Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Gallagher. Noam Chomsky. When you think of someone you’d enjoy in a dance routine, which name springs to mind first?
Exactly. Yet somehow these people continue to mambo their way across broadcast television, because the brimstone of eternal nothingness burns brightest on ABC, the family network reanimates zoo animals in test laboratories. And no matter how much the thinking public pleads…THEY. WILL. NOT. STOP.
“I didn’t even remember I was famous!” exclaimed Ken Bone. Do you remember who that is? Of course not; he doesn’t even reflect in mirrors. Yet he’ll surely be on next season of Dancing With the Stars. It just won’t fucking die. Leonard Cohen died, but Dancing With the Stars refuses. Luke Skywalker died! David Bowie fucking died, and this bullshit program continues to thrust Alfonso Ribeiro’s flamenco ballsack into my face every Wednesday night. Why is Prince dead and this is still on the air?! Because Tonya Harding, that’s why.
No matter who wins the big show, you’re the big winners television fans. You tune in, you vote for flailing Z-list entertainers, and you use Tide pods for laundry instead of midday snacking. Enjoy watching Coolio do the Cupid Shuffle. I’m going to use my Tide pods properly.