Why is my reality not their reality?

I’ve stopped drinking and its driving me mad - I’m now having to fill all the time I am usually pissed with doing stuff, and my mind just goes all evil after half an hour. The things that race through my head are unbelievable, and the mind numbing tedium of the crud I watch on the box keeps bringing me back to reality show ideas. People are making tens of millions of pounds out of some of the shittest ideas ever conceived - “Celebrity Twat Island” or “Fat bastard makeover - bikini edition” or “Please make my pig-ugly wife better”.

In fact having watched someone on that show with the annoyingly stroppy Scottish bird actually sit there whilst shit was sucked out of their arse live on TV, and then spend three whole minutes discussing why their shit was totally the wrong sort of shit I decided that things could not possibly get worse.

Well I’ve got news for you Gillian McKeith - watching some chav moon-pig from Scunthorrpe crap into a Tupperware box is a metaphor for your contribution to family entertainment.

Anyway.

The sheer volume of utter crud out there defies belief, and its unbelievably CRUEL in the extreme. Particularly that American one where the child abandoned at birth has to guess which is her “real dad” from a panel of seven contestants.

Anyway

Not having had much luck with my “Celebrity Duck Shoot” game show format [see previous post], last week I decided to annoy the arse out of the same production company by mailing them with my latest attempt at money and notoriety:-

In my letter I outlined three distinct reality formats aimed at three distinct TV markets:-

Ant and Dec’s Celebrity Spaz Farm
Gay for a Week and
Smack Island

I thought that they were all “dead certs”

Ant and Dec’s Celebrity Spaz Farm

What you get is thirty days of “Big Brother” style entertainment hosted by the cheeky Geordie twats from a hill farm in Wales, where ten carefully chosen celebrities participate for a fifty grand prize that will go to a charity.

At outset nobody knows what charity will win, and on arrival each celebrity receives two sealed envelopes; one contains a secret affliction, and the other list of traits that are connected to that affliction.

It’s a bit complicated. I needed to provide an illustration here.

Take Jodie Marsh. Say she had a card that had “Tourettes” written on it. It would then be her challenge to spend 30 days mimicking all the symptoms of tourettes. Somebody else, say that fat bird Abby Titmuss, she‘d have a totally different affliction, perhaps nymphomania, and she would have to spend thirty days mimicking that [on reflection it might not be too hard that one].

So you have ten different celebrities on a farm with Ant and Dec, mimicking ten different afflictions hence “Celebrity Spaz Farm” [its on a farm that is about the only farm connection I could think of].

Hilarity would ensue.

But .. and this is the good bit .. you don‘t tell the viewers what card each celeb has been given, and every couple of days someone is nominated and the public phone in to guess what is wrong with them.

If they get it right that celebrity has to leave.

Throughout Ant and Dec can only give away cheeky subtle clues to the ailment of a particular celeb [such as “Christ she’s spent all week hiding under her bed, do you think she's telling us something Ant?" or "Blimey, he's fallen over again!"].

Again hilarity would ensue.

At the end the mystery charity cops the fifty grand, so everyone’s a winner.

Not impressed?

Well my second idea was Gay for a Week

Here you take four celebrity married couples, and pair the male of one couple off with the male of another couple, and the female of that couple off with the female of the other couple; the challenge of course is to be “Gay for a Week”.

Once paired off each new couple is shipped to a specially constructed cottage in Hove and has to experience all aspects of life as a homosexual couple, via a series of hilarious challenges whilst being filmed 24 hours a day for a week.
Individual couples would be coached in the art of “Rug Munching” or “Pillow biting” by a team of celebrity homosexuals, and challenges such as the “Double-ended dildo race” would add a competitive edge.

The winners are the ones who after a week look and act most like a genuine gay couple, as voted by the panel of celebrity homosexuals.

I suggested that perhaps Des O’Connor and Melanie Sykes might be the most appropriate show hosts. [Des "Sit down and tell us all about it, that's if you can! Titter, titter"]

I really liked this but perhaps its a bit alternative?

Anyway.

My final idea was Smack Island.

This is a mixture of gritty real life shows like “Airport” and more competitive reality formats such as “The Games”

This show involves getting celebrity anti-drug campaigners to spend a week travelling between Kingston, Jamaicia and Gatwick via a series of budget airlines, cheap mini-cab companies, and people traffickers van’s whilst concealing copious quantities of smack up their arses and undertaking a variety of drug-mule centric challenges.

They would be coached by real “Yardies” on concealment techniques, and how to avoid customs, or bribe transport Police.

Challenges such as the “Don’t plop, smack drop” would test their metal by seeing how many condoms filled with pure Heroin they can retrieve from their anal cavities whilst utilising one hand to use their mobile phone in an NCP Carpark toilet at South Terminal.

To appeal to the kids there would also be “Sniffy” the drugs dog, who would be used to track down our celebrity mules as the competition progressed.

If detected at any time they are off the show for good.

At the end of the contest Michael Barrymore, and a panel of rappers would pick the celebrity most suited to being a drugs courier, and donate fifty grand to a drugs related charity of the winners choice.

I liked this, and it would create a better awareness of the seedy side of the international drugs trade.

Anyway.

Those were the formats that I decided deserved to make me rich and famous and as I sent the package off to them last week, I decided to call the chap I addressed the package to ask why they had not been back to me to snap up these ideas before “Someone else ran with them”

I called several times. Leaving my number on each occasion.

On the final attempt his secretary informed me that “He does not want to talk to you. He thinks this is a wind up. Please don’t contact us again”

Well fuck you Mr Choosy!

Next time I see some piss-poor, crapfest-of-crud, celebrity shit-box of a programme featuring people I never even knew were “famous” I’ll remember those words.