Fashion your own Julia Sugarbaker rant, courtesy of NPR. Before you read the text, make a quick list of:
a famous criminal*
an inexpensive retailer
a small amount of money
a breakfast cereal
an environmental problem
a popular gadget
a junk food
a reality show
a kind of candy
a sporting event
a historical figure named “John”
a celebrity named “John”
an article of clothing
a home electronics component
a chain restaurant
a city in the southern U.S.
a popular toy
a literary figure
You will insert these, Mad Libs style, into the text of the rant. My rant:
I would rather spend two hours sharing a plate of escargot with Claus von Bülow* than watch a woman who apparently purchased her intellect at Claire’s Boutique for three dollars a satchelful chase twenty-five men with biceps made of zinc and heads packed with Cap’n Crunch.
Because when future generations look upon what we have left for them, which may by then be little more than melted icecaps and millions of non-biodegradable pedicure eggs, I fear they will conclude that they would have welcomed bread and circuses if only they had realized the alternative was Funyons and MILF Island.
[sits down and crosses arms, but then immediately stands back up]
And let me tell you a little something about romance: Handing out roses like you are a mascot throwing Pixie Stix to the assembled hooligans at a cockfight is not my idea of romance. Romance is a man who knows the difference between John Adams and John Mayer and who is capable of putting on a pair of shoes without scratching his head as if he is connecting an iPod docking station without the instruction manual.
So do not ask yourself why I do not particularly enjoy a television show where the assembled male candidates represent romantic prospects inferior to the workers on the night shift at the Applebee’s in Valdosta. Ask yourself whether, after a lifetime playing with a cultural paddleball and dancing on the grave of Henry James, you will ever…recover…your dignity.
*or, in this case, a defendant in a murder trial.