Are you one of those people who calls in sick to work so you can watch crap-ass Daytime TV? If so, maybe you have seen a talk show called The Doctors, featuring former The Bachelor contestant, Dr. Travis Stork. Long story short, it’s got a panel of “Medical Experts” trying to keep a straight face while discussing “Hot Button” medical topics. I’ve never really watched the show, because I work for a living, but I’ve seen clips of it on You Tube, and here’s my diagnosis: The Doctors is retarded.
These ‘doctors’ are complete quacks. A week or so ago, they were trying to convince anyone who’s stupid enough to take this show seriously that it is not only actually happening but even possible that women are rampantly inserting tampons soaked with VODKA into their snatch for kicks. Not only is this idea absurd to the point of bordering on urban legend but it’s honestly impossible to do. I mean, unless you’re into fisting yourself or there’s some kind of tiny “tampon shoe horn” type device you’d be using, no way.
Today I saw clip on one of the blogs I read regularly where The Doctors are showing you how to properly wipe your ass. I wish I was making this up. What I want to know is who blew a goat to get this show on the air?
Has anyone out there noticed that Lorenzo Borghese, star of the 9th season of the semi-retarded reality freak show The Bachelor bears an amazing resemblance to the professionally morose Industrial music genius Trent Reznor? I sure did.
Trent “Nobody Loves Me” Reznor
Of course, this line of thinking gets me to hypothesizing about how fun and utterly twisted it would be if ABC recruited Trent to be the next Bachelor contestant. Can you just imagine Trent looking for his potential life mate among 25 assorted Type O Negative fans and would-be-Myspace-Porn-Stars diluted with a few blonde-and-brainless-cheerleader types? How much would that rule?
Again, it reminds me of this silly article I wrote for the print version of Ink19 about ten years ago (back when I was a confused, horny fan who hadn’t yet figured out what an utter fraud Trent is) called Dream Date With Trent Reznor. Good times. I wish that piece was archived somewhere because it would be good to haul it out for a few belly laughs. But hopping back on my original train of thought, maybe if Trent could find true love and get laid on a regular basis, he could write some songs that didn’t go on and on about how depressed he is and how much it sucks to be a millionaire rock star who’s probably turned more sex than I’ve had. Yawn City.