Friday, December 20, 2002

Who’s a Sucker? Sure, I’m

Who’s a Sucker?

Sure, I’m a sucker.  I’ve been watching Survivor since it started back in the Era of Good Feelings, between the Jackson administration and Reconstruction.  But I’m not here to defend my choices, questionable though they may be.  I’m here to bring others down to my level, or at least to revel in their already being even tackier than I am.  I’m just now learning that Brian, the talldrinkawater who won the million bux last night, has two provocative subplots running:

His wife is accused of beating him, bloodying his nose upon coming home to find him, purportedly, asleep on the couch with a beer in his hand.  (I knew she was trouble when her little videotape for him featured pseudo-belly-dancing, and when she chickened out of eating bugz.  Come on girl, you’ve had more distasteful protein than that before, I’m sure.  And it hadn’t even been boiled first.)

But more significantly, as I was researching this very critical issue, I learned that Brian also was an actor in other reality-based features.  Which raises the question, would you buy a used car from this guy?  If you were gonna, be sure to check the glovebox first.  When I was looking for a car I took a test drive of a beat-up old beemer in the tenderloin; the grinning vendor reeked of hair cream and body lotion and told us that it was his sister’s car, they’re very close, just selling it for her as a favor… he popped the glove box to show me that it worked (what else is there to say about such features?) and a gross of condoms sprang forth.  (A “gross” means 144 of most things, or any number of distasteful things.) “Ooops, sorry,” he chuckled.  “But you gotta be safe, eh?” I preserved my safety by avoiding the back seat and declining the extended version of the test drive.  Sometimes you just want body lamination.