Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Honey Boo Boo


   Cecily is watching the Honey Boo Boo marathon.
   I am what you would call a big fan of shitty TV; shitty ads, shitty salesmen, shitty announcers, shitty hosts, shitty plots, shitty dialogue, shitty shit on Home Shopping, shitty infomercials - which I REALLY like - shitty news, shitty weathermen, shitty anything, I mean if it's fucked up I am right there to get a good gander at it.
   But this show is like watching hippos wallowing in a waterhole that is evaporating. Without the physical beauty of the hippos.
   It's a family of fat women who just sit in chairs and on the couch and look at each other and talk about how stupid the other one is.
   It's like the Kardashians except that none of these broads have a nice vagina like Kim does.
   On the plus side, none of them fuck niggers. If all the niggers were dead the Kardashians would dig them up to fuck them.
   Honey Boo Boo is the most observant of the pile of pigs but that is because she is only 4 and her mind is actually functioning because it is fresh and pristine. By the time she is 14 she will be a slovenly, food digesting idiot like all the other females in the clan.
   Honey Boo Boo is exploited by the rest of the family because they seem to know instinctively, as if by some miraculous intervening grace from God, that they can't eat her. So they have to do something with her. So they put her in kiddie pageants, the kind where an infant is disguised as an adult Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader so that daddy can have something to fuck since mommy is too busy living through her daughter to do anything adult on her own.
   It isn't like as though that Honey Boo Boo's father however is ever thinking about fucking his daughter. No, he only has eyes for his wife, the 400 pound pile of shit who gave birth to the other three female troughs of  liquid hay bales that also live in the house. Or I should say who also sit on the couches in the house.
   Physical activity of any kind is not on the to-do list at that house. Unless it involves moving fatty foods from outside their mouths to inside their mouths.
   I had assumed that these 5 women were eating all the food in the vicinity, but when they do manage to waddle down the road to a festival of some pathetic sort, it turns out that the whole town is inhabited by barely animate pink sequoia tree trunks that grin and say very very uninteresting things:
   "Ol' Billy, haha, he fell down yes-turd-day!"
  "Lookit what Jeb's doin', man that's funny HAHAHAHA!"
   "Ohh, shit, mah nose is fulla boogers agin. Dangit!!"
   The mom, whose name I do not know, collects toilet paper. Unused, and still wrapped, fair to say. There is a wall of shelving devoted to her toilet paper horde. There is another wall of shelving devoted to liquid laundry detergent. Unfortunately the family does all the talking, it's not done by an intelligent tour-host who would show the viewing audience around and explain all the deranged anomalies in a lab-analysis sort of way. No, the family itself provides all the data and so you are left to only stare and speculate on the mysteries provided, and maybe that is the allure of the program; to try and understand the un-understandable via a personal journey of quiet observation and introspection, like the journey through Freemasonry, or the Kaballah, or the mystery religions of Ra, Baal, or Dagon.

