I have found myself in a position where I have to write about Honey Boo Boo and her show Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. I did not want to have to do this. I hate myself for what I am about to do. But this vulgar family has forced my hand, pen to paper.
Before I do though, I would like to apologize to the people closest to me for what I am about to do. I would like to apologize to the people in my life (my teachers, and my siblings and my parents) who raised me to be a young man of some intellectual substance, and to my rabbi who is owed an apology not because I’m writing about Honey Boo Boo, though she is burning a hole through the moral fiber of western civilization like the Devil through cheesecloth. No, not because of that. It was your birthday recently, and I forgot to get you something. Mazel Tov. Your handmade yarmulke is in the mail.
So, here it goes. I’m about to write about Honey Boo Boo. She is…hold on. I need to go throw up, and then think about the direction my life is headed for four hours, and then I’ll come to grips with the depression that’s led me to be able to even think about these people for more than two minutes, and then I’ll get to writing.
You can wait for me.
Okay. I’m back. I think I’m drunk enough to do this.
We, as a nation, as a civilization, as a genus and as a species, are so disturbingly entertained by Honey Boo Boo because it is the realest reality show ever produced. And, not only is it real, but it is, in some way, a reflection of the place our society finds itself.
Honey Boo Boo is funny and exploitive, and as we watch we think that TLC is holding up a mirror to a reality, and that reality is being shone back at us through cracked glass. It is being distorted. Elongated and crushed.
But what we actually see is a near accurate reflection, if only slightly blurred for dramatic effect.
Oh, this hurts in my bones to even think. Why is the solid crust that makes up this earth suddenly turned to liquid and sucking me in? I’ve thought about Honey Boo Boo for too long. It’s been 30 seconds I think. Someone throw me a rope! I’m drowning in the pile of crap that is this show.
But this pile of crap is us. The reason we get to laugh at a pregnant teenager is because sex-ed is less likely to be taught in the schools these people may have attended, at some point (I assume they had to have some level of education). Condoms and birth control are less likely to be used.
We get to laugh at the antics of a six-year-old pageant girl because we live in a place where fame is valued at any cost. “I’d love for you to exploit the stupidity of my entire family so we can make $4,000 a week and been remembered for two years at the most. All that is worth my family’s dignity. Oh, and if you haven’t noticed, we have a gay pig.”
People like to say that America has no discernable culture, but this is it: Us laughing at something on a big screen that’s laughing back at us. This show isn’t reality television. It’s reality America.
Oh my God. What happened?! Someone tell me? I think I blacked out? What did I say? I’m sorry Mom and Dad. I promise I won’t do it again.