In the 1950s parents despaired of their kids corrupting themselves with rock’n'roll. In the 1980s those corrupted kids were parents themselves, despairing of their children wasting their lives on video games. Now the gaming generation has children of its own, and the new bogeything is Reality TV.

It’s not uncommon to think of video games as a work of high art these days, and rock music has certainly received recognition as ‘classic’. Is this because they are now mature forms of entertainment? Were they actually complete rubbish when they first started, justifying the fears of parents which these days seem so overblown? Might Reality TV become a viable type of entertainment enjoyed by thinking well-adjusted adults? Is it already the case, implying that the video game generation who think they are clued up and with it because they hate Reality TV have yet to realise that “they changed what ‘it’ was”? Reality TV certainly seems weird and scary to me.

It’s hard to look upon Reality TV as having any worth whatsoever; I for one get that TV-smashing urge whenever it’s even mentioned, let alone broadcast. Was this ever the case with Rock and Games? I don’t think so - they don’t seem to have evolved that far from what they’ve always been. By the mid 80s, most core game-mechanics had been thrashed out, and from there games started to mature with better graphics and relatively little gameplay innovation. The history of rock is lost on me, but from what I understand, the principles of the genre were all in place by the mid-60s.

Reality TV is about 5 years old. Perhaps the reason we hate it so much is because it’s still in the doo-wop/pong phase. Perhaps it will mature into a glorious artform with… um… hng…. hnggggggggg.

*snap*

Fuck it. I can’t do it. I tried to give Reality TV the benefit of the doubt by imagining that we might be unfairly pre-judging it, but it’s just not true. Reality TV is shite, absolute end of story. It’s not Rock. It’s not Gaming. It’s just a bunch of drooling C-list celebritards doing pointless stupid unfunny shit in a successful effort to make mentally deficient airheads laugh and spill their fucking White Lightning down their rotting vomit-stained rags that they slum around in at 3am after a night of being up4anyfink, spending their rent money on fags and shots of paint stripper and a taxi to Accident and Emergency to have their tongue stitched up after they saw a pisshead keel over making them spittle-cackle so much they bit into it, and bled all over their Burberry handbags filled with drink offers and used condoms they couldn’t leave at the bus stop where they got off with their sister’s brother in total ignorance of the wretched spawn they’d abort 7 months after they were too pissed to remember to get a morning after pill, and realised they couldn’t afford to raise a child and go to college so they said bollocks to that and did neither and spent the money on a Freeview box so they could sit amongst the kebab wrappers and Primark bags in rancid squalor whiling away their worthless non-life watching soap actors fellate llamas and sleazeball 5th-rate R’n'B thugs, head craning down to their arthritic thumb texting their despicable mates asking to blag a lift into town for another ear-bleeding night out binge blingin’ and washing their miserable fake plastic lives away down their rasping nicotine stained gullet, fighting petit arguments and sulking in a corner smearing their fetid crisp-grease stained fingers at Hello magazine but being too blind drunk or illiterate to do anything but trace the big-print cretinous manufactured gossip headlines and gawp at the tacky flash photography of trashy dead-eyed famewhores taken by scumbag paparazzi wheezing hot air into the shitstorm of meaningless fakery that is the shallow world of celebrities, spewing ever more utter garbage into the white noise of anti-conversation, like an airhorn screaming into a megaphone, being forgotten within hours, lost forever, falling onto one instantly attentive hoop-earring’d ear and slopping right out of the other one when the next big, new, hot, popular thing appears and glazes over the empty eyes of a generation of vacuous subhumans shrieking “I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE!…”