You know I’m a sucker for ANTM. Also, BNTM, ANTM but the A is for Australia, and Project Runway. Except that I exempt Project Runway for reality tv trashing because Project Runway features genuinely talented people who do fantastical things with scissors and fabric and also candy wrappers. And Project Runway seems to attract interesting people who are funny enough to make me laugh and smart enough to make me envy them. But enough about my obsession with gay fashion designers.

The crazy thing about these shows is not just that people are so eager to become famous, or are so willing to confess all things about themselves into a soulless camera, or even that they’ve deluded themselves into thinking that winning a televised competition is inherently a good thing, although these are all very kooky aspects of reality television. No…the craziest thing is the reality-speak that has arisen from these shows. The best, of course is the ‘I’m not here to make friends’ speech, which makes me think it would be totally awesome if there was, in fact, a show that just revolved around strangers becoming friends. Maybe they could make friendship bracelets and braid each other’s hair and the boys could get matching tattoos and call each other ‘brah.’ That is what boys do when they are friends with each other, isn’t it?

So this reality speak prompts me to wonder: Are kids who have grown up watching reality shows speaking into phantom cameras, justifying their actions to an audience who isn’t there, practicing huffy eye rolling and otherwise ridiculous gestures for when the time comes that they get to make the pronouncement ‘I’m not here to make friends?’ Probably not. Except, look at how easy people ease into these camera-in-your-face shows. And how readily they lock themselves into the confession rooms to vent about their problems. Their REALLY BIG EARTH-SHATTERING problems. Like how that one girl better ‘watch herself ‘cuz she’s gettin’ on my last nerve.’ Or how, shock of all shocks, some people aren’t cleaning up after themselves in the house. These are things that are worthy of alone time with a video camera.

And the worst part is that I still watch. I eat that stuff up like it’s a carne guisada taco smothered in cheese, or perhaps a chorizo and egg breakfast taco, with a Dr Pepper on the side. I’m hungry.

I don’t, however, watch The Coreys. God love The Coreys. Only because it’s just heartbreakingly awful to see formerly famous people whore themselves out for the sake of becoming famous again. And there’s no competition or prizes…come ON. Who am I supposed to root for? Hint: the bandanna and the army patch.

Back to the original video up there. ‘I’m not here to make friends,’ they say. They are there to hook up with Flava Flav and to impress Tyra Banks and to not get eliminated and have to return to their lives of enormous normalcy and therefore shame. And you can’t blame them for that, can you?