Attention to all appropriate personnel:
In my continuing effort to attract and enrapture readers with my bi-monthly musings, I would like to unveil my new policy in regards to potential content. No longer am I satisfied with writing columns about tales of everyday loss, struggle and sadness. Plain old suffering just won't cut it anymore. I want to make a glittery appeal to my readers by supplying them with the atypical anguish that they truly desire. They might not realize that they crave it or even want it, but take it from a bonafide media guru: they will all gladly swallow every bit of unfathomable despair I cram down their eagerly accepting gullets, and once they touch their lips to the raw, sinewy flesh that I gladly serve, they will be hooked for life.
The simplicity is ingenious. The insidiousness is even more apparent. I only wish I could take credit for this brilliant marketing ploy. The truth is that I've stolen the idea behind my deplorable new approach from the popular reality TV show "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition."
If you are completely confused (or on the verge or slamming the paper down in anger from my earlier disdainful commentary), let me explain. On March 27, super sleuth Web site thesmokinggun.com posted an article revealing a secret memo distributed by the popular ABC program's casting director, detailing the producers' desire to cast families for the show's new season. The memo goes on to say that although they are open to any submissions for potential recipients (the premise of the show is that needy families are surprised with the home makeover of their dreams), they are particularly interested in households that are graced with that extra special degree of calamity that you just can't get without some dedicated searching.
The list includes, but is not limited to, some of the following allegedly crowd-pleasing suggestions: "Family that has child with Progeria (aka "little old man's disease);" "Home invasion - family robbed, house messed up (vandalized) - kids fear for safety in their home now;" "Family who has multiple children with Down Syndrome (adopted or biological);" "Muscular Dystrophy Child - Amazing Kid who is changing people's views on MD;" "Extraordinary Mom/Dad Recently diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease);" and "MADD/Drunk Driving - Family turns tragedy into triumph after losing a child to drunk driving."
Isn't it about time that horrifically-aged children get their chance at television immortality? There are just too many middle-aged, fake celebrities dressing like they were hip teenagers on TV anyway, and they could use some replacing. And can't you just picture the family bereft with grief due to the senseless actions of someone who had one too many, belting "We Are The Champions" after getting some fancy new curtains and wall furnishings?
As if those scenarios weren't ridiculous enough, the real coup, according to humanitarian/casting director Charisse Simonian, would be to find a child with "Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis ... (There are 17 known cases in US - let me know if one is in your town!) This is where kids cannot feel any physical pain."
I can't help but share in Simonian's blissful excitement at the prospect of finding a child doomed to endlessly cause themselves grave bodily harm without even knowing it, until they pass away before they celebrate their 30th birthday (the generally projected life expectancy of those afflicted with the condition). Now that's compelling television!
But who can really blame callous TV execs for pandering to our rubbernecking instincts? The show is a hit with viewers, scoring eighth in the network ratings race, and that was before this season's proposed all-star lineup.
This opportunistic behavior is nothing new to TV, anyway. "EX:HM" is just picking up where soft-spoken, sweater-sporting degenerates like Maury and Montel have left off. They are simply taking daytime television's mission of exploitation to a more inclusive audience. And personally, I was growing a little wary of the show building homes for needy Hurricane Katrina/Wilma victims. That's a job for Homeland Security, not "Home Edition."
So my only gripe with Simonian and her tool-tooting henchmen is that they didn't pick riveting enough storylines. If you're looking for shock value, then cut out the half-stepping and do it right. Here's what I suggest: Find an inspirational, torso-less mom or dad in desperate need of a small-intestine transplant, caring for adopted, Bengali twin girls brought to America after years of sexual slavery, and build them a killer den. Even better, choose a family which redefines our perception of incest and give them an expansive master bedroom with an equally stunning giant heart-shaped bed.
And for the season finale, there is only one logical choice. Be on the lookout for a high-spirited kid suffering from Ataxia Telangiectasia (A-T), a rare childhood genetic disease resulting in symptoms that are akin to having cancer, immune suppression and Lou Gehrig's disease all rolled into one. After all, there might just be one in your town!
