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6:23 a.m. - 2005-07-22

I'M GLAD MY PARENTS BELIEVED IN ELECTRO-SHOCK THERAPY


I keep forgetting to post my opinion on this new wacky TV show "Brat Camp" which I'm sure has sent many of you in a tizzy because you depend on my opinion in order to shape your own opinions and I can't really say I blame you because I am one opinionistic sonofagun.

I like it, but I'm disappointed in it.

Now, it occurs to me that not all of you revolve your life around television programming like myself so it might be imperative that I provide a recap of the show's premise in order for you to not become bored immediately and start picking your nose and smearing the results on your monitor like a brain-damaged chimp.

You've got ... I dunno ... let's say 10 teenagers.

Each of these teenagers are driving their parents crazier than Mariah Carey.

Most are strung out on drugs. Some drink too much. Others are sleeping with any hairy truck driver that happens to look at them twice.

And apparently, there's a shitload of hairy truck drivers out there because one girl freely admits that her vagina looks like a bucket full of discarded chicken skin.

So their parents get these postcards in the mail that say "Kids driving ya crazy? Send 'em off to a remote spot in the desert where they'll freak out and be taught how to respect you."

BAM!

The kids have a one way ticket to the Oregon desert.

So far, so good in my book. I hunker down with a bowl of Chubby Hubby in front of my TV, ready to watch some kids detox while getting the holy shit beat out of them by a bunch of ex-cons in the desert where nobody can hear them scream.

I mean ... that's good television in my opinion.

But here's where the disappointment comes in.

The "counselors" at Brat Camp are ... total freakin' wimps.

You've got this kid Frank who's prone to violent outbursts. In his audition video ... his freakin' audition video ... he's punching out the cameraman who's trying to film him.

Naturally, people tune in each week to see Frank lose a few more teeth courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Brass Knuckles.

But instead, we're treated to counselors who all have names like "Peaceful Eagle" and "Running Mountain Bear" and "Timid Germophobe".

And rather than beating on Frank like he's a dirty rug, they taaaalk to Frank and try to get him to dig deep inside himself to discover why he's violent.

ANSWER: His daddy left him at a young age and that's the manifestation of his anger. We at home already know this because his mother told us. But Frank hasn't figured it out yet.

There's also this 15 year-old kid named Jada who's a compulsive liar. She's the most fun to watch because she's constantly bitching that her hair's falling out due to the stress of this Brat Camp. She also wrote a letter home to her parents that ended with something more funny than anything I've ever written ... "I'm going to end the letter here because my hand is broken."

She also took a dump near the camp in the weeds and wouldn't admit to it for a while until she was tricked into admitting it and then on national television, we got a pixellated image of her poop along with the information that Jada poops wherever she wants to.

I don't think Jada's parents will have to worry about any unwanted boys hanging around outside her bedroom window anymore now that she's known around the world as the phantom dooker.

So the show revolves around each of these kids slowly coming to terms with why they are the way they are and then they have a major breakthrough and everything's peachy keen and they go home where they're good for a few weeks and then one night they slit their mother's throats for sending them to live in the wilderness with a guy named "Dancing Hamster Anus".

I'll probably continue to keep watching the show but the outcome is obvious ... each of the kids will have learned their lesson and they'll be smiling finally and their hair will be all combed in the reunion special that will air because the show's a bonafide hit and any time a reality show does decently, there's a reunion show at the end of the season because we as Americans have trouble letting go of our reality TV stars when the time comes.

Plus, there's always a chance that "Dancing Bear With Inflamed Prostate" might freak out and pummel Frank for eating one serving of oatmeal too many.

A man ... can dream.

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