MIDDLE-AGED SUBURBAN BROS

My apartment mate likes to watch the Real Housewives. In a very large part this is because she is Cantonese American, shy, and has Aspergers (it's somewhere on the Autism spectrum). So the show gives her a window into a world that she has never even visited: horrid rich bitches being spoiled, arrogant, dramatic, pissy, and, often, drunk.

It's like watching a slo-mo train wreck.
Or, perhaps, gladiatorial games.

She's currently hunkered in front of the television with porkchop, rice, and vegetable, enjoying the tasteless spectacle immensely.


I myself seldom watch teevee, as there has been almost nothing on since the Canadian vampire detective series years ago. Though I do like Bob's Burgers, and Futurama was often very enjoyable. I see myself as somewhere between Tina Belcher and Doctor Zoidberg.
Though significantly more socially adroit.


Watching the Real Housewives is like seeing the female companions and counterparts of the cigar smokers in the lounge at work, and it throws their escapism and self-centeredness into perspective. They have to get away and just be themselves. And huffing stogies with other vulgarians yelling about sports and Trump is the way to go.

[I have been told that taking a knee is treason, and Trump is the best president ever. Repeatedly.]

I'm surprised that there are no pizza stains all over the carpet.
It would have been in keeping with such manliness.
Machismo, armpit farts, and "opinions".
Plus shiny bald heads.


Yowza.




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