Shock And Or

There are many ways to lose weight. You can eat sensibly and exercise. You can shave with a bacon slicer. You can crawl on bended hands and knees to the producers of a reality television show and have those things done to you for our entertainment.

Or, you can go into slight hysteria and then start vomiting at what's on Channel 9.

Dance Your Ass Off is obviously intended to induce instant and cataclysmic bulimia. I can explain it no other way. I thought there was a good chance I would love it. It has everything, after all; The legalised torture of fattys. People falling over. Lardos in high-pressure situations. Music.

But no. It’s just too much. Too much of everything. Too much of that hostess made out of the mostest. Too much sequin, spandex and the splits. And on the subject of splits - The response to the phrase “… what she had for breakfast.” Should never be, “Evidently a 7 course meal.” It’s simply a nauseating amount of America. What little I watched, I watched on 64 times the normal speed and I was still traumatised for life.

I heard that Australia was the only country to actually air this show. If that is true, I don’t know whether to be intensely proud, or profoundly embarrassed. That’s what modern TV is doing to me. Confusing me and keeping me svelte. I’m laughing and crying. Oh, and retching into a bucket I have next to the couch.