Recently I’ve been spending a lot of my time at home in my favorite part of my apartment: Couch City. Couch City is a wonderful place where there are no rules and no dress code. The only citizens of Couch City are myself and some assorted Jolly Ranchers wrappers. It’s where I can catch up on my favorite movies, get some writing done and in general just be the worst version of myself possible.
I was comfortable in Couch City. I was alone in Couch City. I was happy in Couch City. Until now…
Recently it’s been invaded by a sniffling, coughing human being who reminds me somewhat of the Capital R Roommate. She has only the resemblance in common, though, as her voice sounds like my great Aunt Rita’s (who smoked for 70 years) and her skin has become so pale that I can see through it to her capillaries.
Due to this tourist visiting our fine City, I’ve been forced to endure her strange, foreign customs. The most bizarre and sadistic being the one she participates in on Tuesday nights.
Apparently, in the far away land that she hails from (pronounced ,oh-ran-jay cown-dee) there are these monsters. Tall, muscular creatures that wear many layers of war paint and inject themselves with a substance that makes their features larger and more frightening.
Her whole community gathers around weekly to watch these animals engage in what can only be described as a bizarre mating ritual in which they attach themselves to the oldest and most feebleminded males of their species and drain them of their valuable resources. As the males wither away, the females grow powerful with their newly acquired resources and celebrate by making loud hissing sounds and toasting champagne.
It’s humanity at its best. As the males are now long dead, the females become emboldened to venture out on their own, in the form of handbag lines and charities for inbred puppy dogs. Some try to form alliances but as these creatures are of a volatile and aggressive nature, most alliances end the form of tears and abrupt exits from oddly well-lit restaurants.
Through clever editing, the producers of this program create tension and suspense over such irrelevant things as dinner invites and certain creatures’ choice of personal camouflage. These sad, clown-like aliens are often put in strange environments and forced to engage with one another for the pleasure of the viewing audience.
I asked the strange woman who had now made herself at home in Couch City, “Why doesn’t somebody put these monsters out of their misery?” and she explained that fortunately, some had already dealt with the matter themselves. That made me feel much better.
After some time had gone by, I realized that I had spent nearly three whole days watching this perverse documentary with seemingly no end in sight. After coming to my senses I agreed to safe passage through Couch City for the now recovering woman. In exchange, she agreed to her silence. For she shall never speak of just how much Real Housewives was watched that week..
Episode 3 of Don’t Take It From Us, a podcast hosted by Jenna Crowley and I is here! This week we discussed my trip to Disneyland, Jenna’s weight loss challenge and our deepest darkest fears! New eps will be released every Wednesday, so check it out on Soundcloud below or on iTunes!
Image via YouTube / Bravo