The Republican Convention of 2012 is now nothing but a memory, and only lingering insult remains, some of which comes from the good people who calculate television ratings. They were kind enough to let us know that an offering from TLC — that is “The Learning Channel” (what we are supposed to be learning is up for debate) — has emerged with higher ratings than the Tampa gathering. I’m speaking, of course, about that Honey Boo Boo show- a look into the world of a six-year-old pageant child. I know! It sounds riveting, but wait, there’s more.
At first glance the RNC and Honey Boo Boo seem to have little in common. I mean, if people want to watch an entitled, makeup covered brat who uses magical thinking to try and get away with bad behavior, it seems like it’s up to them. But really, Paul Ryan isn’t even trying.
I’d say the Honey Boo Boo show is just a raging success for those who have a fetish for boot strap porn. I mean, take your poor rural self and slap some makeup on that kid — Pageant Time! Of course it’s about as likely that your foul spawn will get a show as your kid will get that NBA contract, but what a great success story. You can actually make money off your excessive HFCS consumption and if that ain’t American success, I don’t know what is.
I just find it ticklish in a nice way that the Honey Boo Boo contingent, those taken for granted by the Republicans to always be in their camp, would stray a bit.
And even when Ann Romney made a concerted effort to reach them by providing strong poverty creds.
“Why I remember when Mitt and I had to eat our dinner off an ironing board. We didn’t have a table! So poor! So poor! Hahahahaha!”
“Not to worry, there’s more. Just watch the monitor.”
“And I’ll never forget when our 11th child was conceived on that same ironing board.”
“Jackpot and nailed!”
“Ann delivered! High five!”
But alas, this was for naught as the vote they were courting was tuned into Honey Boo Boo.
There may soon be many more Honey Boo Boos in the world, by that I mean obnoxious children — what with reproductive control possibly on the way out. What better way to make lemonade our of rape lemons than to pray for a pageant baby who might get a reality show!
It will be a beautiful moment in the delivery room. A beatific perineum with a Caravaggio-like light falling upon the crowning head.
“Oh my god, look — the baby…that face!” the grandmother blurts out in excitement.
“What is it? Is it a caul momma? Will she be a psychic?”
“No, sweetheart……even better! She’s PAGEANT! No doubt. Wipe off that vernix caseosa, girl! We gotta get you some Bonnie Bell lipsmackerson you.”
“Thank god it’s a girl. I woulda put a boy in the wastebasket.”
“I know, baby. Me, too.”
Will this group continue to go for politicians who sell them out? It’s hard to say when they are carving out their own destinies, distinct from the faux poverty striken Ann Romneys of the world. It will be hilarious to watch the politicians wonder why those who made knee-jerk decisions against their own interest opt for shiny objects to stare at instead of foaming at the mouth like stupid trained attack dogs. This is beautiful and subtle comedy.
But me — I’ll be doing what any properly motivated American should be doing during the Democratic Convention.
That is, watching House Hunter’s International, doing shots each time the American woman says “there’s not enough square footage here” or “this kitchen is really small.”
Because it’s a pageant of the absurd and deep down we all know it.
Posted: Wednesday, 5 September 2012