Now I'm not a big city lawyer (ok so I'm not a small town lawyer either but I always wanted to say it...sadly I don't own a waistcoat to hook my thumbs in either so you'll just have to imagine that too) but I find agony aunt tv distasteful in the extreme, traipsing these mentally, morally and aesthetically challenged genetic train wrecks and their (occasionally) heartfelt anguish and personal problems across our screens for the titillation of the viewer. I cannot find a single positive in the genre, from the 'contestant's' side they are being exploited, ridiculed and having their dirty laundry waved about the head of the host in a most condescending and insensitive manner with little pretense at ceremony to the derision of the audience. I mean if they haven't yet caught on that she is really a he or that all those explicit texts ain't from a mischievous workmate then I doubt even the studio lighting will be bright enough to penetrate the gloomy depths of their consciousness to where the knowledge that you really can't catch the clap from a toilet seat lurks unheeded.
The audience fair little better, regression techniques should only be performed by qualified hypnotherapists in controlled circumstances. A Few hunnert foaming at the mouth daytime tv watchers who seem to think they're watching a Roman gladiatorial battle instead of the smoking wreckage of some poor shmo's life cannot help them retain what little humanity there is left to them. D'you think they flush with embarrassment when they consider the entertainment value of their own dirty little secrets? I wonder if their rank hypocrisy weighs heavy upon their brow, if nightmares of being exposed so nakedly in front of a baying audience of their culturally beggared confederates ever plague them, if they ever spare an empathetic thought for the human fodder that make up their light entertainment. Are people truly so blinded by the glitter and glamour of daytime tv that they will debase themselves so publicly to get their 15 minutes of fame? Or are they just incredibly fucking stupid?
The women's mags are no better. You pay your 80p and roll up, roll up your own personal sideshow of miserable humanity to pop in your handbag to peruse in private over a cup of tea and a slice of cake or three. You can goggle at the 80lb tumour, gasp in terror with the woman who married a rapist, shed a tear at the plight of brave little Timmy and then have your heartstrings plucked into a symphony of light by the amazing story of the orphaned siblings who unknowingly spent their adult lives living just streets apart. *Ugh* emotional porn, so much less honest or personally rewarding than the regular kind...
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