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Thursday, September 21, 2006

Stoned in front of the idiot box

So last night I was enjoying this year’s excellent harvest, and ended up watching Localia (channel 8). After midnight it starts broadcasting soft porn with cheesy playboy vignettes, then after that there’s a program called Strip Poker. The women always conveniently lose to the host of the show. Oh you got four of a kind? That doesn’t beat my royal flush! The woman feigns coyness, then strips gracefully and steps aside for the next nubile contestant.

After this show there are commercials for downloadable porno clips for your cell phone (jovenes – teenagers, maduras – older women, tetas – tits, transex, etc.), then after that a commercial for this apparatus called Andro-Pene which looks like a tube with a cinching device that stretches your penis. It's the same concept as the racks they used to torture people with in medieval England, only on a smaller scale and exclusively for your penis. And, according to the infomercial, it can be discretely worn underneath you clothes. This, gentlemen, is the last step to loserdom. I swear to god, man, if I start downloading cell phone porn (bouncing titties, hooray!), and spend 250 clams on an Andro-Pene I'd deserve to be weeded out of the evolutionary gene pool. Just fade away into an oblivion of soft core porn and late night wank fests.

There’s another channel called TT that broadcasts latin hip hop videos and r&b dancefloor sleaze. Underneath the screen there’s a lower third where you can send SMS messages that appear live on TV. The purpose of this is to hook up with singles or naughty people in your area. I know this guy (actually, my girlfriend’s brother) who met a married woman like this. Turns out she was a total freak who wanted to involve a dog in their intimate moments. He broke it off after she solicited the randy canine, but here’s the funny part. Not only was she married, into bestiality (all this without her husband knowing) but she also worked as a secretary in the Generalitat, Barcelona’s city council. As Paris Hilton says: “That’s hot”!

There’s also a program called Pocholo in Ibiza on la Sexta (channel 6). Pocholo (real name Jose María Martínez-Bordiú) is the son of a Spanish baron, and he has an uncle that married Franco’s daughter. So this specious blue blood is a celebrity in Spain. He has no known talents, nor does he have latin lover appeal, nor does he have a seductive charisma. He is simply what they call here a friki - a freak. Hence his own TV show, and appearances on shows like Chronicas Marcianas (former late night show which consisted of coke-addled pseudo-celebrities sitting around yelling at each other) and Hotel Glamour (former big brother type show with ex-escort girls, coke addled pseudo celebrities in a “glamorous” hotel sitting around yelling at each other).

Pocholo – it’s totally obvious – snorts enough blow to put Tony Montana to shame. In between mandible grinding madness and constant fidgeting, Pocholo (name derived from his childhood nickname, Pocho-Pocho - which supposedly means sickly) drives vintage cars, throws rave parties in Ibiza, and gets lost in the wilderness with porno actresses. Yes, all on his very own reality show, Pocholo in Ibiza - on late night Spanish television, of course. He’s entertaining in the same way that Paris Hilton is entertaining. He is a cultural phenomenon. You just kind of sit back and watch in disbelief.

Now, that's hot!

Like Paris Hilton, Pocholo is only known for being himself. Check out his bio on imdb. Supposedly he was an extra in a couple episodes of Miami Vice. But, other than that, in every program he’s ever appeared on, he’s credited as “himself”. This begs the question: could Pocholo and Paris be made for each other? Shocking, terrifying images flit across my mind. Imagine the consummation of these two figuras … what could possibly be more ridiculous than that?