   It is my understanding that Honey Boo Boo's show is the most popular one on TV. I usually have an explanation for most things involving humans, the explanations might be serious, they might be ridiculous, but in this case I have none; I can't think of a reason, good or bad or sarcastic or even mean- spirited that I could offer as to why it is that this is watched by anyone, much less everyone. It doesn't even have any toddler and tiara pageants, which are always, for me, an infuriating half hour of pure child abuse and Sodom-like debauchery taken to a whole new level of perversion. But in the Boo Boo show, nothing happens AT ALL! Just like with the Kardashians. But the Kardashians are rich. It's almost enjoyable to see the rich being moronic because it tells the youth of the world that stupidity is no impediment to success. But this other family, the one in Georgia that lives in a house that - i kid you not - is 3 feet from the train tracks on which entire freight trains travel 24 hours a day, their only claim to fame is that they have a 4 year old child in it that seems to be the sole support of the rest of the walrus clan.
   One of the girls is pregnant. She is, I don't know, 11, or something. She has no husband and no boyfriend. She just got pregnant. They took her to a sonogram place and the first instant she saw what was inside her she was transfigured from this sour-looking imbecile to a radiant beautiful teenage girl, her spirit magnified by the sight, as was Mary's when visited by the angel. Her face and spirit were transformed from life inside a pig farm to life inside of the Mind of God as she looked up at the screen and as her dormant brain fired into life with the understanding that she was housing a miracle. This lasted 2 seconds. The sounds of the surrounding family pigs talking about meals past, and meals present, and meals future, turned her back into a sullen, lonely, confused, not yet porcine, teenage reetard destined for the welfare lines.
   The matriarch of the herd is so fat and Jabba-like the children routinely reference the permanent stain of what they call "rust" beneath the mother's neck-fold. I know; you are wondering "what's a neck fold?" You are wondering this because you do not have one. Boo Boo's mother - who I am now going to name Slarrgh simply because I have no idea what her name is - Boo Boo's mother has a neck fold. Underneath this wad of congealed Cheet-os is a brown, rotting ring of filth that the kids refer to as "the rust." Conversation sometimes meanders to the topic of how to get rid of the rust. Slarrgh, you have to appreciate, does not approve of these discussions. She sits there silently and tries to move her fat exhausted eyes hither and thither in order to try to get the orbs to scowl at the abuser of the moment but she usually fails at this, that is, she usually fails at making eye contact with the speaker because they are usually so positioned that Slarrgh would have to actually turn her head, and not just her eyes, to see them, and this she is reluctant to do because it would deplete the moment's sugar-energy that keeps her eyes open in the first place. The abuse is constant and is apparently the only topic that can get the childrens' portly brain-masses to become somewhat creative. "Whah, Momma, I truly do thaink that ifn y'all git some haydrijin pure-ox-hide and mix it with th' acid that the Alien has for blood and stuff?....that if you mix them two things thet thet would scour the rust ring rat owf! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" "Haive y'all tride puttin a blow torch to it, Momma? HAHAHAHAHA!" "Show the raing to Glitzy the pig!! She'll thaink it's truffles and snout-scrape the ring rat owff! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA." "Y'all aiver yuze a pencil eraser ownnit, Mawma? Ya mite naid ta get th' yerasure frum Gawd, since it's wun uv Gawd's mistakes in th' furst place and Ah'm thainkin' that it maght take wun uh Hizzin's yeeracers ta undo it, ore a fukkin mirikle deevice in uvver wirdz! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
   Slarrgh is usually unable to muster the energy for responses to these remarks and when she does they are very very lacking in conviction. She is too lazy to even generate anger. She will make some meagre utterance on the level of "Yew-all be qwah-yit. Yew-all don't know nuffin'." The children are never dissuaded by these mighty volleys of cleverly creative come-backs, nor are their feelings ever hurt.
   In the world of my youth this whole family would have been executed by the community in a coming-together of civic pride and unity in order to preserve the dignity of the human race. Only Glitzy the Pig would have been spared since only Glitzy would not have disgraced her species by simply existing. Ironically it was Glitzy the pig, of all the things of earth for the family to disapprove of, it was only Glitzy that the rest of the family was united in objection to. This was clearly motivated by the fact of the pig's comparative beauty and slenderness. Glitzy came, Glitzy was declared anathema, and Glitzy left. While Boo Boo was the most distraught by this decision, since the pig allowed Boo Boo some place to direct her life other than in pageantry, her sadness would have been ten fold, or at least more folds than were in her mother's neck, if she had awakened and come into the kitchen to find Glitzy, not frolicking about under the dining room table but rather on it, upside down, in a gravy-soaked kettle, crispy skinned, crunchy-brown and ready for carving. And this was very likely the real problem with Glitzy; she was a constant temptation to the family stomachs.
   Comparisons of the Slarrgh family to the Kardashians are made inside the mind almost automatically and without effort. The similarities are legion, both families are uninteresting, both families can discuss imbecilic topics for hours with no slacking of enthusiasm, both families live to cater to their physical and feral needs and the dictates of their limbic brains rather than the pursuit of intellectual and conversational excellence, both families look back with fondness to the days of prehistory, scrambling on all fours and pulling tubers from the ground and brachiating through the trees. The good old days when shitting in the forest was so much simpler than getting up and moving to another room. No dropping of drawers, no exhausting ritual of flushing, no tortuous reaching to the unknown and unseen realm of mystery beneath the buttocks to scrape and smear the efforts of the previous hour's eating for reasons unknown other than to obey someone else's notion of cleaniliness no none of that goddammit.
   Yes, life in the forest, the Pleistocene in full swing, bugs everywhere for the taking, simply reach out and close the fingers, fruit on the fly, no getting up, no going to where the food was, no, the food came to you. Eat some bugs, fall asleep, shit where you lay, move to a new cluster of roots and loam only when the accruing feces flowing from your ass began to restrict the effects of the cooling air over your furry skin. Slarrgh and Kardashian paradise of days gone by. But no pizza. It wasn't perfect after all.

   I have just learned via the internet gossip fests that the pregnant one, M'largh-gorok, gave birth to a three-thumbed creature having a vagina and not a penis, making it a "female." They have given it a female name and they are all more than delighted that it has two thumbs on one hand. I suppose the feeling is that this is a sign that the clan is reverting back into an arboreal existence, that its sojourn here in the 21st Century was just to have this new archtype critter get born, who will then breed to god-only- knows-what and the evolutionary line can then begin to revert back into the forest  where, having a plentitude of thumbs on every hand - no matter how many hands they might have - they can swing freely through the branches and shit without fear, for it will fall below on the less fortunate creatures and the Boo Boo clan will no longer have to arise and slog over to a new location once the shit accumulates around them to the extent that the sweat cannot evaporate. With this new triple-thumbed atrocity in the fold with no doubt ovaries swarming within it's hellbelly by the score and eggs seething silently by the millions in the swamps and steams of its primordeal intestines and having a strong family trait for fucking at the age of 10, the family's devolving back into the forest with thumbs and fingers and very likely tails aplenty will accelerate and cause them to vanish back into the mists from which they erupted into Georgia millions of years ago.


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