Sunday, November 14, 2010

Thing 214 Vote on XFactor

I've officially sold my soul. What little soul was left after I bet against Munster a month ago. Let me state it now, categorically, for anyone who doesn't already know. I hate reality TV. I hate it. Big Brother, Strictly Come Anything, I'm A Washed Up Has Been Get Me Out Of Here, and yes, X Factor too... Sadly, the last one is a love/hate thing now more than anything else. The Thief is to blame. Entirely and completely.

Because of her love for all things X-Factor, and specifically, all things Matt Cardle, I've been subjected, weekly, to installments of this mind-numbing spirit crushing drivel. The sad part is, that the more I watch of it, the more I find myself getting into it. It's like a drug, a crazy awful drug that you just can't resist.

While on a break from work on Saturday night, I turned it on, and watched it with a colleague, who swore that the only reason he knew anything about it was his wife's love of the show. Neither of us changed the channel though. Nope. We both sat there watching. Transfixed.

If I was a smarter man, I'd lie convincingly and tell you all I only watch it to stare at Cheryl Cole, but that would be a lie. I watch it because it's compelling viewing. God awful, ridiculous, staged, fixed, not real, compelling viewing.

Which brings me to the selling of my soul. Simon Cowell sits at his little desk, with his pants pulled all the way up to his nipples, looking horrendously smug as he hears the money roll in with every vote. Every camera that turns on him. Every time one of the contestants "cries" on stage. His head rings like a till opening. Long time ago I promised he'd never get my money. In fact, last year I played my part in downloading Rage Against the Machine as a mini protest against the show...

Now thanks to The Thief, I'm watching it. Contributing to ratings. Putting money in Simon's pocket... The last bastion, my final defence of myself, my last tiny stand against the X Factor, was that I'd never voted. I could console myself that all I was doing was watching, I wasn't taking part... No longer. I texted my vote in. I voted for Mary. Because she's Irish, and because I've developed an irrational distaste for Matt Cardle (I wonder why?).

I voted and now I've become the very thing I swore I'd never become. I've sold out. I may as well start posting the same outraged status updates on facebook that everyone else seems to throw out every Saturday and Sunday evening.

Judge me. You may as well. I'm judging myself far more harshly than you ever could.

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