Does Snooki have a calzone in the oven?

"I can totally store breast milk in here!"

Rumors are swirling that reality star, perfume spokesperson and all-around female role model Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi is pregnant with her first child... or at least the first one that was crafty enough to get past her daily banana and Plan B smoothie. So for a moment let's just ignore the implications of this somehow qualifying as national news (looking more and more like the Mayans were right), and just consider the possible repercussions of a Snooki pregnancy:

- The question of "Who is the fawtha?" makes for a ratings record-setting, 6-hour long, greatest fucking episode of "Maury" EVER.

- Next season, the gang bands together to convert the "Smush Room" into a nursery.

- When an ultrasound shows the baby is upside down in the womb, expert doctors use a baker's shovel to delicately reposition it.

- The baby makes a classic Jersey Shore entrance when it falls out on the dance floor after some guy punches Snooki in the head.

- Lil' Snooki becomes the face of a new line of Jersey Shore baby food, which includes flavors like Tequila Sunrise, Pureed Meatball, and Hangover Blocker.

Man v. Food: A study in indirect homicide

You've all probably seen an episode of Man v. Food. If you haven't, stop reading immediately, go to the Travel Channel website, and soak it in.... Done? You're welcome.
Now let me be clear, this is in no way an attack on the entertainment value of this show. Rather, it is an open question about what it means for us as a people that it's so popular.
I myself happen to love this show. As disgusted as I am by the fact that it exists, when I see it pop up on my channel guide I just can't resist. There's just something so alarmingly engaging about watching Adam Richman fill his shapeless body to the brim with quantities and forms of food that simply shouldn't be stuffed inside of anyone. The real problem is, I can't tell if my interest is piqued by how he will finish an 11-lb. pizza, or if it's something much darker, like the morbid curiosity of what it's like to watch a man slowly die.

"Why have none of you people stopped me?!"

Now in season four, I can't help but wonder how much time could possibly be left on Mr. Richman's cardiac clock. And when he inevitably croaks with a gullet full of Dagwood sandwich, aren't we all kind of to blame? Jumping from challenge to challenge has had a noticeable effect on Adam's girth, and there's no denying that in those inevitable mid-challenge moments when his breathing slows and the pallor disappears from his face, that he looks like he's in the early stages of a massive heart attack (they should seriously consider changing the name of this show to Man v. Mortality, because I swear if you look closely back at the 5-lb. cheesesteak episode, somewhere around minute seventeen you can actually see Death sitting at a table in the corner reading a newspaper). I know, I know, it's impossible to change the channel when Adam is plowing through "The Devil's Asshole" hot wings challenge, with his sweat beading so heavily you just know it's covering every last inch of his weird, lumpy body (that dude must have to wear Sham-Wow underwear), but by staying glued to the screen, aren't we all just helping to murder him? I think we are, and frankly, I don't know if I can live with this on my conscience.
As a people, I think it's crucial that we band together and refuse to watch this program. As fun as it is, I just don't want this guy's impending demise falling on me, and neither should you.

Next Week: An in-depth analysis on the irreparable damage Man V. Food is doing to our foreign relations.

The Truman Show: Rated X

While flipping through the channels the other day I stumbled onto The Truman Show on TBS (I guess I caught the two hour block that day where they weren't peddling some unspeakable Tyler Perry abomination) and every time I watch it I am even more impressed by what a truly good film it is. But this time, something else, something very different, struck me about it.
I thought to myself, with the unbelievable amount of reality TV churned out and napalming our brains each year, how far off are we from a real-life Truman Show? Honestly, I'd give it maybe two, three more years before some psycho heads to the office of a development exec and pitches a show that secretly tapes a baby for the entirety of its life. And don't act like you wouldn't watch it. If you soak in six hours of Teen Mom every week, you'd watch this. But this notion struck me with another, much more troubling question; just how much gratuitous self pleasuring must there have been in the taping of The Truman Show?!

"I swear I can feel their eyes on me..."

Think about it, throughout the film, tons of loyal viewers are shown glued to their television sets, addicted to even the smallest minutia of Truman's life. Now think back to ten or so years earlier, when Truman was but a budding young man in the frenzy of pubescent transformation. Now, if Truman is anything like every other boy in the world, around age thirteen his most prominent pastime quickly shifted from after school cartoons to just completely annihilating himself, often several times a day. And if in fact this was the case, logic says that for a large chunk of years in the long-running 24/7 broadcast of his life, the viewers were watching young Truman come home from school, lock himself in his room, and work over his not-yet-fully-grown wang like he was pumping it for information (and what the ratings did in said years would really say a lot about who the show's core viewership really was).
For shame you fictional perverts, for shame.
Anyway, sorry for ruining The Truman Show for you, but if I have to deal with these questions, so should you.

What did NY do to deserve this?!

We have A LOT of totally important things to say.

In keeping with my "reality television fuels a blinding anger inside me that cannot be quelled" theme (note my past postings on the Jersey Shore), I thought I'd address the horrible fate that has befallen the residents of New York City: the arrival of the Kardashians.
I know I'm a couple of months late but I have only recently become aware of the E! Network's latest broadcast plague, Kourtney and Kim Take New York. And thanks to inspiration from the twitter post of a friend (see below), I've decided to dedicate today's post entirely to coming up with alternate titles for this televised hate-crime on the senses:

- Handjobs & the City (compliments of Erin LaRosa)
- Kourtney and Kim kan't read but they'll buy the shit out of some shoes
- Native American Karma (this is for white people buying Manhattan for 3 pogs and a snap bracelet)
- Empire State of mind-numbing reality horse shit that will surely be the end of us all
- Start spreading the news and crabs
- The City that never sleeps with Ray J and tapes it, at least not again...
- What? Like 9/11 wasn't bad enough?

Leave some of your own suggestions in the comment section!