0 Crabapples for Mike, Lindsay, LaToya, and Chris

Switch "soap" for "absurd bullshit" and I've got myself a tagline...

I can self-deprecate with the best of 'em. I'm telling ya-- I can be stupid, impulsive, careless, and have bad hair and a fat ass all within the course of a tight 3-4 minutes. But I'm a shimmering beacon of confidence when pitted against the antiheroes of MTV's True Life: I'm Jealous. Good lord sweet jesus on a high-flying B-train.


I just watched -- platter-eyed and mouth agape (and you know how much I hate gapers) -- an hour of the shittiest relationship dynamics I've ever, ever seen. And I enjoyed every foolish second.

First, we meet Mike and Lindsay. Lindsay cheated on Mike three years ago and now she is a psycho-stalker, thinking that he may do unto her what she has done unto him. [The Golden Rule sucks like that, Linds...] So now she calls him 55,000 times a day, tracking his every move. It was hard to watch for two reasons:
1. Lindsay refused to try to amuse herself for even a minute with something other, anything other, than getting in a fight with Mike about what he was/wasn't doing. Poor Mike couldn't even scratch his damn ass without Lindsay wondering what other girl he could possibly be thinking about while his hand was down his pants.
2. I was having trouble hearing the TV over my own relentless chants of "Run, Mike, run, Mike."
While it was sad to watch someone as truly without self-worth as Lindsay, it was harder to watch Mike refuse to leave so she could go about finding it.
Mike, your hand sucks-- fold, dude.

Chris and Latoya's "relationship" sang a similar pathetic dirge. They yelled a lot; and then Chris told her to let him live his life; and then they yelled more; LaToya cried; Chris assured the audience that they "are not broken up." Thank goodness, C... you guys are so frickin' beautiful together.


Here's the thing. I do stupid shit sometimes. And I'm certain that I deserve a complaint here and there....sure. I give 'em and I can take 'em. But, if I was everever spoken to they way these 4 talked to each other on a regular basis, I would get the fuck out so fast that Jeff Gordon would hire me as his caddy (that is, of course, if he plays golf). Honoris causa kids, one of you needs to grow some balls and feel the sweet sound of the door slapping you in the ass as you walk.


I'd give you each a bushel of crabapples if you didn't already tote around a crapload of your own. Here's the incentive, though: a perfect pineapple for the first one to get the f out. Mulligan implicit in the deal.