Reality television is much like junk food - you start off thinking there's nothing wrong with a plate of chips every now and again and then you start to talk yourself into believing that the wilted and slightly greasy salad in your burger has valuable vitamins and minerals to offer, and suddenly you're ingesting a load of nutritionally questionable pap night after night.
At this point it takes something special and unpleasant to shock you out of your deep fried stupor. In terms of convenience food, that something might be Tesco's infamous lasagnewich. In reality television empire terms, my lasagnewich took the form of the Kardashian sisters' debut novel, Dollhouse: A Novel.
Dollhouse purports to have been written by Kourtney, Kim and Khloe with the acknowledgements thanking "collaborator" Nancy Ohlin "for helping us make this book incredible." That's the same Nancy Ohlin who "collaborated" with Lauren Conrad on her LA Candy books. There's also a thank you for "Jen Haughton and Janie Marcus at Buzzmedia for all their great ideas."
At this point you might be wondering why I'm mentioning the thank yous when we could be dissing Dollhouse and I'll tell you - it's because I'm wondering which of these six is responsible for the following delights:
Kamille (who appears to be a cipher for Kim - aspiring model, in love with some fool sports star, fledgling reality telly personality) being hesitant about going clubbing with her friend Simone because on a previous visit Simone had upended a gin bottle between her legs to disguise the fact that she was peeing on the floor of the VIP area.
Pippa - Kamille's mother Kat's best friend - lounging by the pool, eyeing up waiters and loudly discussing her labia reduction before pulling her knickers aside to show her friend's children the results.
Pippa and Kat - actually, I'm not even going to bother summarising this because to do so is to detract from the horror. Here's the full quote: "Pippa and Kat started teasing each other about their 'double-decker bus' vaginas and having a contest to see whose was bigger by stuffing ice cubes into them. By the time Kamille left [...] Kat was winning with 12 cubes and counting."
FYI, that last was during Kamille's bachelorette party.
Bizarre genital business seems to punctuate family and friend occasions and, given the Mary Sue fanfiction-adjacent nature of the rest of the book it becomes more and more unsettling.
In case you were curious about the plot, don't be. Kamille trots about with a camera crew in tow while her other K-named sisters go about their two-dimensional business. Stuff happens but it's not like you'll get emotionally involved so let's leave it at that.
And so, having consumed the lasagnewich that trash TV built, I pushed away my plate and swore off convenience telly for a while. I'm watching Danish murder mystery The Killing on series catch up, reading a book of short stories dealing with death and working on an art project while I gradually burp away the overindulgence in tripe.
Now, how long do we think this will last?
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