Surviving daytime TV’s diet
By Sheryl-Lee Kerr
DUE to the lurgy, I have come to understand why some people at home
all day tend to look like their grey matter has been sucked out of their
ears by aliens. It’s because dumb TV ate their brains.
First, there are those daytime soaps which make people punch WORDS melodramatically at RANDOM. See? Just for once, I’d like to see people on soaps have a normal conversation. Although whether it would sound normal to us is anyone’s guess. For example:
Brad: ‘‘I DON’T know what WE’LL do.’’ (Shakes his long, blond locks
and frowns prettily. He manages to flex his pecs at the same time. It’s
quite a skill.)
Beverley: ‘‘Oh, Bra-ad. It’s arful.’’ (She pouts and waits for the
close-up. Her face suddenly appears fuzzy as though 10 tubs of Vaseline have hit the lens.) ‘‘I swe-ah there WAS milk . . . (breathy pause) yesterday.’’
Brad grabs Beverley masterfully. Not for any reason in particular,
although it does make his biceps appear bigger. He stares intently into her
eyes. ‘‘Well, THINK. There MUST have been milk there. Who TOOK it? THINK!’’
Beverley: (sobbing hysterically) ‘‘Oh Bra-ad . . . It was your
SISTAH - your sister drank it ALL. I didn’t want to tell you but ...’’
Brad: (wondering if his left profile is doing his manly jaw justice)
‘‘If you’re LYING . . .’’
Beverley: ‘‘How DARE you!’’ (Slaps his rugged face.) They fall into
each other’s arms kissing, the missing milk a forgotten memory.
The only problem with absorbing soaps while your stomach is doing
the lambada from the inside is that they do not help you keep your breakfast down. It’s thus best to have variety in one’s daytime TV diet. Like chat shows.
Take Jerry Springer. For those who don’t know, Mr Springer is
actually a highly intelligent man who sold his soul to the Devil. No, wait.
That was last week’s show.
He specialises in finding people in society where inbreeding seems to have caught on and who like to fight and cuss publicly. The crowd, meanwhile, is selected for its ability to shout ‘‘woo, woo, woo’’ on cue, in that deranged way of Americans in large groups. Here’s how their role works:
‘‘Welcome to the show. I’m Jerry Springer.’’
Crowd: ‘‘Woo, woo, woo.’’
Springer: ‘‘My first guest is . . .’’
Crowd: ‘‘Woo, woo, woo.’’
Springer: (beyond caring) ‘‘Whatever . . .’’
Crowd: ‘‘Woo, woo, woo.’’
Now, chat shows can be educational. Here’s what I learnt from the
Springer show last week: if you kiss the lesbian you’re cheating with in the
office, chances are that another woman will spot it and take you on
television to rip your top off; also uppercuts are more effective than jabs or hairpulling; and it’s a really bad idea to wear a wig on Jerry Springer.
Not that long-term exposure to these shows warps you or messes with
your head or anything.
Ha! As if. Woo, woo, woo.
© Sheryl-Lee Kerr & The Advertiser, 30 MAY 2000