I was watching a show in which two guys were trying to determine whether or not fake tan produced realistic results, so they strapped a blonde woman to a chair in the sun for three days straight, until her face blistered its way off her skull, and I felt a huge sense of relief when they proved that the sun didn’t cause women to turn orange, it just caused skin cancer.

I was watching a show in which contestants have to drug a total stranger and rape him in a car park, when the door burst open and my husband told me that I had to start looking for work because he had quit his job at the television station and demanded to be a kept man, “silk sheets, a terraced house, friends with the Beckhams”, etc.

I was watching a show in which contestants can only eat food that they have killed by their own hands, and during the climax of a particularly moving scene depicting a 23 year old aged care worker who had been left for ten days in a room with only a live cow and a large kitchen knife finally slitting the cow’s throat, but having to cut its eyes out first so it couldn’t stare at her while she was eating, and weeping as she tore strips of flesh off its hide while it was still alive and braying and mewling because she hadn’t killed it right, I started wishing I had some foie gras on white toast.

I was being bothered by a show in which an offbeat detective, who has precisely one (1) character quirk, but is funny and charming, and has colleagues who are one-dimensional caricatures so as not to detract from our hero’s thrilling charisma, and together they solve crimes by thinking outside the box, and I had just finished discussing it over various social networking websites when I received an email from a major network television producer who said that he loved my idea and would like to commission a series and, instead of reminding him that I was talking about a show that he, himself, had already produced, I decided to just go along with him and take the cash and then, after making my first million, I was truly contented.

I was watching a show that I was in, when the manager of the bank told me that they were closing and that I’d have to go home now.

I was watching a socially conscious show in which contestants compete for the right to marry a farmer who has been having a terrible time trying to find a compatible mate in his isolated country town full of women who say the word “cunt”, but now finds himself surrounded by classy city women who wouldn’t even mention that part of their bodies in conversation, but I missed the final scene, in which the winner is forced to fist fight the farmer’s mother, because the dog started humping my leg.

I was devouring a show in which obese contestants had to dance in order to win cash prizes, but were unaware that the show’s malevolent producers had created weak spots in the stage floor in order to make the show more hilariously enjoyable, and just before the winner was told that, in fact, she was not going to be getting any money and that she should just get a life and stop eating so damn much, my laughter reached the exact pitch of whale song and my lungs haemorrhaged, killing me instantly.

I was dissecting a show in which women undergo radical plastic surgery in order to make them more attractive to men (typically accomplished by adding a third breast), when I coincidentally resolved to start a fitness regime, for the good of my health.

I was watching a show in which a bunch of wannabe models train daily and nightly to become professional supermodels, but are constantly belittled and degraded by Tyra Banks, who is unaware of the fact that each contestant has been fitted with a set of acrylic nails that have been sharpened to such an extreme point that Jamie Oliver could confidently slice tomatoes with them, and they were starved of food, and starved of sleep, and fed cocaine to the point of psychosis and in the series finale, when they riot and slaughter Tyra, and the one who has collected the highest amount of Tyra’s skin and worn it on the catwalk wins, I suddenly became bored and changed the station.

I was watching a show in which two people with absolutely nothing in common are comically forced to live within each other’s immediate vicinity and roll their eyes until they bleed and retain permanent damage, when the universe collapsed in on itself, the rate of entropy spontaneously rising exponentially until all life, and everything else for that matter (puns, even in the face of doom), was reduced to an outright nothingness.

I was engrossed in a show in which fourteen year old girls, young girls, hot girls, girls well below the age of consent, are strapped to lie detectors and then quizzed about their sexual experiences, while a group of thirty-somethings sit around them, bent forward, intent, listening so hard, sweat pimpling on their foreheads, waiting for the words to fall out of the girls’ disgusting little mouths; “…and then he touched me”, and when the entire thing had finished and I got my breath back, I called the station to complain.

9 Responses to “Shows”

  1. phill Says:

    Hey Luke,

    In answer to your question, I think it does work. The different shows are recognisable in their extreme versions, and even when you lose the subtlety (naming Tyra Banks, for example) there isn’t that much of a loss in the message conveyed. Nice one. (:


  2. G'day Says:

    I love that bank show!

    Nice piece.

  3. Ljuke Says:

    Thanks guys. Lovin’ the feedback.

  4. GTMtSYA Says:

    I really liked this one- your writing is funny and unpredictable and very surreal. The “offbeat detective with one (1) character quirk” made me laugh, excellent satire/social commentary/so deep-ness/etc tbh.

  5. Onanist Says:

    I sometimes wonder how far away we in fact are from producing/watching shows with this content.

  6. pforts Says:

    beautiful peace. <piece.

  7. Michael Collins Says:

    Hey Luke, I just came across this piece while googling the sitelines edition we were in last year, in order to reference it for something. But, irrelevant tid-bit aside, this piece is awesome. Have you done anything with it since 2010?

  8. Ljuke Says:

    Nothing, it’s just been sitting here. It’s still probably the best thing I’ve written, actually. Now I’m depressed.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: