Who Wants to Marry My Dud?
I finally broke down and watched an episode of "Who Wants to Marry My Dad?"
I am starting to think my gay and lesbian compadres who are lobbying for the right to legally marry are setting their sites a little low.
The show was just plain creepy. Three aging Barbie dolls were vying for hand of the dad, who looked like Captain Picard. His four goofy grown kids were the jury.
They showed the dad taking each of the three remaining contestants on a date. It was highly discriminatory toward women of Brunetteish-American descent, and I may have to sue.
Blonde #2 got to sail with the dad on a fully staffed, half million dollar yacht. The dad fawned over her as she tried to feign interest and stifle her yawns.
Blonde #1 got taken to Rodeo Drive in a stretch limo, where they dressed her up and bejeweled her like a princess, then they drove the couple down the streets of Beverly Hills in a horse-drawn Cinderella carriage. Then they waltzed in a ballroom to their own private string quartet.
The brunette got a brown bag picnic of Cheese Whiz, Ritz crackers, an orange and a liter of red Gatorade, served on a stained acrylic blanket thrown carelessly against the banks of a muddy pond. He made out with her and I think I saw him copping a feel.
They lie detectored one of the blondes and the brunette. The blonde was a big fat liar. The brunette was 100 percent truthful.
At the end, the kids voted Brownie off the show. She cried real tears.
Now the dad will end up with one of the blondes.
That'll teach him.