Ugly... fecund... boiling...

I saw this show called The Hills over the weekend. My roommate is fond of it as, “the chicks are hot.” I have decided that this program is the official nadir of American culture.

As far as I can tell, it’s some sort of reality show where cameras follow around rich kids from Beverly Hills and document their insignificant drama, which is comprised of the things people think are important when they’re in high school. I do my best to forget those years and I certainly don’t want to vicariously experience anyone else’s.

I cannot support this trend of making rich people famous simply because they’re rich. They don’t act, sing, write, dance, or even fuck on camera, thus there is no reason to make them famous. Never watch this show. Not even to feel better about your own life in comparison to the shallow lives of the blond robots on The Hills (which is clearly the point of all these programs—mocking and feeling superior even though we struggle to pay bills and may never get to have sex with anything so blond and stupid).

I need to fly a plane full of napalm over Beverly Hills and let the fire drop, spread, burn.