“Bitch Stole My Look.”
Fresh off my Cee Lo Green head rush, I barely got the glitter out of my eyes before TLC unleashed another episode of Moms Living Their Lives Thru Their Babies, which for some reason TV Guide still insists on referring to as Toddlers & Tiaras.
I guess that One Year Until an Amber Alert was already taken by a competing cable access channel. Snooze you lose.
That sound you hear is all of New Jersey thanking the Reality Gods for the one hour a week that the attention is redirected from Snooki & Teresa and sent down South on a tractor to Mackenziiiiiiiie and Alaskaaaaaaaa. (Yes, that is exactly how all glitz babies are to be introduced on stage. One big drama filled breath and then a long fizzle out at the end of each contestant’s 3-5 syllable name. Practice at home for your next Sales Meeting. Way better than Power Point.)
Big hair. Bigger tans. Even bigger Moms. This show has been called a Mess. Can’t Look Away. So Wrong In So Many Ways. I guess some people just don’t appreciate hooching up a 5 year old like Mom does. I’m thinking that Momma Coulda Been doesn’t realize that at some point in the future, when sitting at the fold out table in the trailer going thru the estate papers, these little sugar buzzed girls are going to find that shoe box full of VHS tapes, and watch Mom say “She could have done better and been prettier and smiled more. She did ok in Glitz, but forgot half her age inappropriate routine. I didn’t really expect her to win Miss Grand Pre-pube Supreme Pepperoni Deep Dish anyway. There were alot of much prettier girls there today.”
This series has been reviewed so often, that I have to thank all those who have come before me for making my job so easy. All I have left to do is marvel at this world of Low Self Esteem Pageantry. I feel bad for the babies. I feel even worse for the left over siblings back at home sitting on the velour-ish couches from the Liquidation Outlet, while Mom and Dad spend what would have been their college fund to get SaraLooooooou a flipper. You totally know the couch I am talking about. Is that velveteen or what is that? It’s that fabric that gives you couch wedgies because your pants don’t move as you slide down to grab the Pringles can that fell off the coffee table. That fabric. Someone should figure out how to line the highway breakdown lanes with that stuff, and no one would ever hit the guard rails anymore. Safety first.
But you know who I really feel bad for? The hotel staff. It’s about time someone spoke up for all the little people who are left in the sparkle dust when even littler Miss Super Uber Preemie Niblet takes her 5 foot trophy and goes home all packed up in 7 of those plastic Christmas ornament tubs from Target.
Seriously. Someone has to clean all the spray tan spooge off the shower tiles. Someone has to pick up 97 empty Pixy Stix straws with one wet end wiped in MAC lip gloss. Someone had to set up 500 chairs in the Ballroom for an event that never has more than 61 attendees. (Why do they keep doing that? Honestly. I dare you. Count how many empty chairs are in next week’s episode.) Someone has to wipe 9 cans of Aqua Net scum off the headboards. (There’s a Charlie Sheen joke in there somewhere, but I’ll save it for later….)
The only thing that these poor staffers have to look forward to is the bank they are going to make bringing all those empty Mountain Dew cans to the Redemption Center.
Hold up. Come to think of it…that’s waaaay better than the $200 Miss Grand Stripper Pole In My Future Cause Daddy Left Us Supreme is going to score.
Get me the Ramada on the phone.