s not enough, we’ve got more,” Seacrest proclaimed. “We thought of getting Jon and Kate Gosselin in for this, but they’re too busy screaming at each other. So we took things to the next level. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Kardashian family!”

Out onto the stage came Kris Jenner with her daughters Kim, Kourtney, and Khloe Kardashian. Kim, recently widowed following the bizarre death by meteorite of her baby daddy Kanye West, has been recently dating John Mayer. There is a betting pool how long that will last. Kris, the Mommy Dearest of the vile reality show pestilence family, beamed as she came out. “You know, I’ve always believed one can never have too much exposure. So the Kardashians are back and we’re a united front. And we’re getting ourselves in on whatever this show is about. I don’t know, we didn’t really pay too much attention when we were signing the contracts.”

“And we thank you for that, ladies,” Seacrest assured them. “For our final cast members, folks, this is a special treat. Sure, you might have rolled your eyes anytime you heard their music, or you might have wondered who was strangling the cat. But the music did its job: it stuck itself squarely in your head, from where there was no escape and no respite for your brain. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…Michael Bolton and Billy Ray Cyrus!”

The singers came out on stage, looking puzzled. They approached the podium. “You know, you and I ought to do a duet,” Cyrus suggested to Bolton. “Maybe re-record an updated version of Achy Breaky Heart.”

“Or a new version of Time Love And Tenderness?” Bolton replied.

“Can you line dance to that one? My audience likes line dancing,” Cyrus said.

Kris Jenner was busy waving at Cyrus. “Hey, Billy Ray! I’m looking for a new sugar daddy! How about you and your daughter come join the Kardashian family?”

Seacrest took control of the press conference again. “Folks, I give you the cast members of Celebrity Hunt, the biggest series coming your way this winter. Now, if you’ll all go off stage again, we’ve got some prep work for you all to get to. Real important stuff and all that.”

The cast members filed off, and after a few moments, Seacrest looked out at the reporters. “Now then, now that they’re out of earshot, the premise of Celebrity Hunt takes its premise from the story The Most Dangerous Game, which of course is a man hunting man story. What these celebrities don’t know is that they’re going to be the hunted. That leaves us with the hunter. We had thought of bringing in Chuck Norris to be the hunter. It turns out, however, that despite endless internet memes passing him off as some invincible warrior even at this point in his life, the truth is that his hips are shot, his eyesight is fading, his bladder is unpredictable, and he spends his afternoons yelling at kids to get off his lawn. Oh, wait, he told us not to say that publicly. Sorry, Chuck! So, well, Chuck is out. So we thought of someone else for our hunter, a really dangerous one. And one name came to mind. He’s already waiting on the island as we speak. He is the most dangerous being on the face of the earth, and I’d dare say in the entire cosmos. So dangerous he doesn’t even need a gun to hunt. His glare and his teeth are all the weapons he needs. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Fluffy... Destroyer of Worlds.”

Reality Bites

In another sign of the decline of western civilization, a reality show mouth breathing bottom feeder calling itself Snooki released a novel in recent days. That is, she and her ghost writer released the book. Let's face it, she doesn't appear bright enough to even approach grade one literacy, so you know she needed help writing the book.

For those of you lucky enough not to know, Snooki is a cast member of The Jersey Shore, a so called reality show in the tradition of The Hills, yet another show about vacant headed idiots living together Once upon a time, MTV used to play music videos. Now it runs reality shows. I've only seen brief clips, but what I've seen leads me to shake my head in dismay. This dreck is what passes for entertainment?

This bubble headed moron is Snooki herself.

The other day, Ellen DeGeneres read a passage from the book on her show. Apparently the passage she read (how'd she do that without breaking out into laughter?) featured a naked guy with a strategically placed cloth... that started to move.

Well, from the brief clips I've seen, I would suggest that the reason the cloth started to move is simple: pubic hair lice. These wastes of oxygen on that show seem to fit that part.

I have, however, had the distinct pleasure of seeing the entire Jersey Shore cast mercilessly skewered. South Park did a tremendous job of that this season, writing Jerseyites as obnoxious louts, and Snooki herself as an animal in rut, shagging anything that crossed her path. I think that latter notion is spot on, by the way.

What is it about reality television that makes it infest the airwaves? For years now, we've been subjected to show after show of d-list celebrities (emphasis on d-list) in rehab or living together under one roof (Celebrity Rehab or The Surreal Life). We've seen shows like Survivor, Big Brother, and the Bachelor and Bachelorette franchise hog airtime. There are shows about large families with cameras in the faces of little children all the time while parents gradually start sniping at each other (balding Gosselin and angry Gosselin, I'm talking about you).

And it never ends. Shows about bridezillas, baby mommas, teen mothers, non celebrity interventions, bounty hunters, d-listers desperately trying to salvage their careers (Corey Haim, Corey Feldman, Hasselhoff, I'm talking about you prats, even if one of you bit the dust). Shows about people who are famous merely for being famous (the Hiltons, the Lohans, the Kardashians)... let's face it, this one is surely a plague on all humanity.

There are signs of hope. After all, Sarah Palin's reality show (who launches a presidential campaign in a reality show?) hasn't been picked up for a second season, and so much the better. She'll just have to launch Phase One of Operation Empress Sarah, Supreme Majestrix Of The Americas another way.

I even count the so called competition shows that never seem to end and clutter up the air waves. Dancing With The (Has Been) Stars. America's Got Talent. So You Think You Can Dance. And the worst of them all? American Idol and its various counterparts.

How many of these so called Idol winners can you name? Exactly. The only one who might have a lasting career is the one who went right into country music instead of sticking to the tried and true Idol formula.

Idol panders to that impulse so many people have to become famous. From my point of view though, the music acts who last, who make an impact, are the ones who do the work themselves, who pay their dues, who rise to the top based on their own talents.

Idol contestants, on the other hand, fit into the nice and neat package set up by studio producers who drop interest in them after the first album, thus resigning them to the oblivion they came from. That's not how you make a mark in the music world.

Reality shows are a pestilence. A plague. Indeed, I'll leave you with this thought. Take the story of Exodus. Had ancient Egypt been equipped with televisions, there would have been no need for plagues of locusts, bloody rivers, frogs, fires, or death. God could have inflicted a plague of reality shows on Egyptian airwaves. The Pharoah would have been summoning Moses to his palace within twenty four hours.

"Moses, buddy! Listen, you can take all of your people, leave Egypt. You're free now. Just tell that god of yours to please stop airing Goshen Idol and Giza's Got Talent and The Alexandria Shore. It's driving our people out of our minds! Come on, Moses. I did that favour for you, remember?"