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Virtual Reality
Written on 2002-06-25, at 9:13 p.m.
dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

1 Foot-long Quizno's sub

1 Peanut Butter-Honey-Ice Cream-and Banana smoothie

1 20 oz. Coke

John Live*

There's really no reason why I look like a manic depressive, I'm actually in a good mood.

*Not at all live

Cez17: i just really dont want all of these bad experinces to make me jaded

TresFabuleux: Ok, American Idols is on, I have to go!

Says John, in the middle of an emotion-laden conversation with Cesar.

I hate this show.

I hate myself.

I hate myself for loving this show.

But most of all, I hate Simon.

There's something disgustingly magnetic about "American Idols".

Perhaps it's the endless cover of Whitney Houston songs.

Perhaps it's the empathetic tension that many of us in the entertainment field share with the competitors.

Perhaps it's that none of us want to miss the day that a contestant snaps, and slams Simon's head repeatedly in the baby grand.

Honestly, I had discounted this show before the first episode, thinking of it as another "Pop Stars".

And did that show even finish it's second season?

Anyhow, there's something so different about this show.

Just when I thought that I had all the reality television I could ever take, here comes something to suck me back in.

As much as we try to fight it, there's no way we can get out. We're trapped. We'll be in it for life.

I guess you could say American Idol is like Scientology, only with a little less evil.

Also, am I the only one who can tell that Paula Abdul and Simon have had sex, despite the fact that he's clearly a homosexual?

It's so obvious, the tension between them is tighter than an Italian nun.

I haven't quite figured out how I feel about Randy yet. He makes some strange calls, but at the same time, he's the only judge that I've actually heard give technical comments, like performers being flat or sharp, when they needed to breathe better, etc.

Paula Abdul...well, she's Paula Abdul. I've met her in person, and she looks just as sculpted and done up in real life. Sort of like a creepy Barbie doll come alive.

I'm fairly sure that somewhere, deep in the annals of the Mattel corporation, they still speak in hushed tones of the night that the prototype code named "Abdul" went haywire, and escaped from the factory, leaving in her wake a trail of choreographed carnage.

And Simon, well...Simon is Simon. He's every auditioner's worst nightmare.

And God, if he's not just gay as all hell, I'll eat my Liza Minnelli albums.

I've always wondered what it would be like to be on one of those shows.

Want to know a secret?

Sometimes I pretend there are cameras in my apartment, and I carefully calculate all my movements, and even my facial expressions to extract the most emotion possible from my incredibly imaginary audience.

This is why I need a roommate.

Or a hobby.

Though all things considered, my life would make a terrible reality show.

"Tune in to see John come home from work, and go to bed!"

"Watch as John looks in his fridge, and orders a pizza!"

"Gasp when he can't reach the remote, and continues to watch Elimidate!"

Viewership would be through the basement.

Be well...


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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