I wonder if they serve sketti at Le Cirque…
Honey Boo Boo. Why did I ever let myself watch anything featuring someone called Honey Boo Boo…? I’m still pretty proud of myself, actually. For so long, I’d gone without watching a single second of Honey motherfuckin’ Boo Boo. And beyond that, I’d managed to completely avoid the ever-rising, fecal-filled tide of reality shows (unless you count Iron Chef America and Mythbusters, and please don’t) that is threatening to overtake the institution of American television like the limb-dissolving effects of early-onset diabetes. I knew nothing of normally completely dull occupations like truck driving, pawn shop owning, gator wrasslin’, or whatever the fuck it is those people do with the storage units, and damnit I was proud of that.
But then Honey Boo Boo came along and, like a welfare-collecting, cousin-courting, English language-murdering fog, settled over the American pop culture landscape, worming her way into our hearts like a wad of coronary plaque. When it got to the point where SNLand South Park skewered it within the same week, I had to take a peek at a few YouTube clips. It was right around the time that Mama started making sketti, a sad, sad concoction of spaghetti noodles, butter, and ketchup guaranteed to make Honey Boo Boo the world’s youngest heart attack victim, that I realized I had to stop and never again lay eyes on that cherubic little redneck.
What is it with America’s obsession with this show?? They’re speaking English and yet somehow the entire show is subtitled. The mother looks like a female, human version of the Michelin Man. This is not the type of shit we should be celebrating, this is an infomercial for why we need Child Services. When people make Cleatus from The Simpsons look classy and sophisticated, and we’re handing them a show on THE LEARNING CHANNEL, we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. But at least we got sketti out of this mess. We’ll always have sketti.