So I'm watching Dancing with the Stars, the B-List dance show with the D-List "celebrities. The first person to dance is the girl from Playboy, Holly. I know. She's naked in a magazine, she looks like Los Angeles threw up on her, she's so fake looking and she's already behind because she joined in so late. You know, I don't watch The Girls Next Door, I have too many other smutty televisions shows that I allow to run my life. But you gotta admit, she's funny. Joking about her boobs and how big they are and just laughing it off? That's a good sense of humor. I mean, she knows what we are all thinking. She knows that we are thinking, "You and Heff...on repeat like Kelly Clarkson's album in my car."
I felt genuinely thrilled for Jewel's husband. Lets call a spade of spade, last week, he looked like taking a wet cat dancing. But this week, I was cheering for him. Me. I cheered for him. And it had nothing to do with his dancing partner...okay...maybe it did a little. Okay. A lot. Love. Her.
I am just horrified that I watch this show. Just horrified. I mean, I watch My Life of the D-List, I watch Make Me a Supermodel, I watch the Real World. But Dancing with the Stars? Come on. They aren't even real stars, most of them. I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed of me.