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| Necrophilia, plastic surgery, comatose programming are all on display for you |
The best tool in the hands of a silent dictatorship is an acquiescent media and a docile population drugged on celebrity gossip and TV programming. It is the latter that we shall look at in this series as we see how easy it is to create a brainwashed and ever dumbed-down general public using cheap and nasty 'groundbait' programmes.
The first in our series concerns the mental aberration known as 'Strictly Come Dancing'. Widely perceived as Saturday night mind decay, this mind-control programming is especially effective as it serves several purposes:
1. To take the average schmuck out of their dreary lives for a couple of hours to witness the sights and sounds of an over-produced spectacle.
2. To give celebrities who have nothing better to do, a reason to be in the public eye and hence increase or revitalise their flagging fame and increase their bank balance.
3. To ridicule and mercilessly mock the unwashed masses by showing them how the stars dance away their lives in pomp and luxury whilst you little people scrimp and save and work yourselves to the bone to make ends meet.
4. To allow a panel of smug, arrogant and exceedingly nauseating assholes to criticise and judge the antics of a bunch of amateurs as they flail about pretending to be dancers for a couple of hours.
The whole premise of the show is contrived and extremely patronising. Celebrities dancing in a ballroom is similar to the decadence of the court at Louis XVI and his morubund Ancien Regime. Whilst the Third Estate of France starved his nobility ate heartily off of the backs of peasants, artisans and vagabonds.
In our great country we see job cuts, pensions being stolen, wages being slashed and an economy deliberately destined for the dustbin, but that's ok because flaccid astrological reject Russell Grant is blubbering about like a modern day Nero, disfigured and dumb former footballer Robbie Savage is sliding around the place like a grotesque parody of of John Travolta or Patrick Swayze in their dayglo prime. The women are there to show off their bodies to the dying libidos of elderly men, and the men are there to prove that they still have their appeal to desperate housewives gobbling down valium to silence the emptiness they feel.
All in all it is programming at its finest: you watch it and feel completely inadequate, hollow and as brainless as a Hollyoaks actress. It will soon return to the airwaves for a tenth season in hell, by which point the British economy will have shrivelled to the size of a pea, and the underclass will become as poor as the inhabitants of the Third World. Cheery stuff I’m sure, but at least we have the stuttering, gibber-jab, ski jump jaw, Bruce ‘when will this variety show clown ever die?’ Forsyth, smiling away and making staid jokes to soothe our vacant souls. Can hardly wait for the next does of programming…
By Dr Green
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